Ip | ; eee Gift of Ernest Ingold Class. of 1909 822.33 Tst 1862 N. THE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE. EDITED BY HOWARD STAUNTON. PRES IDS TRATIONS BY .iOHN SGILBERT. ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL. VOL. IL. LONDON: ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, & ROUTLEDGE, FARRINGDON STREET. ; NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET, | 1863, a tt -— LONDON : R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL. Gontents. —@~— ALL’S WEE THATZENDS WHLlieo. « els 'c soe KING HENRY THE FIFTH ... a iar ee INS AY COLE IAG DRE a ode dees) oe ace x ae PRICE TEEN Gh 0 VEGls se oie: fat ee ona e Me TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL ... THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY TH SIXTH . THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH . EIMONCOR:ATHIUNS to ce cree ls gris RING Ora re THIRD oy satis os ee MEASURE FOR MEASURE ..... “a aa RINGGUENE Vette GOGH Sek 6 aietisi wire eee! CYMBELINE SO5 8 6 Le ee Le! ee sas @ es Act IV. Vol IL. ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Tue earliest version of this comedy we possess is that of the folio, 1623. If a prior edition were ever printed, a copy of it would be inestimably valuable ; for of all the plays of Shake- speare this appears to have suffered most from the negligence of transcribers and compositors. Malone, in his latest chronological arrangement, upon a supposed allusion to the fanaticism of the Puritans, dates its production in 1606; but there need be little hesitation in believing that it was one of the author’s youthful productions, and most probably the piece indicated by Meres, in his ‘‘ Palladis Tamia,” 1598, as ‘“‘ Love Labors Wonne;” that it was intended as a counter-play to ‘ Love’s Labour’s Lost,” and was originally intituled “‘ Love’s Labour’s Won; or, All’s Well that Ends Well.” The fable is derived from the story of “ Giletta of Narbona,” forming the ninth novel of the third day in Boccaccio’s ‘‘ Decamerone,” a translation of which is given in the first volume of Painter’s “‘ Palace of Pleasure,” quarto, 1566; where the argument is thus set forth :— Giletta, a phisician’s daughter of Narbon, healed the Frenche Kyng of a fistula, for reward wherof she demaunded Beltramo counte of Rossigniole to husband. The counte beyng maried againste his will, for despite fled to Florence and loved an other. Giletta his wife, by pollicie founde meanes to lye with her husbande in place of his lover, and was begotten with child of two soonnes ; whiche knowen to her husbande, he received her againe and afterwards she lived in greate honor and felicitie.” In the leading incidents Shakespeare has closely adhered to the story; but the characters of the Countess, Parolles, the Clown, and Lafeu, as well as all the circumstances of the secondary plot, sprang from the inexhaustible resources of his own mind. «‘ All’s well that ends well,” is an English proverbial saying of great antiquity. It was used in a slightly varied form during the celebrated rebellion of Jack Straw, by one of the insurgents, in a speech recorded in the chronicle of Henry de Knyghton ;—« Jak Carter prayeth you alle that ye make a gode end of that ye have begunne, and doth wele aye better and better, for atte the evyn men hereth the day, for if the ende be wele, thanne is al wele.” And, in Fulwell’s “ Avs Adulandi,” 1579, to this passage in the text:—‘‘ Wherefore, gentle Maister Philodoxus, I bid you adew with this motion or caveat; espice Finem:” the marginal note says, ‘“ All is Well that Endes Well.” Persons Representen, Kine or FRANCE. Duke oF FLORENCE. Brrtram, Count of Rousillon. LaFev,* an old Lord. PAROLES,” a Follower of Bertram. Divers young French Lords, who serve with Bertram in the Florentine war, Steward, ) Clown, +WServants to the Countess of Rousillon. A Page, Countess oF RovsiiioNn, Mother to Bertram. HELENA, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess. An old Widow of Florence. Diana, daughter to the Widow. VIOLENTA, : Neighbours and friends to the Widow. Mariana, Lords, attending on the King ; Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine. SCENE,—Partly in FRANCE and partly in Tuscany. * According to Steevens, we should write Zefeu and Paroles. = = NG aE SCENE I.—Rousillon. A Room in the Countess’s Palace. Enter Brerrram, the Countess of Rovsttton, | father’s death anew : but I must attend his ma- Hetena, and Larsv, all in black. jesty’s command, to whom I am now in ward, (1) - evermore in subjection. Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury Lar. You shall find of the king a husband, a second husband. madam ;—you, sir, a father. He that so gene- Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o’er my | rally is at all times good, must of necessity hold 5 ACT I.} his virtue to you, whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty’s amendment ? Lar. 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 im- mortal, and death should have play for lack of work.* Would, for the king’s sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king’s disease. Lar. 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. Lar. 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 languishes of ? Lar. A fistula,” my lord. Ber. I heard not of it before. Lar. I would it were not notorious.—Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ? Count. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises ; her dispositions she inherits,° which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors too; in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Lar. Your commendations, madam, get from her, tears. Count. ’Tis the best brine a maiden can season a Whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, &c.] Mr. Collier’s annotator modernizes this passage, and reads, ‘‘ whose skill, almost as great as his honesty, had it stretched so far, would,” &c.; but the original is quite as intelligible, and far more Shake- spearian than the proposed reformation. b A fistula, my /ord.] In Painter’s version of Boccaccio’s story, the king’s disorder is said to have been ‘‘a swellyng upon his breast, whiche, by reason of ill cure, was growen to a fistula,” &c. © Her dispositions she inherits, &c.)| There is scarcely a passage of importance in the earlier scenes of this comedy the meaning of which is not destroyed or impaired by some scan- dalous textual error. In the present instance some expression implying chaste or pure, before ‘‘ dispositions,” appears to have been omitted. Perhaps we should read, ‘‘ The honesty of her dispositions she inherits;”—honesty being understood in the sense of chastity, as in the last clause of the passage—‘‘ she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness;” which we 6 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. | [SCENE I. her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to,—no more ; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.* Het. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. Lar. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead ; excessive grief the enemy to the living. Hen. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.° Brr. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Lar. How understand we that ? Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape; thy blood, and virtue, Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness, Share with thy birth-right. Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life’s key: be check’d for silence, But never tax’d for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell—My lord, ’T'is an unseason’d courtier ; good my lord, Advise him. Lar. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him !—Farewell, Bertram. [ Lait CounrTEss. Brr. The best wishes, that can be forged in your thoughts, [7’o Hermna. | be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Lar. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. [Haeunt Bertram and LaFrev. Hen. 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 apprehend to signify, ‘‘she is chaste by temperament, and good by the practice of benevolence.” d Lest it be rather thought, &c.] ‘The meaning here is suffi- ciently obvious; and, though the construction of the sentence appear to us somewhat strange and harsh, it was by no means peculiar to Shakespeare. e If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.| In the old copy this speech is assigned to the Countess. Tieck first suggested that it belongs to Helena; and that he is right is almost proved by Lafeu’s rejoinder—‘‘ How understand we that?” f And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. This is interpreted to mean, that her ‘‘ great tears,’’ being attributed to grief for the loss of her father, do his memory more grace than those she truly shed for him; but some defect in the text may be suspected; such a meaning is yery tame and unsatisfying. SoS . Carries no favour in ’t, but Bertram’s. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. “T'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 forlove. ”I' was pretty, though a plague, To see him every hour ; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart’s table ;* heart, too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : But now he’s gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? a In our heart’s table;] Table is used here in the sense of panel, or surface, on which a picture was painted. So, in “ King John,” Act II. Sc. 2 :— ‘«¢ Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!” b And you, mon4rch.] This is conceived to be an allusion to the fantastic Italian, styled Monarcho; of whom an account will ~ SO, “ a Oe | One that goes with him: I love him for his sake ; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; Yet these fix’d evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue’s steely bones Look bleak i? the cold wind: withal, full oft we see : Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. Enter ParnoLues. Par. Save you, fair queen. Hex. And you, monarch.” Par. No. Hen. And no. be found in note (1), p. 103, Vol. I. It is perhaps only another example of that species of repartée before noticed in ‘‘ The Merchant of Venice,” Act II. Sc. 9:— ‘* Mess. Where is my lady? Por. Here; what would my lord?” See note (¢), p. 413, Vol. I. | aad 4 AcT I] Par. Are you meditating on virginity ? Hex. Ay. You have some stain* of soldier in you; let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him ? 3 Par. Keep him out. Herz. 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. Het. 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 quickher be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic m the common- wealth 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. Vur- ginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found ; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: ’tis too cold a companion: away with it. Hex. I will stand for’t a little, though there- fore I die a virgin. Par. There’s little can be said in’t; ’tis against the rule of nature, To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers ; which is most infallible disobedience. He, that hangs him- self, is a virgin: virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; con- sumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, -proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited” sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by’t: out with’t: within ten year it will make itself ten,° which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse. Away with’t. Herz. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking ? Par. Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that ne’er it likes. ’Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth : off with’t, while ’tis vendible: answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: (*) First folio, goe. a Some stain—] Some tinct, some mark. b Inhibited sin—] Forbidden, prohibited. © Within ten year it will make itself ten,—| The folio reads, make if selfe two,” &c. The alteration of ‘‘two” to ‘‘te ’’ which was first made by Hanmer, is countenanced by a revious observation of the speaker—‘‘ Virginity, by being once ost, may be ten times found.” 8 ‘ec ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE IL. just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; it looks ill, it eats drily ; marry, ‘tis a withered pear; it was formerly better, marry, yet,* ’tis a withered pear: will you any thing with it? Hex. Not my virginity yet. There shall your master have a thousand loves,° A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, A pheenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. _ Now shall he I know not what he shall :—God send him well !— The court’s a learning-place ;—and he is one Par. What one, 1 faith ? Hex. That I wish well.—’Tis pity—— Par. What’s pity? Het. That wishing well had not a body in’t, Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think; which never : Returns us thanks. Enter a Page. . Pacx. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Hat Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Her. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hau. I especially think, wrder Mars. Par. Why under Mars? Hex. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Her. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so? | Hex. You go so much backward, when you fight. d Tt was formerly better, marry, yet,’tis a withered pear:] This is a notable instance of ‘ yet” being used in the sense of now. See note»), p. 346, Vol. J. e There shall your master have a thousand loves,—] Some- thing is evidently wanting here; this rhapsody having no con- nexion with what precedes it. Hanmer remedies the defect by making Helena say, ‘‘ You’re for the court;’ but the deficiency is more probably in Parolles’ speech, where the words ‘‘ We are for the court” may have been omitted by the compositor. Par. That’s for advantage. Hex. 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 an- swer-thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall serve to natu- ralize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier’s counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [ Hant. Het. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, 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 a The mightiest space in fortune, nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things.] It would improve both the sense and metre were we to read,— “The wid’st apart in fortune,” &c. Mightiest space is clearly one of the swarm of typographical blemishes by which the old text of this comedy is disfigured. b What hath been cannot be.| The very opposite of what the speaker intended to express! Mason, therefore, proposed— ‘What ha’n’t been, cannot be;” 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. [ Hant. SCENE II.—Paris. A Loom in the King’s Palace. Flourish of cornes, Enter the Kine or FRANCE, with letters ; Lords and others attending. Kine. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears ; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. 1 Lorp.° So ’tis reported, sir, Kine. Nay, ’tis most credible ; we here receive it _and Hanmer substituted— ‘* What hath not been, can’t be.” We suspect the error arose from the transcriber mistaking n’ath, the old contraction of ne hath, hath not, for hath; and that we should read,— “What n’ath been cannot be,” € 1 Lord.] The folio distinguishes the two Lords who speak, as “© | Lord G., and 2 Lord Z#.” 9 ACT 1.] A certainty, vouch’d from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. 1 Lorn. His love and wisdom, Approv’d so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. Kina. 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 Lorp. It may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. Kina. What’s he comes here ? Enter Bertram, Larev, and PAroLyes. 1 Lorp. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. Kine. Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face ; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, . Hath well compos’d thee. Thy father’s moral parts May’st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty’s. Kine. I would I had that corporal soundness now, ; As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First tried our soldiership ! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long ; But on us both did haggish age steal on, And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father: in his youth He had the wit, which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest, ~ Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, Ere they can hide their levity in honour. So like a courtier: contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride, or sharpness ;* if they were, . His equal had awak’d them; and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and, at this time, His tongue obey’d his’ hand. Who were below him He us’d as creatures of another place ; And bow’d his eminent top to their low ranks, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride, or sharpness ;] a Capell, with some plausibility, reads,— < no contempt nor bitterness Were in him, pride or sharpness.” b His tongue obey’d his hand:] His hand for its hand. The Jatter vocable had hardly come into use at the time when this play was written. See note (¢), p. 480, Vol. I. ¢e Making them proud of his humility, In their poor praise he humbled :] 10 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. se es SSP sh SS Sssesssmsnnssscsnsssnesene-ushessao SRO a ———E—EEEE—E—————— _ tators are mute. [SCENE III. 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 démonstrate 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. Kine. Would I were with him! always say, (Methinks, I hear him now: his plausive words He scatter’d not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there, and to bear, )—Let me not live, This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,’—let me not live, quoth he, After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehenswwe senses All but new things disdain ; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies Eupwe 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 Lorp. You are lov’d, sir : They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. Kine. I fill a place, I know’t.—How long is’t, count, Since the physician at your father’s died ? He was much fam’d. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. Kina. Ifshe were living, I would try him yet;— Lend me an arm ;—the rest have worn me out With several® applications :—nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; My son’s no dearer. Brr. He would Thank your majesty. [Huxeunt. Flourish. SCENE IIJ.— Rousillon. A Room in the Countess’s Palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.(2) Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman ? A very slight alteration would lessen the ambiguity of this passage. We should, perhaps, read,— ‘Tn their poor praise be-humbled.” ad When it was out,—] When what was out? The commen- Does not the whole tenor of the context tend to show that #¢ is a misprint of wit? With this simple change, and supposing the ordinary distribution of the lines to be correct, the purport would be, ‘‘ Often towards the end of some spiritued disport, when wit was exhausted, he would say,” &c. e With several applications :—] Manifold applications. ‘ is pst: 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 modesty, 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 knayeries yours. Cro. *Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Cro. No, madam, ’tis not so well, that I am poor, though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship’s good-will to go to a2 To even your content,—] Even is used here, seemingly, as in Act II. Sc. 1:—‘‘ But will you make it even?”—in the sense of keep pace with, strike a balance with, equate, &c. the world,” Isbel the woman and I * will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Cro. I do beg your good-will in this case. Count. In what case? Cro. In Isbel’s case, and mine own. Service is no heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue 0’ my body; for, they say, barns are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Cro. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship’s reason ? Cro. ’Faith, madam, I have other, holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them ? (*) First folio, w. b To goto the world,—] That is to be married. See note (°}, p. 707, Vol. I. 11 AcT I.] Cro. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked- ness. Cro. I am out o’ friends, madam ; and I hope to have friends for my wife’s sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Cro. You are shallow, madam, in great friends; * for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be his cuckold, he’s my drudge. He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh 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, howsome’er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may jow] horns together, like any deer i’ the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave ? Cro. A prophet (3) I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way :° For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find ; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. Count. Get you gene, sir, I’ll talk with you more anon. Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would speak with her; Helen I mean. Cio. [Singing. | Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy ? Fond done, done fond, Was this king Priam’s joy.° With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood. ® You are shallow, madam, in great friends;] This is usually read, ‘‘ You are shallow, madam; e’en great friends;” and the instances, both in these plays and in contemporaneous books, of in being misprinted for e’en, suggests the probability of a like error here; but the meaning may be, ‘‘ You are shallow in the uses of great friends.” b Young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist,—] Malone suggested that the original word was Puisson; an allu- sion to the practice of eating fish on fast-days, as Charbon might be to the fiery zeal of the puritans. ¢.The next way:] The nearest way. a Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind.] A new version of an old proverb. So, in ‘‘ Grange's Garden,” quarto, 1577 :— “* Content yourselfe as well as I, Let reason rule your minde; i2 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE IIL And gave this sentence then ; Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There’s yet one good wm ten. Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Cro. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o’ the song.(4) Would God would serve the world so all the year! we’d find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson: one in ten, quoth a’! an we might have a good woman born but ’fore* every blazing star, or at an earth- quake, *t would mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere ’a pluck one. Count. You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. Cro. That man should be at woman’s command, and yet no hurt done!—Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.(6)—I an going, forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither. [ Hart Clown. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- woman entirely. Counr. ’Faith, I do: her ‘father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other ad- vantage, 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’I] demand. Stew. 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 goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, no* queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surprised,’ without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome afterward. This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e’er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the (*) First folio, ore. As cuckoldes come by destinie, So cuckowes sing by kinde.” © Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,—] This is, perhaps, a snatch of some antique ballad, which the fool craftily corrupts, to intimate, in the enigmatical manner of his calling, that he was not altogether ignorant of the subject which his mistress and her steward had met to speak about, f Diana, no queen of virgins,—] The old text has only “‘ Queene of Virgins; ” the two words prefixed by Theobald, are probably as near to the original as can be supplied. 8 That would suffer her poor knight surprised,—] This is the lection of the old text, and the phraseology of the poet’s age. Theobald inserted the words to be, reading,—‘‘ that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised,” and he has been followed by every subsequent editor. AOT I.] 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 will speak with you further anon. [ Lait Steward. Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young: If we are nature’s, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong : Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; It is the show and seal of nature’s truth, Where love’s strong passion is impress’d in youth: By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults ;—or them we thought then * none. Enter Hevena. Her eye is sick on’t; I observe her now. Het. What is your pleasure, madam ? Count. You know, Helen, IT am a mother to you. Het. Mine honourable mistress. Count. Nay, a mother ; Why not a mother? when I said, a mother, Methought you saw a serpent: what’s in mother, That you start at it? I say, I am your mother ; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine. *I'is often seen, Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds : You ne’er oppress’d me with a mother’s groan, Yet I express to you a mother’s care :— God’s mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood, To say, I am thy mother? What’s the matter, That this distemper’d messenger of wet, The many-colour’d Iris, rounds thine eye? Why ?——+that you are my daughter ? Het. That I am not. Count. I say, I am your mother. Het. Pardon, madam ; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 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 ? ® Or them we thought then none.] The old copy reads,— ««___. Or then we thought them none.” For the transposition of them and then, I am responsible. bI care no more for,—] ‘‘ There is adesigned ambiguity: ‘I care no more for,’ is ‘I care as much for.’”—FARMER. It would somewhat lessen the perplexity of this difficult passage, if we suppose the present line to be spoken asids out, in truth, the text ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE IIT. Hert, 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 not! daughter, and mother, So strive upon your pulse: what, pale again ? My fear hath catch’d your fondness: now I see The mystery of your loneliness,* and find Your salt tears’ head. Now to all sense ’tis gross,° You love my son; invention is asham’d, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true ; But tell me then, ’tis so :—for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, th’ one to th’ other: and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, That in their kind they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is’t so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; If it be not, forswear’t: howe’er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly. Hat. Good madam, pardon me ! Count. Do you love my son? Ht. Your pardon, noble mistress ! Count. Love you my son ? el rers Do not you love him, madam ? Counr. Go not about; my love hath in’t a bond, Whereof the world takes note: disclose The state of your affection, for your passions Have to the full appeach’d. ELEr Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son :— My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love : Be not offended, for it hurts not him, That he is lov’d of me; I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit, Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; Yet, in this captious “ and intenible { sieve, come, come, (*) First folio, lowelinesse. (+) First folio, ton tooth to th’ other. ({) First folio, intemibe. throughout the speech is palpably corrupt. ¢ Gross,—] That is, palpable. a This captious and intenible sieve,—] We incline to believe, with Farmer, that caplious here is only a contraction of capacious. 13 ult} hi NW i \! St —\ = SNS S| \ Acoranto.] The coranto was a dance distinguished for the liveliness and rapidity of its movements :-- ** And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos.”— Henry V. Act III. Se. 5. Fall, when Love please !—marry, to each, but one ! Lar. I’d give bay Curtal, and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys’, And writ as little beard. Kina. Peruse them well: Not one of those, but had a noble father. Hew. Gentlemen, Heaven hath, through me, restored the king to health, Auyu. We understand it, and thank heaven for 2 you. Hex. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealth- iest, That, I protest, I simply am a maid: Please it your majesty, I have done already : The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, We blush, that thou should’st choose ; but, be refus d, 21 _ ACT IL. | Let the white death sit on thy check for ever ; We'll néer come there again. Kine. Make choice; and, see, Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. Hex. 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 Lorp. And grant it. Het. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. Lar. I had rather be in this choice, than throw ames-ace for my life. ; [ eyes, Her. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair Before I speak, too threat’ningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes, and her humble love ! 2 Lorp. No better, if you please. Het, My wish receive, Which great Love grant ! and so I take my leave. Lar. 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. Het. Be not afraid | Zo a Lord.| that I your hand should take, [’ll never do you wrong for your own sake : Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! Lar. These boys are boys of ice, they’ll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English ; the French ne’er got them. [ good, Hex. You are too young, too happy, and too To make yourself a son out of my blood. 4 Lorp. Fair one, I think not so. Lar. There’s one grape yet,—I am sure thy father drank wine.* But if thou be’st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. Hat. [ dare not say, I take you; [ 7’o Brrtran., | but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power.—This is the man. Kane. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she’s thy wife. Brr. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your highness, Tn such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. Kine. Know’st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me ? Brn. Yes, my good lord ; But never hope to know why [ should marry her. ~ Kaye. Thou know’st, she has rais’d me from my sickly bed. Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down, a There’s one grape yet,—I am sure thy father drank wine. ] We are to suppose that Lafeu, who has been in conversation with Parolles, had not heard the discourse between Helena and the young courtiers, but believed she had proposed to each, and been refused by all but the one now in question. The after-part of his 22 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE Itt. Must answer for your raising? I know her well ; She had her breeding at my father’s charge : A poor physician’s daughter my wife !—Disdain Rather corrupt me eyer ! Kina. ’Tis only title thou disdain’st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour’d all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous, (save what thou dishk’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 us, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour: good alone Is good, without a name ; vileness is so: The property by what itt is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ; In these to nature she’s immediate heir ; And these breed honour: that is honour’s scorn, Which challenges itself as honour’s born, And is not like the sire: honours thrive, When rather from our acts we them derive Than our fore-goers; the mere word’s a slave, Debosh’d on every tomb; on every graye, A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, Where dust, and damn’d oblivion, is the tomb Of honour’d bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue, and she, Is her own dower ; honour, and wealth, from me. Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do’t. Kine. Thou wrong’st thyself, if thou should’st strive to choose. [glad ; Hex. That ‘you are well restor’d, my lord, I’m Let the rest go. | Kine. My honour’s at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift, That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love, and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know, It is in us to plant thine honour, where We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt : Obey our will, which travails in thy good : Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right, Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims ; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, —$$— (*) Old text, whence. (t) First folio, is. speech, ‘‘But if thou be’st not an ass,” &c. refers, Parolles. aaa Lo OT I1.] Into the staggers,* and the careless lapse _[hate, Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, Without? all terms of pity. Speak ; thine answer. Brr. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit, My fancy to your eyes. When I consider, What great creation, and what dole of honour, Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, Is, as ’twere, born so. Kine. Take her by the hand, And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, A balance more replete. Ber. I take her hand. [king, Kine. Good fortune, and the favour of the 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. [Zaeunt Kine, Bertram, Herena, Lords, and Attendants.* Lar. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you. Par. Your pleasure; sir? Lar. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. Par. Recantation ?—My lord ?—my master ? Lar. Ay; is it not a language, I speak ? Par. A most harsh one; and not to be under- stood without bloody succeeding. My master ? Lar. Are you companion to the count Rousillon ? Par. To any count; to all counts ; to what is man. Lar. To what is count?’s man; count’s master is of another style. Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. Lar. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Lar. 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 dis- a The staggers,—] This expression occurs again ia ‘‘ Cymbe- line,” Act V. Sc. 2,— ‘“‘ How came these staggers on me?” Mr. Singer explains it as ‘‘ The reeling and unsteady course of a drunken or sick man;” but we apprehend it has a meaning, in both instances, more relevant than this. b Without—] That is, beyond. ¢ Whose ceremony—] It has never, that we are aware, been noticed that Shakespeare usually pronounces cere in ceremony, ceremonies, ceremonials, (but not in ceremonious, ceremoniously,) as a monosyllable, like cere-cloth, cerement. Thus, in ‘* The Merry Wives of Windsor,” Act IV. Sc. 6,— ‘To give our hearts united ceremony.” Again, in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” act Y. Sc. 1,— ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. i [pass] by thee,” &c. 1 [SCLNE IIL suade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. 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 scaree worth. Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee, Lar. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial ;—whieh if—Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice,® fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. Lar. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. Lar. Yes, good faith, every dram of it: and I will not bate thee a scruple. Par. Well, I shall be wiser. Lar. H’en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o’ the contrary. If ever thou be’st bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge ; that I may say, in the default, he is a man I know. Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. Lar. 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.! [ Lait. Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- grace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord !— Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I’ll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I’ll have no more pity of his age, than I would have of—I’ll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter LAFEv. Lar. Sirrah, your lord and master’s married, there’s news for you; you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship ‘Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.” Again, in ‘‘ Julius Cesar,” Act I. Sc. 1,— “If you do find them deckt with ceremonies.” and, Act II. Se. 2:— ‘¢‘ Cesar, I never stood on ceremonies.’ d Exeunt King, &c.] The stage-direction, in the original text, is, ‘‘ Exeunt. Parolles and Lafeu stay behind, commenting of this wedding.” ; e My good window of lattice,—] See note (2); D: 626, Vol. i. : f For doing I am past ; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave.] If instead of as, we read, so, the conceit on the word past is then intelligible: “For doing I am past, so I will 23 to make some reservation ot your wrongs: he is my good lord: whom I serve above, is my master. Lar. Who? God? Par. Ay, sir. Lar. The devil it is, that’s thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o’ this fashion ? dost make hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so ? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I’d beat thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. “I think, thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. : Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. Lar. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy w:th lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission.* You are not worth another word, else I’d call you knave. I leave you. [ Lait. Enter BERTRAM. Par. Good, very good; it is so then.—Good, very good ; let it be concealed a while. Brr. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever ! a Than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you com- mission.} This transposition of the words hera/dry and com- mission, as they stand in the old text, was made by Hanmer. 24 Par. What is the matter, sweet-heart ? Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. Par. What? what, sweet-heart ? Bsr. O my Parolles, they have married me :— I’ll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. [merits Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more The tread of a man’s foot: to the wars! Ber. There’s letters from my mother; what the import is, I know not yet. Par. Ay, that would be known. my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home ; Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars’s fiery steed. To other regions ! France is a stable; we, that dwell in’t, jades ; Therefore, to the war ! Ber. It shall be so; I’ll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king That which I durst not speak: his present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife To the dark house, and the detested* wife. Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure ? To the wars, (*) Old text, detected. cia Ye OVO, Sie et SAU nse = int 2 Ha t Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. ; SCENE IV.—TZhe same. ‘Another Room in the I'll send her straight away. ‘To-morrow same. 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 : Hex, My mother greets me kindly: is she Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go: well ? The king has done you wrong: but, hush! ’tis so. Cro. She is not well, but yet she has her [Hxeunt. | health: she’s very merry, but yet she is not well : 25 Enter Hetena and Clown. ACT IL] but thanks be given, she’s very well, and wants nothing 1’ the world; but yet she is not well. Het. If she be very well, what does she ail, that she’s not very well ? Cro. Truly, she’s very well, indeed, but for two things. Hex. What two things ? Cro. One, that she’s not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other, that she’s in earth, from whence God send her quickly ! Enter PAROLLES. Par. ’Bless you, my fortunate lady! Hux. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.* Par. You had my prayers to lead them on: and to keep them on, have them still—O, my knave ! how does my old lady ? Cro. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say. Par. Why, I say nothing. Cro. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man’s tongue shakes out his master’s undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; which is within a very little of nothing. Par. Away, thou’rt a knave. Cro. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou’rt a knave; that is, before me thou art a knayve: this had been truth, sir. Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Cro. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? ‘The search, sir, was profitable ;* and much fool may you find in you, even to the world’s pleasure, and the increase of laughter. Par. A good knave, i’ faith, and well fed.— Madam, my lord will go away to-night ; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does ac- knowledge ; But puts it off to a compelled restraint ; Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy, And pleasure drown the brim. Het. What’s his will else ? (*) Old text, fortune. a The search, sir, was profitable ;] This begins as a new speech in the folio, with a second prefix of Clo.; and it seems very likely, from the context, that Parolles had made some reply, which is lost. 26 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Par. That you will take your instant leave 0’ — [ceeding, — the king, And make this haste as your own good pro- Strengthen’d with what apology you think May make it probable need. Het. What more commands he? Par. That, having this obtain’d, you presently Attend his further pleasure. Het. In every thing I wait upon his will. Par. I shall report it so. Het. I pray you.—Come, sirrah. [ Hxeunt. SCENE V.—Another Room in the same. Enter Larevu and Bertram. Lar. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier. Brr. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant ap- proof. Lar. You have it from his own deliverance ? Brr. And by other warranted testimony. Lar. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting. Brr. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly” valiant. Lar. I have then sinned against his experience, and transgressed against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you, make us friends, I will pursue the amity. Enter Parouugs. Par. These things shall be done, sir. [Zo Bertram. Lar. Pray you, sir, who’s his tailor ? Par. Sir? [SCENE v. Lar. O, I know him well: ay, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor. Bur. Is she gone to the king ? 4 [Aside to Parotiss. — Par. She is. Brr. Will she away to-night ? Par. As youll have her. [ treasure, Brr. I have writ my letters, casketed my | Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, b And accordingly valiant.] That is, conformably, proportionally, valiant. So in “The Lovers’ Progress,” of Beaumont and Fletcher, Act ITI. Sc. 6:— all “T fear ye are not used accordingly.” FO a Ln Pea iw tp Oks ACT 11.] End* ere I do begin. Lar. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one* that lies three- thirds, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.—God save you, captain. Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur ? Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord’s displeasure. Lar. You have made shift to run into’t, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard ;(9) and out of it you’ll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. Lar. 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 willt deserve at my hand ; but we must do good against evil. [ Lait. Par. An idle” lord, I swear. Ber. I think® so. Par. Why, do you not know him? _ [speech Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter HEvEmA. Hat. Ihave, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king, and have procur’d his leave For present parting ; only, he desires Some private speech with you. Ber. I shall obey his will. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular: prepar’d I was not For such a business, therefore am I found (*) First folio, on. (+) First folio inserts, to. a End ere I do begin. In the old copy, “* 4nd ere I do begin.” The emendation was found in the margin of Lord Ellesmere’s copy of the first folio, and is supported by a passage in ‘“‘ The Two Gentlemen of Verona,” Act Il. Sc. 4:— ‘*T knor it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.” >» Anidlelord,—] Idle, here, as in many other passages, means, ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE V. So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you, That presently you take your way for home, And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you ; For my respects are better than they seem, And my appointments have in them a need, Greater than shows itself at the first view, To you that knowthem not. This to my mother: [Giving a letter. *T will be two days ere I shall see you; so I leave you to your wisdom. Het. Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient servant. Brr. Come, come, no more of that. Het. And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that, Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail’d To equal my great fortune. Brr. Let that go: My haste is very great: farewell; hie home. Hex. Pray, sir, your pardon. Ber. Well, what would you say? Het. I am not worthy of, the wealth I owe,‘ Nor dare I say, ’tis mine ; and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. Ber. What would you have ? Het. 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. Brr. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. Het. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur ?— Farewell.° [Hawt Herena. 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! [Hxeunt. crazy, wild, mad-brained: thus, again in Act III. Sc. 7 :— «¢____vet, in his idle fire,” &c. and in ‘‘ Hamlet,” Act III. Sc. 6, Hamlet says— ‘* They are coming to the play; I must be éd/e.” ¢ [ think so.] The context testifies the poet wrote ‘‘I think oz so.” d The wealth I owe:—] The wealth I own, possess e Where are my other men, &c.] This line,in the old copies is given to Helena. S55 tI) — Pa Hy ss A C'T, IIT. SCENE I.—Florence. Flourish. Enter the Duxr of Fiorencs, at- tended ; two French Lords, and others. Duxr. 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 Lorp. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace’s part ; black and fearful On the opposer. [France Duxer. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. 2 Lorp. Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion: therefore dare not Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess’d. Dux. 28 Be it his pleasure. A Room in the Duke’s Palace. 2 Lorp. But I am sure, the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, Come here for physic. DUKE. Welcome shall they be ; And all the honours, that can fly from us, Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; When better fall, for your avails they fell. To-morrow to the field. [Plowrish. Haxeunt. SCENE JI.—Rousillon. A Room in the Countess’s Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her. Cio. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. Count. By what observance, I pray you ? Cro. Why, he wiil look upon his boot, and —— ACT L111.] 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. Cro. 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 0’ 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? Cro. H’ent that you have there. [ Heit. Count. [Reads.] J have sent you a daughter- in-law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her ; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall hear, IT am run away ; know it, before the report come. If there be breadth enough m the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours of so good a king ; To pluck his indignation on thy head, By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown. Cro. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, between two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter ? Cro. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. Count. Why should he be killed? Cro. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear your son was run away. [ Heit Clown. Enter Hetena and two Gentlemen. 1 Grn. ’Save you, good madam. Hen. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gen. Do not say so. Count. Think upon patience—Pray you, gentlemen,— I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, (*) Old text, hold. (+) Old text, Lings. (t) First folio, In. ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENH II. Tat the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto’t.—Where is my son, I pray you? 2 Gun. Madam, he’s gone to serve the duke of Florence : We met him thitherward : for thence we came, And, after some despatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. [ passport. Hex. Look on his letter, madam; here’s my [Reads.] When thou canst get the ring wpon 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 I 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, —_[he? And thou art all my child.—Towards Florence is 2 Gren. Ay, madam. Count. And to be a soldier ? 2 Gxn. 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 Gren. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hex. [Reads.] Zill I have no wife, I have nothing in France. "Tis bitter. Count. Find you that there ? Hat. Ay, madam. 1 Gen. ’T is but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his heart was not consenting to. Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! There’s nothing here, that is too good for him, But only she; and she deserves a lord, That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him ? 1 Gey. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. Count. Parolles, was it not ? 1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. _[ wickedness. Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. 1 Gen. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that, too much, a The ruff,—] The top of the boot which turned over, and was sometimes ornamented with lace, was called the ruff. 29 ACT IIL] Which holds him much to have.* Count. You are welcome, gentlemen. J will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him, that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I’Il 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 ? [Zxeunt Countess and Gentlemen. Her, Till [ have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is’t I That chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I [thou That drive thee from the sportive court, where 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, T am the caitiff, that do hold him to it; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected. Better ’t were I met the rayvin lion when he roar’d With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’t were That all the miseries, which nature owes, [sillon, Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rou- Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all; I will be gone: My being here it is, that holds thee hence : Shall I stay here to do’t? no, no, although The air of paradise did fan the house, And angels offie’d all: I will be gone, That pitiful ramour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day ! For, with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away. [Hait. SCENE III.—Florence. Palace. Before the Duke's Flourtsh. Enter the Duxe of FLoReEnce, Brrrram, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. Douxs. The general of our horse thou art ; and we, a The fellow has a deal of that, too much, Which holds him much to have.] Of this passage no one has yet succeeded in making sense. It is, we fear, irremediably corrupt. b —Movethestill-piecing air,—] The old text has ‘‘still peering.” Still-niecing, that is, ever closing, was proposed by Malone. Tyr- ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. | A Sonnet by WitLtam Lirucow, iG1h. [SCENE Iv, — Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence, Upon thy promising fortune. | Ber. Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet We’ll strive to bear it for your worthy sake, To the extreme edge of hazard. DvxKe. Then go thou forth ; And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress ! Ber. This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: | Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Hxeunt. SCENE IV.—Rousillon. A Room in the ™ Countess’s Palace. Enter Countess and Steward. Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her ? Might you not know, she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter ? Stew. [ Reads. | L am St. Jaques’ pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, With sarnted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war, My dearest master, your dear son, may hie ; Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far, fis name with zealous fervour sanctify : fis taken labours bid him me forgive ; SL, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dog the heels of worth: He is too good and fair for death and me ; Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 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 haye been o’er-ta’en; and yet she writes, a Pursuit would be but vain. Count. Read it again. What angel shail whitt thought a farther alteration necessary, and would have substituted rove for move :— —‘‘rove the still-piecing air; ” but there is authority for move, in the sense of penetrate, or wound. ‘* High preasse thy flames, the chrystall aire to move.” Pri... ee a er ee, @ oo es ao. \ Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice.—Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife : Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief, Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Despatch the most convenient messenger :— When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, He will return ; and hope I may, that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love: which of them both Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense To make distinction :—Provide this messenger :— My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. [ Lxeunt. SCENE V.— Without the Walls of Florence. A tucket afar of. Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Viotenta, Mariana, and other Citizens. Wn. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. = y yi) = : <> —- ‘ ee a Dra. They say, the French count has done most honourable service. Wm. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke’s brother. We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets. Mar. Come, let’s return again, and suffice our- selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Wip. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. Mar..I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles : a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl.—Beware of them, Diana ; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under :* many a maid hath been seduced by them ; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further ; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were a Are not the things they go under:] ‘‘They are not the things for which their names would make them pass.’-—Jounson. 31 ACT III.] no further danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dra. You shall not need to fear me. Wr. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house: thither they send one another ; I’! question her.— Enter Hutnna, tn the dress of a Pilgrim. God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound? Het. To Saint Jaques le grand. Where do the palmers(1) lodge, I do beseech you ? Wo. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. Het. Is this the way ? Wi. Ay, marry, is it.—Hark you! They come this way: [A march afar off. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, 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. Het. Is it yourself ? Wop. If you shall please so, pilgrim. Het. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Wp. You came, I think, from France ? HEt. I did so. Ww. Here you shall see a countryman of yours, That has done worthy service. Hers His name, I pray you. Dra. The count Rousillon; know you such a one ? Het. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him: His face I know not. TASS 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? Hex. Ay, surely, mere* the truth ; I know his lady. Dra. There is a gentleman, that serves the count, Reports but coarsely of her. Het. Dra. Monsieur Parolles. Hen. O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated ; all her deserving What’s his name ? & Mere the truth;] Quite the truth. * Honesty,—] That is, chastity. ¢ I write good creature;] So the first folio, but which the editor of the second, not perhaps understanding, altered to,— “I right, good creature.’’ The phrase to write, in the sense of to prociaim, &c. was not at all uncommon formerly. It occurs, in- deed, three or four times in Shakespeare: thus, in the present play, Act II. Se. 3, Lafeu says,— **Sirrah, I write man,” &c. 32 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE V Is a reserved honesty,” and that I have not heard examin’d. Dra. Alas, poor lady ! ’*T is a hard bondage, to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Win. I write good creature:° wheresoe’er she is, Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do her | A shrewd turn, if she pleas’d. Her. How co you mean ? May be, the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Wo. He does, indeed ; And brokes* with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: But she is arm’d for him, and keeps her guard In honestest defence. Enter, with drum and colours, a Party of the Florentine army, Brrrram, and PARoLyrs. Mar. The gods forbid else! | Wo. So, now they come :— That is Antonio, the duke’s eldest son ; That, Escalus. Het. Dia. He; That with the plume: ’tis a most gallant fellow ; I would, he lov’d his wife: if he were honester, He were much goodlier.—Is’t not a handsome gentleman ? Hat. I like him well. Dra. *T'is pity he is not honest. same knave, That leads him to these places; were I his lady, I’d poison that vile rascal. Haru. Which is he? Dra. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy ? Hex. Perchance he’s hurt i’ the battle. Par. Lose our drum! well. Mar. He’s shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us. Wap. Marry, hang you! Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! [Haeunt Bertram, Parotuzs, Officers, and Soldiers. Wip. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin’d penitents There’s four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Which is the Frenchman ? Yond’s that And,— ‘*T’d give bay Curtal, and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys’, And writ as little beard.” Again, in ‘‘King Lear,” Act V. Sc. 3 :— ** About it; and write happy, when thou hast done.” a And brokes—] Thatis, panders. Already at my house. Hzr. I humbly thank you: | Please it this matron, and this gentle maid, To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking, Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts of* this virgin, Worthy the note. Boru. We’ll take your offer kindly. [ Hxeunt. SCENE VI.—Camp before Florence. Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords. 1 Lorn. Nay, good my lord, put him to’t ; let him have his way. & Of this virgin,—] This is only one of the frequent instanoes in | Shakespeare where of is employed for on. VOL. I. 33 fi; YA f ( 4 \ WN a \N 2 Lorp. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. 1 Lorp. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him ? 1 Lorp. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he’s a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise- breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship’s entertainment. 2 Lorp. It were fit you knew him, lest reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main danger fail you. Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to try him. 2 Lorp. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. 1 Lorp. I, with a troop of Florentines, will D ACT III.] suddenly surprise him; such I will have, whom, I am sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink 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 own 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 Lorp. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for’t : when your lordship sees the bottom of his* success -in’t, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore} will be melted, if you give him not John Drum’s entertainment,(2) your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. 1 Lorp. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch off his drum in any hand. Enter Paro.uezs. Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. 2 Lorp. A pox on’t, let it go; tis but a drum. Par. But adrum! Is’t buta drum? A drum so lost!—There was an excellent command ! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers. 2 Lorp. That was not to be blamed in the command of the service ; it was a disaster of war that Ceesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success; some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum ; but it is not to be recovered. Par. It might have been recovered. Brr. 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 hic jacet. Brr. Why, if you have a stomach to’t, monsieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit; if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak (*) First folio, this. (t) First folio, ours. « The leaguer—] The camp. + Embossed him,—] Inthe old language of the chase, the stag 34 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE VI. of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. Par. I’ll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage my- self -in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me. Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it? . Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. Ber. I know thou art valiant; and, to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. Par. I love not many words. [ Lait. 1 Lorp. No more than a fish loves water.—Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so con- fidently 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 Lorp. 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 himself unto ? 1 Lorp. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed” him; you shall see his fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your lordship’s respect. 2 Lorp. We’ll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you shall see this very night. 1 Lorp. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught. Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 1 Lorp. As’t please your lordship: Ill leave you. [Hait. Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you the lass I spoke of. 2 Lorp. But, you say, she’s honest. Ber. That’s all the fault: I spoke with her but once, And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i’ the wind, was said to be embossed, when, exhausted and outrun, he foamed and frothed at the mouth. The meaning is, we have hunted him almost to his fall. : 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 Lorp. With all my heart, my lord. [ Hxeunt. SCENE VII.—Florence. A Room in the Widow’s House. Enter Hetena and Widow. Heu. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, ] know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Win. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; And would not put my reputation now 35 In any staining act. Heu. 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. Wop. I should believe you ; For you have show’d me that, which well approves You are great in fortune. Het. 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 woos your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent, s Your sworn counsel—] Your pledged secrecy. p 2 ACT III.] As we’ll direct her how ’tis best to bear it. Now his important* blood will nought deny That she ’Il demand: a ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house, From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle” fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe’er repented after. Wor. Now I see The bottom of your purpose. Hew. 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,* (*) First folio omits, this. a His important blood—] Here and elsewhere, important means importunate. ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. To marry her, I’ll add three thousand crowns” To what is pass’d already. Ww. I have yielded : Instruct my daughter how she shall perséver, That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts, and songs compos’d To her unworthiness : it nothing steads us, To chide him from our eaves, for he persists, As if his life lay on’t. Het. 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. [ Laeunt, b His idle fire,—] Mad-brained fire. See note (b), p. 27. ¢ And lawful meaningin a lawful act;] We should perhaps read; — “And lawful meaning in a wicked act.” [SCENE VII. — ae Nn ty HW"! ACT EY. SCENE I.— Without the Florentine Camp. Enter First Lord, with five or six Soldiers in ambush. 1 Lorn. He can come no other way but by this hedge corner. When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand 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 Soxp. Good captain, let me be the inter- preter.* a Let me be the interpreter. ] In conformity with this proposal, the first soldier is so styled in the old text, throughout the sub- sequent scenes with Parolles. 1 Lorp. Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice ? 1 Sorp. No, sir, I warrant you. 1 Lorp. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak to us again? 1 Soup. H’en such as you speak to me. 1 Lorp. 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 one to another ; s0 we seem to know, is to know straight our pur- pose: chough’s language, gabble enough, and’ good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem _ | very. politic. But couch, ho! here he comes, to 37 ACT Iv.] beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter Parouzrs. Par. Ten o’clock; within these three hours ’twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it. They begin to smoke me: and disgraces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find, my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. 1 Lorp. [ Aside.] This is the first truth that e’er thine own tongue was guilty of. Par. What the devil should move me to under- take the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose ? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in exploit; yet slight ones will not carry it: they will say, Came you off with so little ? and great ones I dare not give. Where- fore? what’s the instance?* Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman’s mouth, and buy myself another of Bajazet’s mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 1 Lorp. [Aside.] Is it possible, he should know what he is, and be that he is ? Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. 1 Lorp. [Aside.] We cannot afford you so. Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it was in stratagem. 1 Lorp. [Aside.] ’T would not do. Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was stripped. 1 Lorn. [Aside.] Hardly serve. Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel— _ 1 Lorp. [Aside.] How deep ? Par. Thirty fathom. . 1 Lorp. [Aside.] Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. Par, I would I had any drum of the enemy’s ; I would swear, I recovered it. 1. Lorn. [Aside.] You shall hear one anon. [Alarum within. Par. A drum now of the enemy’s! 1 Lorp. Throca movousus, cargo! cargo! cargo ! Aut. Cargo! cargo! villianda par corbo, cargo ! & Wherefore? what’s the instance?] Wherefore did I volunteer this exploit? For what object? 38 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE II Par. O! ransom, ransom :~—do not hide mine eyes. [They seize and blindfotd him. 1 Sotp. Boskos thromuldo boskos ! Par. I know you are the Muskos’ regiment, And I shall lose my life for want of language. If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me :— I will discover that which shall undo The Florentine. 1 Sox. Boskos vauvado :— IT understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto : Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards Are at thy bosom. Par. Oh! 1 Soxp. O, pray, pray, pray. Manka revania dulche. 1 Lorv. Oscorbidulchos volivorco. 1 Soxtp. The general is content to spare thee yet, And, hood-wink’d as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply, thou may’st inform Something to save thy life. Par. O, let me live, And all the secrets of our camp I’ll show, Their force, their purposes: nay, I’ll speak that Which you will wonder at. 1 Soxzp. But wilt thon faithfully ? Par. If [ do not, dam me. 1 Soxp. Acordo linta. Come on, thou art granted space. [A short alarum without. Hait, with Paroiurs guarded. 1 Lorp. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him mufiled, Till we do hear from them. 2 Sop. Captain, I will. 1 Lorn. He will betray us all unto ourselves ; — Inform on that. 2 Soxp. So I will, sir. 1 Lorp, Till then, I’ll keep him dark, and safely lock’d. [| Haeunt. SCENE II.—Florence. A Room in the Widow’s Louse. Enter Brrrram and Diana. Ber. oe told me, that your name was Fonti- eil. Dra. No, my good lord, Diana. Ber. Titled goddess ; And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality ? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, ACT Iv.] You are no maiden, but a monument : When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; * And now you should be as your mother was, When your sweet self was got. Dra. She then was honest. Ber. So should you be. Dra. No: My mother did but duty ; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. ~ Ber. No more of that! I pr’ythee, do not strive against my vows: 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. ee ADTAY Ay, So you serve us, Till we serve you: but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, And mock us with our bareness. Ber. How have I sworn ! Dra. ’Tis not the many oaths, that makes the truth, But the plain single vow, that is vow’d true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the Highest to witness: then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes, I lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? this has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, [oaths That I will work against him.” Therefore, your Are words, and poor conditions, but unseal’d ; At least, in my opinion. Ber. Change it, change it ; Be not so holy-cruel : love® is holy, And my integrity ne’er knew the crafts, That you do charge men with : stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recovers; say, thou art mine, and ain My love, as it begins, shall so perséver. [a snare, @ Dra. I see, that men make hopes, in such That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. Ber. I’ll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power a Cold and stern;]| Stern is rigid, unyielding. * Can Mtetpealtg hearts in nature be so stern?” GREENE’s James the Fourth. ‘*¥n former times, some countries have been so chary in this behalf, so stern, that if a child were crooked or deformed in body or mind, they made-him away.”—Burton’s Anatomy of Melan- choly. b ’Tis not the many oaths, &c. &c.] All the best modern editors have laboured earnestly to render this passage intelligible. That they have failed is, we believe, owing to their not perceiving that the accomplished compositors or transcribers of the folio, 1623, have contrived, with their customary dexterity, to graft a speech of Bertram on to that of Diana. If we read the dialogue as follows, much in it that was nebulous becomes clear, and a way is seen to the comprehension of the rest :— ‘““ Ber. How have I sworn! Dra. ’Tis not the many oaths, that makes the truth, But the plain single vow, that is vow’d true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE II. To give it from me. Dra. Will you not, my lord? Ber. It is an honour ‘longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world, In me to lose. Dra. Mine honour’s such a ring: My chastity’s the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; Which were the greatest obloquy Vv the world, In me to lose. 'Thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion honowr on my part, Against your vain assault. Ber. Here, take my ring : My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, And I’ll be bid by thee. Dra. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window ; I’ll order take, my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of -truth, When you have conquer’d my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them, When back again this ring shall be deliver’d : And on your finger, in the night, I’ll put Another ring; that, what in time proceeds, May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then: then, fail not: you have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. Ber. A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing thee. [ Heit. 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 live and die a maid: Only, in this disguise, I think’t no sin To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [ Hat. But take the Highest to witness. BER. , Then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes, I*lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? DIA. This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him.” ¢ Love is holy,—] We should, perhaps, read, holy.” a I see, that men make hopes, in such a snare,—] The old copy has,— “* My love is “‘T see that men make rope’s in such a scarre;”’ which, though some critics have attempted to explain, none has yet succeeded in making intelligible. The alteration of kopes for rope’s Was proposed by Rowe, who reads,— ‘*T see that men make hopes in such affairs.” © Since Frenchmen are so braid,—] Braid, in this place means false, tricking, deceitful, 39 ACT Iv.] SCENE III.—The Florentine Camp. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers. 1 Lorp. You have not given him his mother’s letter ? 2 Lorp. I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in’t that stings his nature, for, on the reading it, he changed almost into another man. 1 Lorp. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 2 Lorp. Especially he hath incurred the ever- fasting 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 Lorp. When you have spoken it, ’tis dead, and I am the grave of it. 2 Lorp. He hath perverted a young gentle- woman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown, and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made* in the unchaste composition. 1 Lorp. Now, God delay our rebellion; as we are ourselves, what things are we! 2 Lorp. Merely” our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends ;° so he, that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o’erflows himself. 1 Lorp. Is it not meant* damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night ? 2 Lorp. Not till after midnight, for he is dieted to his hour. 1 Lorp. That approaches apace: I would gladly have him see his company® anatomized ; that he might take a measure of his own judg- ments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 2 Lorp. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. 1 Lorp. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars ? 2 Lorp. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 1 Lorp. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. a And thinks himself made—] Made seems strangely inap- plicable. We should, perhaps, read, ‘‘ paid.” b Merely—] That is, absolutely. ¢ To their abhorted ends ;] Their disgraceful punishments ; and not, as the words are usually explained, the opportunity of effecting their treachery ;—an opportunity not very likely to occur, if they were always revealing the object they had in hand. 40 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE III. 2 Lorp. What will count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France ? 1 Lorp. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. 2 Lorp. Let it be forbid, sir! so should I bea great deal of his act. 1 Lorn. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le grand; which holy undertaking, with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished : and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. 2 Lorp. How is this justified ? 1 Lorp. The stronger part of it by her own letters ; 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 Lorp. Hath the count all this intelligence? 1 Lorp. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 2 Lorp. I am heartily sorry, that he “Il be glad of this. 1 Lorp. How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses ! 2 Lorp. And how mightily, some other times, we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. 1 Lorp. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues. Enter a Servant. How now? where’s your master ? Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the king. 2 Lorn. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. 1 Lorp. They cannot be too sweet for the king’s tartness. Here’s his lordship now. Enter Berrram, How now, my lord, is’t not after midnight ? Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi- 4 Is it not meant damnable—] This is commonly altered to “most damnable ;” but the context supports the ancient reading, the sense of which appears to be, ‘‘Are we not designedly, for our own condemnation, made trumpeters of our unlawful pur- poses. ® His company—] His companion. ACT Iv.] nesses, a month’s length a-piece, by an abstract of success; I have conge’d with the duke, done my adieu with his nearest, buried a wife, mourned for her, writ to my lady mother, I am returning ; entertained my convoy; and, between these main parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs ; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. 2 Lorp. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module ; he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 2 Lorp. Bring him forth: [ewnt Soldiers. | he has sat i’ the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Brr. No matter; his heels have deserved it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself ? 1 Lorp. 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 Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of his setting i’ the stocks: and what think you he hath confessed ? Ber. Nothing of me, has he? 2 Lorp. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face: if your lordship be in’t, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Re-enter Soldiers, with Paro.urs, Ber. A plague upon him! mufiled! he can say nothing of me; hush! hush! 1 Lorp. Hoodman(1) comes!— Portotartarossa. 1 Soxrn. He calls for the tortures; what will you say without ’em ? Par. I will confess what I know without con- straint; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 1 Soxtp. Bosko chimurcho. 2 Lorp. Boblibindo chicurmurco. 1 Soxp. You are a merciful general—Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 1 Soxrp. First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong. What say you to that? a All’s one tohim.] In the old text these words are given to Parolles. b But I con him no thanks for’t, in the nature he delivers it.] No thanks to him for truth, however, considering the purpose for which he tells it. * If I were to live this present hour,—] ‘‘If I were to die this ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE If, Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. 1 Soxp. Shall I set down your answer so? Par. Do; Ill take the sacrament on’t, how and which way you will. Brr. All’s one to him.* slave is this! 1 Lorp. You are deceived, my lord; this is monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own phrase,) that had the whole theorick of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. 2 Lorp. I will never trust a man again, for keeping his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 1 Soxtp. Well, that’s set down. Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said,—I will say true,—or thereabouts, set down,—for I’ll speak truth. 1 Lorp. He’s very near the truth in this. Ber. But I con him no thanks for’t, in the nature he delivers it.” Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 1 Sotp. Well, that’s set down. Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth’s a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. 1 Sotp. Demand of him of what strength they are afoot. What say you to that? Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live® this present 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 company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each: so that the muster- file, rotten and sound, upon my life amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. Ber. What shall be done to him? 1 Lorp. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition,® and what credit I have with the duke ? 1 Soup. Well, that’s set down. Yow shall demand of him, whether one captain Dumain be v the camp, a Frenchman ; what his reputation is with the duke, what his valour, honesty, and ex- pertness in wars ; or whether he thinks, tt were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to cor- rupt him to a revolt. What say you to this? what do you know of it? What a past-saving present hour” seems more germane to his position. Live, pos- sibly, is a misprint of Jeave. He may have meant, ‘‘ Ir I were free to depart this very hour.” ad Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Jacques so many,—] So many means, as many. © My condition,—] That is, disposition and character, 41 ACT Iv.] Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the par- ticular of the intergatories. Demand them singly. 1 Sotp. Do you know this captain Dumain ? Par. I know him: he was a botcher’s ’prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve’s fool with child; a dumb innocent, that could not say him nay. [Duman 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 Soup. Well,’is this captain in the duke of Florence’s camp ? Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 1 Lorp. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship* anon. 1 Sotp. What is his reputation with the duke? Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day, to turn him out of the band: I think, I have his letter in my pocket. 1 Sozp. Marry, we’ll search. Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file, with the duke’s other letters, in my tent. 1 Sotp. Here ’tis; here’s a paper. read it to you? Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no. Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 1 Lorp. Excellently. 1 Sotp. Dian, The count’s a fool, and full of gold, — Par. That is not the duke’s letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one count ‘Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. 1 Soup. Nay, I’ll read it first, by your favour. Par. My meaning in’t, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid: for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. Ber, Damnable both-sides rogue! 1 Sotp. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take ut ; After he scores, he never pays the score: Half won, is match well made ; match, and well make rt ; He néer pays after debts, take vt before ; And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this, Shall I (*) Old copy, Zord. a IT perceive, sir, by our general’s looks,—] The old text has “ your general’s looks ;” altered by Capell. > He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister ;] If an egg is not a misprint, it may have been used metaphorically for a young girl; one of the murderers of Macduff’s family (‘* Macbeth,” Act LV. Sc. 2) calls the boy “egg,” and ‘‘young fry.” So also Costard, in ‘‘Love's Labour’s Lost,” Act V. Se. 1, terms Moth 42 ALI’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE IIL Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss : For count of this, the count’s a fool, I know tt, Who pays before, but not when he does owe tt. Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, PAROLLEs, Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with this rhyme in his forehead. 2 Lorp. This is your devoted fiiend, sir, the manifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. Brr. I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he’s a cat to me. 1 Soxp. I perceive, sir, by our® general’s looks, we shall be fain to hang you. Par. My life, sir, in any case! not that I am afraid to die, but that, my offences being many; I would repent out the remainder of nature: let. me live, sir, in a dungeon, i’ the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. 1 Sotp. We’ll see what may be done, so you confess freely ; therefore, once more to this captain Dumain. You have answered to his reputation with the duke, and to his valour. What is his honesty ? a Par. He will steal, sir, an egg? out of a cloister; for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk, and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his,honesty; he has everything that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have, he has nothing. 1 Lorp. I begin to love him for this. Brr. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him! for me, he is more and more a cat. 1 Sorp. What say you to his expertness in war? Par. ’Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English tragedians,(2)—to belie him, I will not,— and more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end,° to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. 1 Lorn. He hath out-villained villainy so far, that the rarity redeems him. Ber. A pox on him! he’s a eat still !4 1 Sop. His qualities being at this poor price, I ‘‘pigeon-egg of discretion.” ¢ Mile-end,—] See note (4), p. 628, Vol. I. ad He’s acat still!} Bertram had before told us that a cat was his particular aversion, and that Parolles was now a cat to him. When the rogue becomes more scurrilous in his revelations, Bertram says, ‘‘He is more and more a cat;” and, finally, when he had ‘‘ out-villained villany,” the count impetuously exclaims, y he’s a cat still!” that is, a cat always, a cat evermore Sarnia il) if} i) one LS ie ge Ht ag: eae jh $\ LAN PT . =A 2 LEE ZZ 2 Zee need not to ask you, if gold will corrupt him to {| 1 Sozp. What’s he? revolt. Par. E’en a crow of the same nest; not alto- Par. Sir, for a quart @écu(3) he will sell the fee- | gether so great as the first in goodness, but greater simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and | a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual | coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best - succession for it perpetually. that is. In a retreat he out-runs any lackey ; 1 Sorp. What’s his brother, the other captain | marry, in coming on he has the cramp. Dumain ? 1 Soup. If your life be saved, will you under- : 2 Lory. Why does he ask him of me? take to betray the Florentine ? | 43 | : ACT IV.] Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rousillon. 1 Soxp. I’ll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. Par. [ Aside.] I’llno 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 ? 1 Sotp. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the general says, you, that have so traitor- ously discovered the secrets of your army, ar? made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use ; there- fore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. Par. O Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my death ! 1 Sorp. That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. [ Unmufiling hum. So, look about you; know you any here? Brr. Good morrow, noble captain. 2 Lorp. God biess you, captain Parolles. 1 Lorp. God save you, noble captain. 2 Lorp. Captain, what greeting will you to my lord Lafeu? I am for France. 1 Lorp. 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. [ Lxeunt Bertram, Lords, &c. 1 Sorp. You are undone, captain: all but your scarf, that has a knot on’t yet. Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 1 Soxp. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. are you well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of you there. [ Lait. Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, ’T would burst at this. Captain, I’ll be no more; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall: simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a brag- art Let him fear this; for it will come to pass, & Marseilles] Marseilles, in the old copy Marcelle, must be pronounced as a word of threesyllables—WMarsellis. See note (?), pi 247, Vv OlaLe b, When saucy trusting of the cozen’d thoughts Defiles the pitchy night,—] Hanmer reads fancy ; saucy, however, is sometimes employed by Shakespeare in the sense of prurient, and it may bear that meaning here. But how is the context to be understood ? c Yet, I pray you But with the word ;] Blackstone proposed an ingenious emendation of this passage :— “Yet, I fray you But with the word.” 44 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. —_ (SCENE v. That every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame! being fool’d, by foolery thrive ! There’s place, and means, for every man alive. I’ll after them. [ Lait. SCENE IV.—Florence. A Room in the Widow’s House. Enter Hetena, Widow, and Diana. Hex. That you may well perceive I have not wrong’d you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; ’fore whose throne ’tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty 'Tartar’s bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform’d, His grace is at Marseilles ;* to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know, I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We’ll be, before our welcome. Wop. Gentle madam, You never had a servant, to whose trust Your business was more welcome. Het. Nor you,* mistress, — Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love; doubt not, but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter’s dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen’d thoughts Defiles the pitchy night,” so lust doth play With what it loaths, for that which is away : But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. Dra. Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. Hzu, Yet, I pray you* (*) Old text, your. ‘‘T only frighten you by mentioning the word suffer: for a short time will bring on the season of happiness and delight.” With much diffidence we venture to suggest that Yet appa- rently stands for Now; and that we should read,— Yet, I pay you But with the word,” &c. Now I can only compensate your kindness by the word of promise ; but the time approaches when all that you undergo for my sake shall be substantially requited. ACT Iv.] But with the word ; the time will bring on summer, When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; Our waggon is prepar’d, and time revives* us: All’s well that ends well still: the fine’s the crown ;° Whate’er the course, the end is the renown. [ Hxeunt. SCENE V.—Rousillon. .A Room in the Countess’s Palace. Enter Countess, Larsv, and Clown. Lar. No,no,no, your son was misled with a snipt- affata fellow there, whose villainous saffron® would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour; your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. | Count. 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 partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted love. Lar. "T'was a good lady, ’twas a good lady: we may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such another herb. Cro. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the salad, or, rather the herb of grace. Lar. They are not salad-herbs,* you knave ; they are nose-herbs. Cro. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar,” sir, I have not much skill in grass.* Lar. Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool? Cro. A fool, sir, at a woman’s service, and a knaye at a man’s. Lar. Your distinction ? Cro. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. Lar. So you were a knaye at his service, indeed. Cro. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. (*) Old text, grace. & Time revives us:] Johnson suggested invites; Warburton, revies us—an old word signifying challenges, borrowed from the card-table; and Mr. Collier’s MS. annotator has reviles. Of these proposals, Warburton’s is by far the most plausible. Re- vives us, however, in the sense of reproaches us, mocks us, may be right. See Middleton’s ‘‘ Michaelmas Term,” Act II. Sc. 1:— ‘Thou revivest us, rascal!” b The fine’s the crown ;] The end’s the crown :—Finis coronat opus. ¢ Whose villainous saffron—] This villainous saffron, the com- ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE V. Lar. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool. Cro. At your service. Lar. No, no, no. Cro. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. Lar. Who’s that? a Frenchman ? Cro. Faith, sir, he has an English name,* but his phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. Lar. What prince is that ? Cro. The black prince, sir; alas, the prince of darkness ; alias, the devil. Lar. Hold thee, there’s my purse ; I give thee not this to suggest® thee from thy master thou talkest of ; serve him still. Cro. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a good fire. But, sure,‘ he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in his court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some, that humble themselves, may; but the many will be too chill and tender ; and they’ll be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire. Lar. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well looked to, without any tricks. Cro. If I put any tricks upon ’em, sir, they shall be jades’ tricks ; which are their own right by the law of nature. [Hait. Lar, A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.® Count. So he is. My lord, that’s gone, made himself much sport out of him; by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness, and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. Lar. I like him well; ’tis not amiss: and I was about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady’s death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master, to speak in the behalf of my daughter ; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath promised me to do it; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it ? (*) First folio, maine. mentators suppose, must be a reference to the fantastic fashion of stiffening and colouring the ruffs and bands with yellow starch. The allusion, we imagine, is rather to that constant subject of obloquy among the old writers,—‘‘the dissembling colour” of the arch-deceiver Judas’ hair. ad They are not salad-herbs,—] The old text has ‘‘herbs” only ; Rowe inserted ‘‘salad,” which the context appears to require. e To suggest thee—] That is, to seduce thee, to tempt thee. f But, sure,—] Some commentators would read, since. g Unhappy.] Waggish, mischievous. 45 ACT Iv.] Count. With very much content, my lord, and 1 wish it happily effected. Lar. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty: he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till they meet together. Lar. Madam, I was thinking, with what man- ners I might safely be admitted. Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. Lar. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter, but, I thank my God, it holds yet. ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE y. Re-enter Clown. Ciro. 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. Lar. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour ; so, belike, is that. Cro. But it is your carbonadoed face. Lar, Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to talk with the young noble soldier, Cro. ’Faith, there’s a dozen of ’em, with deli- cate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. [Haewnt. Pit t AY Y " A \\\ W Pan " Ao Py SCENE I.—Marseilles. A Street. Enter Hetena, Widow, and Diana, with two Attendants. Hex. 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 limbs in my affairs, Be bold, you do so grow in my requital, As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; Enter a Gentleman.(1) This man may help me to his majesty’s ear, If he would spend his power.—God save you, sir. Gent. And you. Hex. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Gent. I have been sometimes there. Het. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness ; And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which T shall continue thankful. GENT. What’s your will ? Het. 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 47 Het. Not here, sir? GENT. Not, indeed : He hence remoy’d last night, and with more haste Than is his use. Wo. Lord, how we lose our pains ! Hex. All’s well that ends well, yet ; Though time seem so adyérse, and means unfit.— I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ; Whither I am going. HEt. 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. Hex. And you shall find yourself to be well thank’d, Whate’er falls more. We must to horse again ;— Go, go, provide. [ Hxeunt. 48 } SCENE I1.—Rousilion. the Countess’s Palace. The enner Court of Enter Clown and Parouues. Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune’s mood,* and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. Cro. Truly, fortune’s displeasure is but slut- tish, 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. Cro. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man’s meta- phor. Pr’ythee, get thee further. & Muddied in fortune’s mood,—] Warburton reads, moat, and we have an impression that moat was the author’s word, ACT Y,] Par. ’Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Cro. Foh! pr’ythee stand away; a paper from fortune’s close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself. Enter LAFEv. Here is a pur of fortune’s, sir, or of fortune’s cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the carp as you may, for he looks like a poor, de- eayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [ Lait Clown. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. Lar. And what would you have me to do? ’tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her ?* There’s a quart d’écu 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. Lar. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha’t; save your word. Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Lar. You beg more than word,” then.—Cox’ my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. Lar. 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. Lar. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil ? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. | Zrumpets sound.| The king’s coming, I know by his trumpets.—Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night ; though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. Par. I praise God for you. [ Haxeunt. SCENE III.—TZhe same. A Room in the Countess’s Palace. Flourish. Enter Kine, Countess, Larev, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, &c. Kine. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem ° Was made much poorer by it: but your son, a Under her?] The word her, omitted in the first, is supplied by the second folio, 1632. b You beg more than word, then.—] Because Parolles is plural, and signifies words. : VOL. I. ' 49 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE Lit As mad in folly, lack’d the sense to know Her estimation home. Count. "Tis past, my liege : And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i’ the blade* of youth ; When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force, O’erbears it, and burns on. Kine. My honour’d lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all ;. Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch’d the time to shoot. Lar. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon,—the young lord Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife, Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive ; Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn’d to serve, Humbly call’d mistress. Kiue. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither ; We are reconcil’d, and the first view shall kill All repetition.°—Let him not ask our pardon ; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion we do bury The incensing relics of it: let him approach, A stranger, no offender ; and inform him, So ’tis our will he should. GENT. I shall, my liege. [Hat Gentleman. Kine. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke ? Lar. All that he is hath reference to your _ highness. Kiya. Then shall we have a match. letters sent me, That set him high in fame. I have Enter Bertram. Lar. He looks well on’t. Kane. I am not a day of season, For thou may’st see a sun-shine and a hail In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth, The time is fair again. Ber. My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. Kine. All is whole ; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let’s take the instant by the forward top, For we are old, and on our quick’st decrees ¢ And our esteem—] The sum of what we hold estimable. ad Done i’ the blade of youth ;] Theobald and Mr. Collier’s anno- tator, read ‘‘ blaze of youth.” © Repetition.—] ‘That is, recrimination. ay ACT V.] The inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals, ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord ? Brr. Admiringly, my liege: at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful pérspective did lend me, Which warp’d the line of every other favour ; Scorn’d a fair colour, or express’d it stol’n ; Extended or contracted all proportions, To a most hideous object: thence it came, [self, That she, whom all men prais’d, and whom my- Since I have lost, have lov’d, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. Kine. 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, 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. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless ! Or, ere they meet, in me O nature cesse !* [name Lar. Come on, my son, in whom my house’s 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, The last that e’er I took her leave at court,” I saw upon her finger. Brr. Hers it was not. Kine. 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, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to ’reave her a Which better than the first, &c.] These two lines form part of the King’s speech in the original. Theobald made the present arrangement, b The last that e’er I took her leave at court,—] Which means, The last time that ever I took leave of her at court. ¢ Ingag’d:] Ingaged is here used to imply wnengaged, or dis- ihe Bes as the old writers employ inhabited to’ express unin- abited. 50 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. [SCENE r1y, 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. Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon’d it At her life’s rate. Lar. I am sure, I saw her wear it. Ber. You are deceiv’d, my lord, she never sav it. In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp’d in a paper, which contain’d the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought I stood ingag’d:° but when I had subserib’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. Kine. Piutus* himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in nature’s mystery more science, Than I have in this ring: ’*twas mine, ’t was Helen’s, Whoever gave it you: then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess ’twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her. She call’d the saints to surety, That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, (Where you have never come,) or sent it us Upon her great disaster. Ber. She never saw it. Kane. Thou speak’st it falsely, as I love mine honour : And mak’st conjectural f fears to come into me, Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman,—’t will 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.— My fore-past proofs, howe’er the matter fall, Shall taxt 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. [Hat Bertram, guarded. (*) Old text, Platus. (+) First folio, connectural. (t) First folio, taze. d Shall tax my fears of little vanity,—] “The proofs which I have already had are sufficient to show that my fears were not vain and irrational, I have rather been hitherto more easy than I ought, and have unreasonably had too little fear.”’,—JoHNSON. ACT V. Enter a Gentleman. Kiva. I am wrapp’d in dismal thinkings. GENT. Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to* blame, or no, I know not ; Here’s a petition from a Florentine, Who hath, for four or five removes, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish’d thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage, and she told me, Tn a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. Kina. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower ; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour’s paid to him. LHe 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 Caputet. Lar. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll; for this, I’ll none of him. [ Lafeu, Kine. The heavens have thought well on thee, To bring forth this discovery.—Seek these suitors :— Go, speedily, and bring again the count. [Lxeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. T am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch’d. Count. Now, justice on the doers ! Enter Bertram, guarded. Kine. I wonder, sir, since” wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry.— Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow and Drana.° What woman’s that ? Dra. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capulet ; My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Wip. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. Kine. Come hither, count ; do you know these women ? a Whether I have been to blame,—] The original has ‘‘ too blame,” and the same reading occurs so frequently in the early editions of these plays, as to raise a doubt whether ‘‘ too blame,” was not an expression of the time. In ‘Henry IV.” First Part, Act III. Scene 1, it will be remembered, we have :—‘“ You are too wilful blame.” 51 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. SCENE Iii. Brr. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny But that I know them. Do they charge me further ? [wife ? Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your Brr. She’s none of mine, my Jord. Dra. 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, Hither both or none. Lar. Your reputation [Zo Brrrram.] comes too short for my daughter, you are no husband for her. Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, [ highness Whom sometime I have Jaugh’d with: let your Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, Than for to think that I would sink it here. Kane. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend, (honour, Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your Than in my thought it lies ! Dra. Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. Kine. What say’st thou to her? Brr. She’s impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. Dra. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price : Do not believe him: O, behold this ring, Whose high respect, and rich validity, Did lack a parallel ; yet, for all that, He gave it to a commoner o’ the camp, If I be one. Count. He blushes, and ’tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem Conferr’d by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been ow’d and worn. This is his wife; That ring’s a thousand proofs. Kine. Methought, you said, You saw one here in court could witness it. Dra. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument; his name’s Parolles. Lar. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. Kane. Find him, and bring him hither. [Hxit Attendants. Brr. What of him? He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o’ the world tax’d and debosh’d ; Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth. b J wonder, sir, since wives, &c.] The old text is, ‘‘I wonder, sir, sir, wives,” &c. The correction is due to Tyrwhitt. ¢ Re-enter, &c.] In the ancient stage direction, ‘‘ Enter Widow, Diana, and Parolles.” E 2 ACT v.] Am I or that, or this, for what he’ll utter, That will speak any thing ? Kine. 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 infinite cunning* 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. Dra. 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. T have it not. Kine. What ring was yours, I pray you? Dra. Sir, much like The same upon your finger. [of late. Kine. Know you this ring? this ring was his Dra. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. Kina. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. Dra. I have spoke the truth. Enter Parouues. Brr. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. Kane. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts ou. Is this the man you speak of ? Dra. Ay, my lord. Kine, Tell me, sirrah, but, tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, (Which, on your just proceeding, I’Il 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. Kine. Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman ? Pan. ’Faith, sir, he did love her; but how! Kine. How, I pray you? [a woman. Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves Kine, How is that? Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. Kine. As thou art a knaye, and no knave:— what an equivocal companion is this ? a Ter infinite cunning with her modern grace,—] The old copy reads, ‘‘ Her insuite comming,” &c. The extremely happy emenda- tion in the text was first suggested by the late Mr. Sidney Walker, and has since been found among the annotations of Mr. Collier’s ‘‘ Old Corrector.” 52 ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. (SCENE Ut. Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty’s command. Lar. He’s a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. Dra. Do you know, he promised me marriage ? Par. ’Faith, I know more than I’ll speak. Kine. But wilt thou not speak all thou know’st? Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her—for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as, promising her marriage, and things that would derive me ill-will to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I know. Kine. 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 ? Dra. Ay, my good lord. Kaine. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? | Dra. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. Kye. Who lent it you ? : Dra. It was not lent me neither. — Kane. Where did you find it then ? Dra. I found it not. Kine. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? Dra. I never gave it him. Lar. This woman’s an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. Kine. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. [ know. Dra. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I _ Kana. 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. Dra. I’ll uever tell you. Kine. Take her away. Dra. I’ll put in bail, my liege. Kane. I think thee now some common customer.° — Dra. By Jove, if ever I knew man, ’t was you. Kane. Wherefore hast thou accus’d him all this while ? Dra. Because he’s guilty, and he is not guilty; He knows I am no maj, and he’II swear to’t: I’ll swear, I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; I am either maid, or else this old man’s wife. [Pointing to LaFEv. b Too fine in thy evidence;] Trop fine, too full of finesse. ¢ Customer.] Customer was a term applied to a loose woman, | Thus, in “ Othello,” Act IV. Sc. 1:— “‘T marry her! what? a customer.” me AcT Y.} Krye. Sne does abuse our ears ; to prison with her. Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.—Stay, royal sir ; [Hxit Widow. The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abus’d me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm’d me, here I quit him: He knows himself my bed he hath defil’d ; And at that time he got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick ; So there’s my riddle, One that’s dead is quick, And now behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with Heiena. Kine. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is’t real, that I see? Het. No, my good lord ; Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. Ber. Both, both ; O, pardon! Het. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, And, look you, here’s your letter ; this it says, When From my finger you can get this ring, And are* by me with child, &.—This is done : Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? {*) First folio, zz. ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. | [SCENE III. Brr. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. Hex. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you !— O, my dear mother, do I see you living ? Lar. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon :— Good Tom Drum, [Zo Parorzzs.] lend me a handkerchief: so, I thank thee; wait on me home, I’l] make sport with thee. Let thy cour- tesies alone, they are scurvy ones. [know, Kine. Let us from point to point this story To make the even truth in pleasure flow :— If thou be’st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [Zo Diana. Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess, that by thy honest aid, Thou kept’st a wife herself, thyself a maid.— Of that, and all the progress, more and less, Resolvedly, more leisure shall express : All yet seems well, and, if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [ Flourish. (A dvancing.) The king’s a beggar, now the play is done ° All is well ended, 27 this swit be won, That you express content ; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts, Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. [ Exeunt. ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS AOD (1) Scenz I.—To whom I am now in ward.| The heirs of great fortunes, from the feudal ages down to as late as the middle of the seventeenth century, were, both in this country and in parts of France, under the wardship of the sovereign. (2) Scmne III.—Clown.] ‘The practice of retain- ing fools,” Douce observes, ‘‘can be traced in very remote times throughout almost all civilized and even among some barbarous nations. With respect to the antiquity of this custom in our own country, there is reason to suppose that it existed even during the period of our Saxon history; but we are quite certain of the fact in the reign of William the Conqueror. * * * The accounts of the household expenses of our sovereigns contain many payments and rewards to fools both foreign and domestic, the motives for which do not appear, but might perhaps have been some witty speech or comic action that had pleased the donors. Some of these payments are annual gifts at Christmas. Dr. Fuller, speaking of the court jester, whom, he says, some count a necessary evil, remarks, in his usual quaint manner, that it is an office which none but he that hath wit can perform, and none but he that wants it will perform. * * * “‘The sort of entertainment that fools were expected to afford, may be collected, in great variety, from our old plays, and particuiarly from those of Shakspeare; but perhaps no bette: :dea can be formed of their general mode of conduct than from the following passage in a singular tract by Lodge, entitled Wits Miserie, 1599, 4to:—‘Immodcrate and disordinate joy became incor- porate in the bodie of a jeaster; this fellow in person is comely, in apparell courtly, but in behaviour a very ape, and no man; his studie is to coine bitter jeasts, or to shew antique motions, or to sing baudie sonnets and ballads: give him a little wine in his head, he is con- tinually flearing and making of mouthes: he laughs in- temperately at every little occasion, and dances about the house, leaps over tables, out-skips mens heads, trips up his companions heeles, burns sack with a candle, and hath all the feats of a lord of misrule in the countrie: feed him in his humor, you shall have his heart, in meere kindness he will hug you in his armes, kisse you on the cheeke, and rapping out an horrible oth, crie Gods soule Tum, I love you, you know my poore heart, come to my chamber for a pipe of tabacco, there lives not a man in this world that T more honor. In these ceremonies you shall know his courting, and it is a speciall mark of him at the table, he sits and makes faces: keep not this fellow company, for in jugling with him, your wardropes shall be wasted, your credits crackt, your crownes consumed, and time (the most precious riches of the world) utterly lost. This is the picture of a real hireling or artificial fool.” The reader desirous of further information on the duties of the domestic jester wiil find them pleasantly illustrated in a curious and valuable tract, called Armin’s ‘‘ Nest of Ninnies,” 1608; of which a reprint has been made, from the only known copy, for the Shakespeare Society. (8) ScENE ITI.—A prophet I, madam.] “It is a suppo- sition, which has run through all ages and people, that natural fools have something in them of divinity; on which account they were esteemed’sacred. Travellers tell us in what esteem the Turks now hold them; nor had they less honour paid them heretofore in France, as appears from the old word bénet, for a natural fool.”— WARBURTON, 54 (4) ScenE JII.—One good woman in ten, madam ; which is a purifying o the song.| As Warburton suggested, it is probable the second stanza of the old ballad, which related to the ten remaining sons of Priam, ran :— ‘* If one be bad amongst nine good, There’s but one bad in ten.” The Countess objects, therefore, that in singing—‘‘ One good in ten,” the Clown corrupts the song ; whereupon he rejoins that inasmuch as the text says nothing whatever about good women, his emendation of ‘‘ One good woman in ten” in reality renders it more complimentary. (5) ScENE III,—Though honesty be no puritan, &c. &e. A correspondent in Knight’s ‘ Pictorial Shakspere’ remarks: ‘‘ This passage refers to the sour objection of the puritans to the use of the surplice in divine service, for which they wished to substitute the black Geneva gown. At this time the controversy with the puritans raged violently. Hooker’s fifth book of ‘ Kcclesiastical Polity,’ which, in the 29th Chapter, discusses this matter at length, was published in 1597. But the question itself is much older—as old as the Reformation, when it was agitated between the British and continental reformers. During the reign of Mary it troubled Frankfort, and on the accession of Elizabeth it was brought back to England, under the patronage of Archbishop Grindal, whose resi- dence in Germany, during his exile in Mary’s reign, had disposed him to Genevan theology. The dispute about ecclesiastical vestments may seem a trifle, but it was at this period made the ground upon which to try the first principles of Church authority: a point in itself unim- portant becomes vital when so large a question is made to turn upon it. Hence its prominency in the controversial writings of Shakspere’s time; and few among his audience would be likely to miss an allusion to a subject fiercely debated at Paul’s Cross and elsewhere.” (6) ScenE III.— My father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov’ d effects. | The text exhibits a very early and curious instance of the use of the word ‘‘ Prescription” as a medical formula, for which it was not generally current until the close of the seventeenth century. Previously to that time, the ordinary expression was ‘‘ Recipe ;” but in 1599 Bishop Hall employs both words in connexion, showing that they were to be regarded as synonymous :— ‘« And give a dose for everie disease In Prescripts long, and endless Recipes.’’ Satires, IV. B. 3. Dryden does the same also, in his Thirteenth Epistle, in which he likewise alludes to the custom of preserving such papers, — “‘ From files a random Recipe they take, And many deaths of one Prescription make.” In this manner the Hon. Robert Boyle appears to have made it his practice to preserve methodically all the recipes which had been written for himself in any sickness ; one of his Occasional Reflections being on ‘‘his reviewing and ve together the several bills filed in the apothecary’s shop.” The practice was probably commenced at an early period of the history of medicine, and was continued in family recipe books, especially in country places, throughout the * JLLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. greater part of the last century, with “Probatwm est” attached to the formule, where their virtues had been experienced. Dr. Czesar Adelmare, who died in 1569, left among his papers a number of very extraordinary prescriptions, which Sir Hans Sloane copied neatly out, and preserved in his collection of manuscripts, ACTHiL (1) ScenE I.— ——Let higher Italy (Those bated, that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy) see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed #; &e.] In 1494, Charles VIII. of France invaded Italy, under pretence of being the legitimate heir to the kingdom of Naples, to which he marched almost without opposition, and, as Sismondi says, ravaged all the country with the violence and force of a hurricane. Having subsequently entered into a conventior with the Florentines, he proceeded to Sienna, which he attempted to secure by establishing in it a French garrison. This city had long been regarded as the most powerful in Tuscany, after Florence, to which it had formerly been subject, as well as to the crown of Naples ; but at the period in question the citizens had set up in it an independent government, and had separated themselves from both, and also from their confederacy with the German Emperor. This dis- ruption had produced the most inveterate hatred between the Florentines and the Siennois; and in 1495 began that ‘‘braying war,” in which ‘‘the Florentines and Senoys were by the ears.” Finding that the powers of the north of Italy were so much disgusted by the insolence of the French, as to enter into a league against them, because they appeared to consider themselves as masters of the whole peninsula, Charles resolved on returning to France. He accordingly re-crossed the Apennines, October 22, 1495, leaving half his army at Naples, under his relative, Gilbert De Montpensier, as Viceroy. In this brief outline of the French invasion of Italy, will be found an explanation both of the policy of the king, and of a peculiar expression in the passage cited above. In virtue of the convention already mentioned, the Florentines were about to ask assistance from him, which the Emperor had written to desire they might not have ; and Charles accordingly refused to furnish any troops, as king of France. He was willing, however, to permit those young French noblemen who desired to be known as having served in the wars, to enter themselves as gentlemen- volunteers in a neutral foreign service, with either the Florentine or Siennois, the Guelph or the Ghibelline party, in conformity with the practice of the period, which proved so favourable to many soldiers of fortune. But in his parting address to these noblemen, the king excepts those States which had been formed in the barbaric con- fusion that prevailed upon the dismemberment of the Roman empire, States which literally inherited the spoils only of the ‘‘last monarchy,” or single government of Italy. In this exception it may be thought that Charles refers especially to the principalities of the north of Italy, which had entered into a coalition against him; but Shakespeare’s history in this play, and in others, must not * be examined too rigidly. (2) Scene I.— ——And no sword worn, But one to dance with. | As it was the fashion in Shakespeare’s time for gentlemen to dance with swords on, and the ordinary weapon was liable to impede their motions, rapiers, light and short, were made for the purpose :—‘‘ I think wee were as much dread or more of our enemies, when our gentlemen went simply and our serving-men plainely, without cuts or gards, bearing their heavy swordes and buckelers on their thighes, instead of cuts and gardes and light dauwnsing swordes ; and when they rode carrying good speares in theyr hands in stede of white rods, which they carry now more like ladies or gentlewomen than men; all which delicacyes maketh our men cleare effeminate and without strength.” — Srarrord’s Briefe Conceipt of English Pollicy, 1581, 4to. (8) Scene I.— He that of greatest works is finisher; Oft does them by the weakest minister : So holy writin babes hath gudgment shown, When judges have been babes. | The ordinary explanation of these lines refers them either to those passages in Scripture which set forth the mischiefs incident to a kingdom that is governed by a child, as Ecclesiastes x. 16, and Isaiah iii. 4, 12; or to St. Matthew xi. 25,—‘‘I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes:” and 1 Corinthians i. 27, ‘‘ But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty.” It seems probable, however, that the particular allusion is to the four children of the noble families of Israel who were appointed to be brought up for the king’s service ; Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah,—‘‘ As for these four children, God gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom ; therefore stood they before the king:” and Nebuchadnezzar set them ‘‘over the affairs of the province of Babylon,” - Daniel i. 3, 4, 17, 19 ; iii. 48, 49. The Hebrew word signifies youths, but the usual trans- lation is children. In Coverdale’s version, 1535, they are called ‘‘ young springalds.” (4) Scenz IIl.—A morris for May-day.| The Morris, or Morisco dance, is generally supposed to have been de- rived originally from the Moors, and to have come to us through Spain; where, indeed, according to Douce, it still continues to delight both natives and strangers, under the name of the Fandango. On its first introduction, it was probably a sort of military dance, like that of the Mata- chins in France and Italy; but subsequently the May games, the games of Robin Hood, the Church and other ** Ales,” and the Morris dance got inextricably blended together. See Douce’s ‘Illustrations of Shakspeare,” under Antient Hnglish Morris Dance. Of the appearance and behaviour of the dancers, Stubbes, in his ‘Anatomie of Abuses,” 1595, supplies a lively but no doubt exaggerated. picture :—‘‘ They bedecke themselves with scarffes, ribbons and laces, hanged all over with golde ringes, precious stones, and other jewels: this done, they tie about either legge twentie or fortie belles with rich handkerchiefes in their handes, and sometimes laid acrosse over their shoulders and neckes, borrowed for the most part of their pretie Mopsies and loving Bessies, for bussing them in the darke. Thus all things set in order, then have they their hobby-horses, their dragons and other antiques, togither with their baudie pipers, and thundering drummers, to strike up the Devil’s Daunce withall: then martch this heathen company towards the church and church-yarde, their pypers pyping, their drummers thundering, their stumpes dauncing, their belles jyngling, their handker- cheefes fluttering about their heades like madde men, their hobbie-horses, and other monsters skirmishing amongst the throng: and in this sorte they goe to the church, though the minister be at prayer or preaching, dauncing and swinging their handkerchiefes over their heades in tke church like devils incarnate, with such a con- fused noise, that no man can heare his own voyce.” * * * One of the most curious notices of the morris, as prac- tised in modern times, is given by Waldron, who says that, in the summer of 1783, he ‘‘saw at Richmond, in Surrey, a company of Morrice-Dancers from Abington, accompanied by a Fool in amotley-jacket, &c. who carried in his hand a staff or truncheon, about two feet long, having a blown-up bladder fastened to one end of it ; with 55 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. which he either buffeted the crowd, to keep them at a proper distance from the dancers, or played tricks for the spectators’ diversion. The Dancers and the Fool were Berkshire husbandmen, taking an annual circuit, collecting money from whoever would give them any; and (I ap- prehend) had derived the appendage of the bladder from custom immemorial ; not from old plays, or the commen- taries thereon.” (5) ScENE V.—Yow have made shift to run into’t, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard.} One ACT (1) ScznE V.— ; } Wp. God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound ? Het. Zo Saint Jaques le grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ?] By St. James the Great, Shakespeare no doubt signi- fied the apostle so called, whose celebrated shrine was at Compostella, in Spain; and Dr. Johnson rightly observes that Florence was somewhat out of the road in going thither from Rousillon. There was, how- ever, subsequently, another James, of La Marca of Ancona, a Franciscan confessor of the highest eminence for sanctity, who died at the convent of the Holy Trinity, near Naples, in A.D. 1476. He was not beatified until the seventeenth century, nor canonised until 1726; but it is quite possible that his reputation was very great in connexion with Italy, even at the period of this play ; and that Shakespeare adopted the name without con- sidering any other distinction. The same disregard of special peculiarities is evinced also in another part of the above passage, which makes palmers and pilgrims sy- nonymous names, as they were generally supposed to be in England in the seventeenth century, when the original distinction was forgotten. There were differences between them ; but it may be doubted whether those specified by ‘Somner and Blount rest upon any sufficient authority. ACT (1) Scene III.—Hoodman comes /| An allusion to the sport now known as ‘‘ Blind Man’s Buff,” formerly called ‘Hoodman Blind,” because the player, who was blinded, had his hood turned round to cover hiseyes. Shakespeare eas to this pastime again, in ‘‘ Hamlet,” Act III. ec. 4:— ——————“‘ What devil was’t That thus hath cozen’d you at hoodman blind?” (2) Scene IIl.—He has led the drum before the English tragedians.| The practice of announcing their arrival by beat of drum is still observed by some itinerant per- formers, and appears to have been a very old one. In Kemp’s ‘‘ Nine Daies Wonder,’’ 1600, there is a represent- ation of Kemp, attired as a morris-dancer, preceded by a character whom he called Thomas Slye, his taberer ; and Dr. Hunter has cited an instance from the annals of Don- caster, where, in 1684, the actors’ drum going round the town, a part of the military then stationed there took offence at it, and a serious riot was the consequence. _ (8) Scene IIIl.—Quart décu.] “The quart décu, or, as it was sometimes written, cardecue,” Douce says, “was a | of the absurdities practised at the great civic festivals formerly, was tor the Lord Mayor’s or Sheriff’s fool to spring on to the table, and, after uttering some doggerel balderdash, leap bodily into a huge custard; prepared, it may be supposed, for the purpose :— ‘¢ He may perchance, in tail of a sheriff’s dinner, Skip with a rhyme o’ the table, from New-nothing, And take his Almain leap into a custard, Shall make my lady mayoress and her sisters Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders.” BEN Jonson.—‘‘ The Devil is an Ass,’”’ Act I. Sc. 1 Ls When pilgrims or crusaders returned from the Holy Land, it was customary for them to carry in their hands, or have bound to their staves, branches of the palm which grows in Syria, as signs of their having completely per- formed the journey. They were then called Palmzferz, or Palm-bearers; and on the day following their arrival, when they went to a churcheto give thanks to God for their safe return, these palms were offered on the altar. Thus it will be perceived that all palmers were pilgrims ; but all pilgrims were not palmers, inasmuch as the “sions” of the performance of other pilgrimages were altogether different, and comprised a great variety of their own peculiar emblems. (2) ScenE VI.—John Drum’s entertainment.] To give any one John, or Tom, Drum’s entertainment, meant to drive him v7 et armis out of your company. It was a very old proverbial saying, the origin of which has never been satisfactorily explained. Holinshed, in speaking of the Mayor of Dublin, says, ‘‘ His porter or anie other officer, durst not for both his eares give the simplest man that resorted to his house Tom Drum his entertainment, which _ is, to hale a man in by the head, and thrust him out by both the shoulders.” IV. French piece of money, first coined in the reign of Henry III. It was the fourth part of the gold crown, and worth fifteen sols. It is a fact not generally known, that many foreion coins were current at this time in England ; some English coins were likewise circulated on the Continent, The French crown and its parts passed by weight only.” Mr. Halliwell gives an engraving of the quarter ecu, copied from the original of the time of Charles IX. ‘ It is dated 15738, and was struck at the Paris mint, the large letter A beneath the shield being the distinguishing mark used there. The superior workmanship and the purity of metal used for these coins, originated the French proverb, applied to persons of honour and probity, ‘ Etre marqué a YA.’” Inold English books it is almost always called either cardecue, or guardecue. ‘‘I compounded with them for a cavdakew, which is eighteen pence English.” —-CoryYAtT. ‘The Spanish Royall, piece of foure and eight, On me for my antiquity may waite, The Fioren, Guelder, and French Cardecue To me are upstarts, if records be true.”’ TAYLoR’s Workes, 1630, MOAR ME (1) Scenz I.—Hnter a Gentleman.] The original has ‘Enter a Gentle Astringer,” which is said to mean a gentleman falconer ; the term Astringer, derived from osturcus, or austurcus, having been formerly applied to one who kept goshawks, The introduction of such a retainer, 56 however, appears so utterly uncalled for, and the title gentle Astringer” is so peculiar, that we may reasonably suspect it to be an error of the press. The folio, 1632, reads, ‘‘a gentle Astranger ;” that of 1685, ‘‘a gentleman, a stranger.” ——iianl, CRITICAL OPINIONS ON Peete meV ith Ge Ter ANTS hen DiS=. WE TA. “ All’s Well that Ends Weill is the old story of a young maiden whose love looked much higher than her station. She obtains her lover in marriage from the hand of the King, as a reward for curing him of a hopeless and lingering disease, by means of a hereditary arcanum of her father, who had been in his lifetime a celebrated physician. The young man despises her virtue and beauty ; concludes the mar- riage only in appearance, and seeks in the dangers of war, deliverance from a domestic happiness which wounds his pride. By faithful endurance and an innocent fraud, she fulfils the apparently impossible conditions on which the Count had promised to acknowledge her as his wife. Love appears here in humble guise ; the wooing is on the woman’s side ; it is striving, unaided by a reciprocal inclination, to overcome the prejudices of birth. But as soon as Helena is united to the Count by a sacred bond, though by him considered an oppressive chain, her error becomes her virtue. She affects us by her patient suffering: the moment in which she appears to most advantage is when she accuses herself as the persecutor of her inflexible husband, and, under the pretext of a pilgrimage to atone for her error, privately leaves the house of her mother-in-law. Johnson expresses a cordial aversion for Count Bertram, and regrets that he should be allowed to come off at last with no other punishment than a temporary shame, nay, even be rewarded with the unmerited possession of a virtuous wife. But has Shakspeare ever attempted to soften the impression made by his unfeeling pride and light-hearted perversity? He has but given him the good qualities of a soldier. And does not the poet paint the true way of the world, which never makes much of man’s injustice to woman, if so-called family honour is preserved ? Bertram’s sole justification is, that by the exercise of arbitrary power, the King thought proper to con- strain him, in a matter of such delicacy and private right as the choice of a wife. Besides, this story, as well as that of Grissel and many similar ones, is intended to prove that woman’s truth and patience will at last triumph over man’s abuse of his superior power, while other novels and fabliaux are, on the other hand, true satires on woman’s inconsistency and cunning. In this piece old age is painted with rare favour ; the plain honesty of the King, the good-natured impetuosity of old Lafeu, the maternal indulgence of the Countess to Helena’s passion for her son, seem all, as it were, to vie with each other in endeavours to overcome the arrogance of the young Count. The style of the whole is more sen- tentious than imaginative ; the glowing colours of fancy could not with propriety have been employed on such a subject. In the passages where the humiliating rejection of the poor Helena is most painfully affecting, the cowardly Parolles steps in to the relief of the spectator. The mystification by which his pretended valour and his shameless slanders are unmasked, must be ranked among the most comic scenes that ever were invented: they contain matter enough for an excellent comedy, if Shakspeare were not always rich even to profusion. Falstaff has thrown Parolles into the shade, otherwise, among the poet’s comic characters, he would have been still more famous.”—ScHLEGEL. 57 Sh TANS WANTS MAY \\ ANY CA ay FEE: = <= YW Nb i ry | pie PT => \ Ni BRN a EF cps oi ier, bs wh Ky it lh \ vow A /\ SS | HK i x dee NT IN i TF PIP wg oe LILA LEFF ZT a oa a pelea MK LAN Yi, \ lal | RY) AS AN nyt Ba) To aah, Wh) Act IV. Se. 7. uy VAS y Pay Wnt NY AR h, h, h, Oe ein eee KL NEG eet aba NeRe Vey, HS Tue earliest edition of this play was published in 1600, under the title of—‘‘ The Chronicle History of Henry the fift, With his battell fought at Agin Court in France. Togither with Auntient Pistoll. As it hath bene sundry times playd by the Right honorable the Lord Chamberlaine his seruants. London,—Printed by Thomas Creede, tor Tho. Millington and Tohn Busby.” This was followed by another edition in 1602, and a third, in 1608. The question whether the copy from which these quartos were printed was a maimed and surreptitious version of the perfect play, made up from what could be collected by short-hand, or remembered from the stage representation, as Mr. Collier believes, or whether it was an authentic transcript of the poet’s first draft of the piece, but corrupted by the ordinary printing-house blunders, involves so much that is important in connexion with Shakespeare’s method of production, that it will be best considered when we come to his Life. Upon the evidence of a passage in the Chorus to the Fifth Act,— ‘* Were now the general of our gracious empress (As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, How many would the peaceful city quit, To welcome him !”— which bears an unmistakeable reference to the Irish expedition of the Karl of Essex, begun and terminated in 1599, this play is supposed to have been written in that year. Long before this date, however, Henry’s exploits in France had been commemorated upon the stage. Nash, in his “‘ Pierce Pennilesse,” 1592, says,—‘‘ What a glorious thing it is to have Henry the Fifth represented on the stage, leading the French King prisoner, and forcing both him and the Dolphin sweare fealtie ;” and “The famous Victories of Henry the Fift,” already spoken of in “ Henry IV.,” was no doubt both acted and printed prior to Shakespeare’s ‘“‘ Henry V.” Malone assumes the old historical drama alluded to by Nash, and ‘‘ The famous Victories, &c.” to be the same piece, which he says was exhibited before the year 1588, as Tarlton, who performed in it both the Chief Justice and the Clown, died in that year. Steevens speaks of them as distinct plays. The events comprehended in “ Henry V.” begin in the first year of the king’s reign, and terminate with his marriage of Katharine, the French princess, about eight years afterwards. 61 Aersons Represented, Kine Henry THE FIFTH. DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, Duxe oF BEDFORD, Doxe or Exeter, Unele to the Kina. Dvxe or York. ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. Ears OF SAltsBuRY, WESTMORELAND, and WARWICK. BisHop or Ety. Ear oF CAMBRIDGE, Lorp Scroop, Conspirators against the Kina. Sir THomas GREY, Sir THomas ErxpincHam, Gower, Fruniien, Macmorris, and Jamy, Officers in Kine Henry’s Army. Bates, Court, WiutraMs, Soldiers in the same. Piston, Nym, and Barporrnu. A Herald. Boy. Brothers to the KING. Chorus. CHARLES THE SixtH, King of France. Luwis, the Dauphin. Douxes or Burcunpy, ORLEANS, and Bourson. The CoNSTABLE of France. RAMBURES and GRANDPRE, French Lords. Monrsoy, a French Herald. Ambassadors to the King of England. Governor of Harfleur. IsaBEL, Queen of France. KATHARINE, Daughter of CHAnnEs and ISABEL. Antce, a Lady attending on the Princess KATHARINE. Quickuy, Pistons Wife, an Hostess. Lords, Ladies, Oficers, English and French Soldiers, M essengers, and Attendants. The Action at the beginning takes place in ENGLAND, but afterwards, wholly in FRANCE. ‘ \\ N\A \ A BRN S RANA A ‘ton Enter Crorvus.* O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention ! A. kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and, at his heels, Leash’d in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, The flat unraised spirits, that have? dar’d, On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth So great an object. Can this cock-pit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram, Within this wooden O, the very casques,* That did atfright the air at Agincourt ? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest, in little place, a million ; And let us, cyphers to this great accompt, *) First folio, Enter Prologue, (t) First folio, hath. On your imaginary forces work. Suppose, within the girdle of these walls Are now confin’d two mighty monarchies, Whose high-upreared and abutting fronts The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; Into a thousand parts divide one man, And make imaginary puissance : Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth: For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings ; Carry them here and there; jumping o’er times ; Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour- glass ; for the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history ; Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. a The very casques,—] The mere helmets. ‘ S— sige FLL KX Ee PHL ig oP ——= ——— —— — I ACT s Palace. ee ing in the K ber An Antecham London. SCENE I.— ro a2 -¢3 ee au mM 52 mM aes op ® ey 2 as & ae CJ 2 tos Share os es wow 35 AR ys a 2 She oo) afc e os ct ee oe < SS SOO ie) no ~ S = by ee 5 fa 3 aH Pw 46 Ow SS > Pray (e) | [se dt @ m jae) Enter the Arncust ple of the word, from Florio, whe explains a Scambling—] See note (¢), p. 319, Vol. I.; to which may he ~ Le) = S a8 3 Miss Sy 5 as ~~ 28 Ce R oe MS) Se wn =| re eee, i ro) ae ~ : mM Ces n“ o> na te igi ae os oa =| w aS 3 | — ® ao Ey fee: a) ax Lae ~ — 3 Ss ¢ =: at) =) a en rH = 3 Sees a's oO + eg a ae ph ne pa eS = 64 ACT I.] Exy. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession : For all the temporal lands, which men devout By testament have given to the church, Would they strip from us; being valued thus,— As much as would maintain, to the king’s honour, Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights ; Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ; And, to relief of lazars and weak age, Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil, A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied ; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year. ‘Thus runs the bill. Ey. This would drink deep. CANT. ’°T would drink the cup and all. Ey. But what prevention ? Cant. The king is full of grace and fair regard. Exy. And a true lover of the holy church. Cant. The courses of his youth promis’d it not. The breath no sooner left his father’s body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem’d to die too: yea, at that very moment, Consideration, like an angel, came, And whipp’d the offending Adam out of him ; Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made ; Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady currance, scouring faults ; Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,® As in this king. Ety. We are blessed in the change. Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, And, all-admiring, with an inward wish You would desire, the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say,—it hath been all-in-all his study : List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render’d you in music : Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, The air, a charter’d libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men’s ears, To steal his sweet and honey’d sentences ; @ And all at once,—] This was a trite phrase in Shakespeare’s day, though not one of his editors has noticed it. In ‘f As you Like It,” Act III. Sc. 5, where it again occurs,— 4 Who might be your mother? That you insult, exult, and ali at once Over the wretched ?”— some of them have even suspected a misprint, and proposed to read,— “6 and rail at once.” VOL. I. 65 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. ‘SCENE I. So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theoric: Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain ; His companies” unletter’d, rude, and shallow ; His hours fill’d up with riots, banquets, sports ; And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. Ey. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, Neighbour’d by fruit of baser quality: And so the prince obscur’d his contemplation ‘Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, | Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. Cant. It must be so: for miracles are ceas’d And therefore we must needs admit the means, How things are perfected. Ey. But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urg’d by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no? Cant. He seems indifferent ; Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, Than cherishing the exhibiters against us : For I have made an offer to his majesty,— Upon our spiritual convocation, And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open’d to his grace at large, As touching France,—to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. Ezy. How did this offer seem receiv’d, my lord ? Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ; Save, that there was not time enough to hear (As I perceiv’d his grace would fain have done,) The severals, and unhidden passages,° Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms, And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, Deriv’d from Edward, his great-grandfather. Ey. What was the impediment that broke this off ? Cant. The French ambassador, upon that in- stant, Crav’d audience :— and the hour, I think, is come, To give him hearing. Is it four o’ clock ? Ey. It is. It is frequently met with in the old writers. Thus, in “ The Fisherman’s Tale,” 1594, by F. Sabie:— ‘© She wept, she cride, she sob’d, and all at once.” And in Middleton’s ‘‘ Changeling,” Act IV, Sc. 3:— ‘6 Does love turn fool, run mad, and all at once?” b Companies—] That is, Companions. ¢ The severals, and unhidden passages,—] ‘‘ This line I suspect of corruption, though it may be fairly enough explained.—The passages of his ittles are the lines of succession by which his claims descend, Unhidden is open, clear.””—JoHNSON. ¥ Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy, Which I could with a ready guess declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. Ezy. I’ll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. [ Hxeunt. SCENE II.—The same. A Room of State in the same. Enter Kine Henry, Guoucestrr, Breprorp, Exeter, Warwick, WrsTMORELAND, and Attendants. K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canter- bury ? kixs. Not here in presence. K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege 2° ® In the quartos the play begins with this speech. 66 K. Hun. Not yet, my cousin; we would be resolv’d, Before we hear him, of some things of weight, That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the ARCHBISHOP of CANTERBURY, and the Bisuop of Exy. Cant. God and his angels guard your sacred throne, And make you long become it! K. Hen. Sure, we thank you: My learned lord, we pray you to proceed, And justly and religiously unfold, ° Why the law Salique, that they have in France, Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth ; ACT I.) For God doth know, how many, now in health, Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to: Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake our sleeping sword of war ; We charge you in the name of God, take heed: For never two such kingdoms did contend, Without much fall of blood, whose guiltless drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint ’Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord: For we will hear, note, and believe in heart, That what you speak is in your conscience wash’d As pure as sin with baptism. Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign,—and you peers,(1) That owe your lives, your faith, and services,* To this imperial throne-—There is no bar To make against your highness’ claim to France, But this, which they produce from Pharamond,— In terram Salicam mulieres né succedant, No woman shall succeed mm Salique land: Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze® To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, That the land Salique is in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe: Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French ; Who, holding in disdain the German women, For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish’d then this law,—to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land ; Which Salique, as I said, ’twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day, in Germany call’d Meisen. Then doth it well appear, the Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France ; Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of king Pharamond, Idly suppos’d the founder of this law ; Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the great &@ That owe your lives, your faith, and services,—] The folio reading is—‘‘ your selves, your lives,’”’ &c. b Gloze—] That is, misinterpret, put a false construction on ; and not, we believe, as the commentators say, expownd, or explain. ¢ To fine his title—] The first folio reads, ‘‘ To find,” &c. To Jine his title may mean, to embellish, or prank up his title; or to point his title, as Shakespeare makes use of fine in both these and in other senses. Mason conjectured that the metaphor was derived from the jining of liquors, which is also probable. a4 Convey’d himself us heir to the lady Lingare,—]) Thus the quartos. The folio, unmetrically, reads,— ‘¢ Convey’d himself as th’ heir to th’ lady Lingare ” 67 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. (SOENB II, Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Hight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also,—who usurp’d the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles.the great,— To fine® his title with some show* of truth, (Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, ) Convey’d ¢ himself as heir to the lady Lingare,(2) Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth,°® Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles, the foresaid duke of Lorraine: By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer’s sun, King Pepin’s title, and Hugh Capet’s claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female: So do the kings of France unto this day ; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, To bar your highness claiming from the female, And rather choose to hide them in a net, Than amply to imbare *‘ their crooked titles Usurp’d from you and your progenitors. K. Hen. May I with right and conscience make this claim ? Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ! For in the Book of Numbers is it writ,— When the son* dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag ; Look back into your mighty ancestors ; Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire’s tomb, From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great-uncle’s, Edward the black prince ; Who on the French ground play’d a tragedy, (*) First folio, shewes. (+) First folio, man. The sense of convey’d, in this passage, is rendered plainly by Bishop Cooper:—‘‘ Conjicere se in familiam; fo convey himself to be of some noble family.” e King Lewis the tenth,—] This should be ‘‘ Lewis the ninth.” Shakespeare adopted the error from Holinshed. f Than amply to imbare—] The folio has, imbarre; the first two quartos, imbace; and the third, embrace. We adopt the ac- cepted reading, which was first suggested by Warburton, and signifies, to lay bare. FQ ACT LJ Making defeat on the full power of France ; Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion’s whelp Forage in blood of French nobility.() O noble English, that could entertain With half their forces the full pride of France, And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work, and cold for action !* Ey. Awsuke remembrance of these valiant dead, And with your puissant arm renew their feats: You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; The blood and courage, that renowned them, . Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant lege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes. Ex. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. | West. They know your grace hath cause and ‘ means and might ; So hath your highness ; never king of England Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects ; Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, And lie pavilion’d in the fields of France. Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, With blood * and sword and fire to win your right : In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, As never did the clergy at one time, Bring in to any of your ancestors. K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the French ; But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. Cant. They of those marches, gracious sove- reion, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendment of the Scot, (*) Old copy, bloods. a And cold for action!] That is, for want of action. b They know your grace hath cause and means and might ; So hath your highness ;] So, tautologically, reads the passage in the folio, 1623, where alone it appears. We should, perhaps, transpose the words grace and cause, reading :— “‘They know your cause hath grace and means and might ;— So hath your highness ;” or, retaining their original sequence, substitute haste for hath in the second line;— “So haste, your highness.” © Ab the ill neighbourhood.] The quartos have,— 68 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. (SCENE II. Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us ; For you shall read, that my great-grandfather Never went with his forces into France, But that the Scot on his unfurnish’d kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force ; | Galling the gleaned land with hot assays ; | Girding with grievous siege castles and towns ; That England, being empty of defence, | Hath shook, and trembled at the ill neighbourhood.® _ Cant. She hath been then more fear’d than harm’d, my liege: For hear her but exampled by herself,— i When all her chivalry hath been in France, : And she a mourning widow of her nobles, | She hath herself not only well defended, But taken, and impounded as a stray, : The king of Scots; whom she did send to France, To fill king Edward’s fame with prisoner kings ; And make your® chronicle as rich with praise, As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. West. But there’s a saying, very old and true,— Tf that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin: For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ; Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat, To spoil* and havoc more than she can eat. Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home ? Yet that is but a crush’d® necessity, Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home ; For government, though high, and low, and lower, — Put into parts, doth keep in one concent,(4) Congreeing in a full and natural close, Like music. Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion ; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, (*) First folio, tame. ‘‘ Hath shook and trembled at the bruit hereof; ”— which we much prefer. d And make your chronicle—] The quartos read,— = your chronicles,” &c. ;— the folio :— ‘é their chronicle,” &c. As Johnson suggested, we ought, probably, to substitute,— “her chronicle.” © Yet that is but a crush’d necessity,—] Thus the folio. The J quartos have, ‘‘a ewrs’d necessity ;”*neither affords a perspicuous meaning. Mason proposed to read,— “ Yet that is not a curs’d necessity.” Warburton, ‘‘a ’scus’d necessity.” Capell, ‘‘a crude necessity.” ACT 1.] Obedience: for so work the honey bees, Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of sorts : Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer’s velvet buds ; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor ; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading-up the honey ; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; The sad-ey’d justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o’er to éxecutors pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,— That many things, having full reference To one concent, may work contrariously ; As many arrows, loosed several ways, Fly* to one mark; as many ways meet in one town ; As many fresh streams run‘ in one salt sea ; As many lines close in the dial’s centre ; So may a thousand actions, once afoot, Endt¢ in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four ; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice such powers left at home, Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, Let us be worried, and our nation lose The name of hardiness and policy. K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. [Hait an Attendant. Now are we well resolv’d: and, by God’s help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power, France being ours, we’ll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces. Or there we’ll sit, Ruling, in large and ample empery, O’er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: - Rither our history shall, with full mouth, ’ Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp’d with a waxen§ epitaph. (*) First fotio, Come. (t) First folio, And. (+) First folio, meet. (§) Quarto, paper. a A nimble galliard—] Sir John Davies in his ‘‘ Orchestra,” 1622, describes the galliard as :— ‘‘ A gallant daunce, that lively doth bewray A spirit and a vertue Masculine, Impatient that her house on earth should stay, KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE IL Enter Ambassadors of France. Now are we well prepar’d to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for, we hear, Your greeting is from him, not from the king. Ams. May’t please your majesty to give us leave, Freely to render what we have in charge ; Or shall we, sparingly, show you far off The Dauphin’s meaning and our embassy ? K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king ; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject, As are* our wretches fetter’d in our prisons : Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness, Tell us the Dauphin’s mind. AmB. Thus then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says,—that you savour too much of your youth; And bids you be advis’d, there’s nought in France, That can be with a nimble galliard* won ; You cannot revel into dukedoms there: He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. K. Hen. What treasure, uncle? EXE. Tennis-balls, my liege. K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us ; His present and your pains, we thank you for. When we have match’d our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God’s grace, play a set Shall strike his father’s crown into the hazard: Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler, That all the courts of France will be disturb’d With chases.” And we understand him well, How he comes o’er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England ; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous licence; as ’tis ever common, That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin,—I will keep my state, (*) First folio, zs. Since she her selfe is fiery and divine : Oft doth she make her body upward fline ; With lofty turnes and capriols in the ayre, Which with the lusty tunes accordeth faire.” b Chases.] Hlazard, courts, and chases, are terms noorrowed from the game of tennis. 69 Be like a king, and show my sail * of greatness, When I do rouse me in my throne of France : ® And show my sail of greatness,—] Mr. Collier's annotator reads, speciously,— ‘‘ ——_ my soul of greatness ; ”— but sai? we believe to have been Shakespeare’s ex ression. Thus in the Third Part of ‘‘Henry VI.” Act IIL. Se. 3 a ; sé now Margaret Must strike her sail, and learn awhile to serve, Where kings command.” 70 For that I have laid by my majesty, And plodded like a man for working-days ; Again, in Massinger’s play of ‘‘ The Picture,” Act II. Sc. 2:— “ Such is my full-sail’d confidence.”— Andin Beaumont and Fletcher’s ‘‘ Thierry and Theodoret,” II. Se. 1:— Uy I do begin To feel an alteration in my nature, And, in his fwll-sail’d confidence, a shower Of gentle rain,” &c. A A ot AcT I,] But I will rise there with so full a glory, That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince,—this mock of his Hath turn’d his balls to gun-stones;(5) and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear hus- bands, Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down, And some are yet ungotten and unborn, That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin’s scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, ‘To whom I do appeal; and in whose name, Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on, To venge me as I may, and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow’d cause. So, get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin, a Withreasonable swifiness—] Mr. Collier’s annotator has,— * Seasonable swiftness,’”’— which, however plausible, is tame and prosaic; by reasonable swiftness, is meant the speed of thought; as in ‘‘ Hamlet,” we have,— — KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE II. His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.— Convey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well. [Hxeunt Ambassadors. Kixr. This was a merry message. K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour That may give furtherance to our expedition : For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore, let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected, and all things thought upon, That may with reasonable * swiftness add More feathers to our wings: for, God before,” We’ll chide this Dauphin at his father’s door. Therefore, let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. [ Haxeunt. « wings as swift As meditation,” — And in ‘‘ Troilus and Cressida,” Act II. Sc. 2:— “The very wings of reason.” b God before,—] Thatis, ‘* I swear before God,” or ‘* God witness.” — = > 2 = = ( ery Mt AN Wey} —— = SS aa Enter Cuorus. Now all the youth of England are on fire, With treacherous crowns: and three corrupted And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ; men,— Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought One, Richard earl of Cambridge; and the second, Reigns solely in the breast of every man. Henry lord Scroop of Masham ; and the third, They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse ; Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,— Following the mirror of all Christian kings, Have for the gilt of France, (O guilt, indeed !) With winged heels, as English Mercuries. Confirm’d conspiracy with fearful France ; For now sits Expectation in the air ; And by their hands this grace of kings must die And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, (If hell and treason hold their promises, ) With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Promis’d to Harry, and his followers. Linger your patience on; and we'll digest The French, advis’d by good intelligence The abuse of distance ; force* a play. Of this most dreadful preparation The sum is paid: the traitors are agreed ; Shake in their fear; and with pale policy The king is set from London; and the scene Seek to divert the English purposes. Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton. O England !—model to thy inward greatness, There is the playhouse now, there must you sit, Like little body with a mighty heart,— And thence to France shall we convey you safe, What mightst thou do, that honour would And bring you back, charming the narrow seas thee do, To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, Were all thy children kind and natural! We’ll not offend one stomach with our play. But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out | But, till the king come forth, and not till then, A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [/ait. & Force a play.) So in the original. Possibl i i i ; o @ plat : y, however, an “Linger your patienc ; and I] digest ator S . inger y pati eon; and we iges sey he pleanie! ee shows which of old preceded The abuse of distance; fo esze a play.” ua : See the Chorus before Act III. 76 ACT IL. SCENE I.—London. Lastcheap. Enter, severally, Nym and Barpoupu. Barp. Well met, corporal Nym. Nya. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. ae What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet ¢ Ny. For my part, I care not: I say little ; but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; —but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I will wink, and hold out mine iron: it isa simple one, but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man’s sword will : and there’s an end.* _——- a And there’s an end.] The quartos read, ‘‘ And there’s the humour of it.” : ane we'll be all three sworn brothers—] See note (®), p. 484, ol. I. Barp. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you friends, and we’ll be all three sworn brothers” to France: let it be so, good corporal Nym. Ny. ’Faith, I will live so long as I may, that’s the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do* as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it. Barp. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and, certainly, she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. Nym. I cannot tell; things must be as they may: men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and, some say, knives have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare,* yet she will plod. (*) First folio, name. ¢ I will do as I may:) Monck Mason, with some reason, pro- posed to read :— ss die as I may.” me. io ACT IL] There must be conclusions :—well, I cannot tell. Barp. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife : —good corporal, be patient here.— Enter Pistout and Hostess.* How now, mine host Pistol ! Pist. Base tike, call’st thou me—host ? Now, by this hand, I swear I scorn the term ; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Host. No, by my troth, not long: for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gen- tlewomen, that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy- house straight. [Nym draws his sword.] O well- a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn!” now we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed. Barp. Good lieutenant,—good corporal,—otier nothing here. ° Nym. Pish !4 Pisr. Pish for thee, Iceland dog ! (1) thou prick- ear’d cur of Iceland! Host. Good corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword. Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you solus. [Sheathing his sword. Pist. Solus, egregious dog! O viper vile! The sodus in thy most marvellous face ; The so/us in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy ; And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! I do retort the sous in thy bowels: For I can take, and Pistol’s cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. Nym. I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well: if you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may; and that’s the humour of it. Pist. O braggart vile, and damned furious wight ! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near ; Therefore exhale. [Piston and Nym draw their swords. Barp. Hear me, hear me what I say :—he that strikes the first stroke, I’Il run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. [ Draws his sword. * Hostess.] The old copies have “Quickly,” but evidently through inadvertence, assheisalways afterwardscalled ‘Hostess,’ which, or ‘‘ Mistress Pistol,” is now her proper appellation. bO well-a-day, Lady, tf he be not drawn! now we shall see, &e.] In the folio, ‘if he be not hewne now.” The correction was made by Theobald. © Good lieutenant,—good corporal,—offer nothing here.] To obviate the inconsistency of Bardolph, himself the lieutenant, designating Pistol by that title, Capell prints, ‘‘Good ancient,” and Malone makes the sentence a part of the Hostess’s speech. This, however, is not the only anomaly of the same kind. In the opening of the present scene, Nym addresses Bardolph as ‘‘lieu- 74 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE 1. — Prst. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall — abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give ; Thy spirits are most tall. Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms; that is the humour of it. Pisr. Coupe le gorge! That is the word ?—I thee defy* again. O hound of Crete, think’st thou my spouse to get? No; to the spital go, And from the powdering-tub of infamy Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid’s kind, Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse : I have, and I will hold, the guondam Quickly For the only she; and—Pauca, there’s enough, to— Go to. Enter the Boy. Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my — master,—and you,f hostess ;—he is very sick, and would to bed.—Good Bardolph, put thy nose between his sheets, and do the office of a warming- pan: *faith, he’s very ill. Barp. Away, you rogue ! q Hosr. By my troth, he’ll yield the crow a pudding one of these days: the king has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. } [Huxeunt Hostess and Boy. Barp. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together; why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another’s throats ? Pist. Let floods o’erswell, and fiends for food howl on! Ny. You’ll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting ? | Pist. Base is the slave that pays. Ny. That now I will have; that’s the hu- mour of it. Pist. As manhood shall compound:; push home. | [Piston and Nym draw their swords. Barp. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, II] kill him ; by this sword, I will. Pist. Sword is an oath; and oaths must have their course. (*) First folio, defy thee. (t) First folio, your. tenant,” while in Act III. Sc. 2, he calls him “‘ corporal.” Again, in the Second Part of ‘‘Henry IV.” Act V. Sc. 5, Falstaff styles — Pistol “lieutenant,” though his military rank is only that of “ancient.” Whether these incongruities are the effect of design — or inattention on Shakespeare’s part, (they could hardly arise from carelessness in the printing office,) it is now, perhaps, impossible to determine; we prefer therefore to adhere to the old text. j y 4 Pish!] In the quartos ‘‘ Push!” the older form of the same _ contemptuous exclamation. See note (4), p, 731, Vol. I. a . Barp. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends; an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Pr’ythee, put up. Nym.'I shall have my eight shillings, I won of you at betting ?* Pisr. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay ; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood. I’ll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ;— Is not this just ?—for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. Ny. I shall have my noble? Pist. In cash most justly paid. Nya. Well then, that’s* the humour of it. Re-enter Hostess. - Host. As ever you camet of women, come in quickly to sir John: ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is (*) First folio, that. (+) First folio, come. most lamentable to behold. him. Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the knight, that’s the even of it. Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; His heart is fracted, and corroborate. Nym. The king is a good king, but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers. Pisr. Let us condole the knight, Sweet men, come to For, lambkins, we will live. [ Hxewnt. SCENE II.—Southampton. A Counevl Chamber. Enter Exutnr, Beprorp, and WESTMORELAND. Bev. ’Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. Eixn. They shall be apprehended by and by. a Ny. I shall have my eight shillings, &e.] This speech is omitted in the folio. 75 ACT II.] West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves ! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. _ Bev. The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. Exr. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull’d and cloy’d* with gracious fayvours,— That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign’s life to death and treachery! Trumpets sound. Enter Kine Henry, Scroop, Campriper, Grey, Lords, and Attendants. K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My lord of Cambridge, Masham,— And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution, and the act, For which we have in head assembled them ? Scroopr. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. K. Hen. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded, We carry not a heart with us from hence, That grows not in a fair concent with ours ; Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. Cam. Never was monarch better fear’d and lov’d, Than is your majesty; there’s not, I think, a subject, That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. Grey. True: those that were your father’s enemies Have steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness, And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit, According to the weight and worthiness. Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services. K. Hen. We judge no less.—Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, and my kind lord of a Dull’d and cloy’d—] So the folio; the quartos read, ‘‘ cloy'd and grac’d. b And, on his more advice,—] This is variously interpreted. We believe it to mean, on his further representations. ; 76 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE IT, That rail’d against our person: we consider, It was excess of wine that set him on ; And, on his more advice,” we pardon him. Scroop. That’s mercy, but too much security ; Let him be punish’d, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too, — Grey. Sir, you show great mercy, if you give him life, . . After the taste of much correction. | K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch. If little faults, proceeding on distemper, [eye, Shall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our When capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d, and di- gested, Appear before us !—We’ll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punish’d. And now to our French CAUSES ; Who are the late commissioners ? Cam. I one, my lord; Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. Scroop. So did you me, my liege. Grey. And me,° my royal sovereign. K. Hen. Then, Richard earl of Cambridge, there 1s yours ;— There yours, lord Scroop of Masham ;—and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: Read them; and know, I know your worthiness. — My lord of Westmoreland,—and uncle Exeter, We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gen- tlemen ! | What see you in those papers, that you lose So much complexion ?—look ye, how they change! Their cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there, - That hath* so cowarded and chas’d your blood Out of appearance ? Cam. I do confess my fault ; And do submit me to your highness’ mercy. Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. K. Hen. The mercy, that was quick in us but late, . By your own counsel is suppress’d and kill’d: You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes, and my noble peers, (*) First folio, have. © And me, my royal sovereign.] The folio has, ‘And J,” &¢. The quarto, ‘And me, my lord.” Aor 11 J These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge here,— You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir’d, And sworn unto the practices of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, This knight,—no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is,—hath likewise sworn.— But, O! What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop? thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature ! Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew’st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coined me into gold, Wouldst thou have practis’d on me for thy use? May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, That might annoy my finger? ’tis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black from white,* my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose, Working so grossly in a* natural cause,” That admiration did not whoop 7 at them: But thou, ’gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder, to wait on treason and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, That wrought upon thee so preposterously, Hath got the voice in hell for excellence ; And other devils that suggest by treasons, Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch’d From glistering semblances of piety ; But he that temper’d © thee, bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon, that hath gull’d thee thus, Should with his lion-gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar‘ back, And tell the legions—J can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman’s. O, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of aftiance! Show men dutiful ? Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned ? Why, so didst thou. Why, so didst thou. Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family ? Seem they religious ? Or are they spare in diet, (*) First folio, an. (+) First folio, hoope. & Black from white,—] So the quartos. and white.” > A naiural cause,—] Cause was probably a misprint for course. ¢ Temper’d thee,—] Moulded thee. Johnson proposed to read ** tempted thee.” 4 Vasty Tartar—] That is, Tartarus. © Garnish’d and deck'd in modest complement ;] Complement signified accomplishments, perfection, completeness: and was applied sometimes to mental, sometimes to physical attainments, The folio has ‘‘ black KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE It. Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, Garnish’d and deck’d in modest complement ;° Not working with the eye, without the ear, And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? Such and so finely boulted didst thou seem ; And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot To mark the* full-fraught man, and best indued, With some suspicion, I will weep for thee ; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man.‘—Their faults are open, Arrest them to the answer of the law ;— And God acquit them of their practices ! Kixn. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry? lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath dis- covered, And I repent my fault more than my death ; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. Cam. For me,—the gold of France did not seduce, Although I did admit it as a motive The sooner to effect what I intended : But God be thanked for prevention ; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me. Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason, Than I do at this hour joy o’er myself, Prevented from a damned enterprize: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. K. Hen. God quit you in his merey! Hea: your sentence. You have conspir’d against our royal person, Join’d with an enemy proclaim’d, and from his coffers Receiv’d the golden earnest of our death ; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt, And his whole kingdom into desolation. Touching our person, seek we no revenge ; But we our kingdom’s safety must so tender, (*) Old text, make thee. (+) First folio, Thomas. (t) First folio omits, J. and occasionally, as in the present instance, merely to the taste and elegance displayed in dress, Thus, in a note of Drayton’s upon the Epistle from Geraldine to Lord Surrey; ‘ but Apparell and the outward Appearance intituled Complement.” f Another fall of man.—] The whole of this speech from the line,— ‘* Treason and murder ever kept together,” inclusive, is omitted in the quartos, 77 AcT 11.] Whose ruin you have* sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death : The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences !—Bear them hence. [ Hxeunt Conspirators, guarded. Now, lords, for France; the enterprize whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason, lurking in our way, To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now, But every rub is smoothed on our way: Then forth, dear countrymen ; let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: No king of England, if not king of France. [ Hxewnt. SCENE III.—London. Pistol’s House in Lastcheap. Enter Pisrox, Hostess, Banpotpr, Nym, and Boy. Host. Pr’ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. Pist. No; for my manly heart doth yearn.— Bardolph, be blithe ;—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins ;— [ dead, Boy, bristle thy courage up ;—for Falstaff he is And we must yearn therefore. Barp. Would I were with him, wheresome’er he is, either in heaven or in hell! Host. ‘Nay, sure, he’s not in hell; he’s in Arthur’s bosom, if ever man went to Arthur’s bosom. ’A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child ;(2) ’a parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o’ the tide :(3) for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ ends,f I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ’a babbled of green fields.* How now, sir John? quoth I: what, man! be o good cheer. So’a cried out—Grod, ——- (*) First folio omits, have. (+) First folio, end. a And ’a babbled of green fields.] In the folio,—‘‘ his nose was as sharpe as a Pen, and a Table of greene fields.” The quartos have simply, ‘‘ His nose was as sharp as a pen.” Theo- bald’s famous emendation of ‘‘’a babbled of green fields,” has now become so completely a part of the text, that no editor will ever have the temerity to displace it. The conjecture of Pope, there fore, that ‘‘a table of green fields,” was a stage-direction for the property-man, (whom he supposed to be named Greenjfield,) to have a table ready on the stage—‘‘a table of Greenfield’s;”’ and the equally atrocious sophistication of Mr. Collier’s annotator— 78 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE III. God, God! three or four times: now I, to comfort him, bid him, ’a should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet: so, ’a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upward,* and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. Ny. They say, he cried out of sack. Hosr. Ay, that ’a did. Barp. And of women. Hosr. Nay, that ’a did not. Boy. Yes, that ’a did; and said, they were devils incarnate. Host. ’A could never abide carnation: ’twas a colour he never liked. Boy. ’A said once, the devil would have him about women. . Host. ’A did in some sort, indeed, handle women: but then he was rheumatic ;” and talked of the whore of Babylon. Boy. Do you not remember, ’a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ’a said, it was a black soul burning in hell ? Barp. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that’s all the riches I got in his service. Nym. Shall we shog? the king will be gone from Southampton. Pist. Come, let’s away.—My love, give me thy lips, Look to my chattels, and my movables: Let senses rule; the wordt is, Prtch and pay ;° Trust none, for oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck ; Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals—Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France! like horse-leeches, my boys ; To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! , Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. ‘Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. Barp. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu. Pist. Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command. Host. Farewell; adieu. [ Hxeunt. (*) First Zolio, up-peer’d. (+) First folio, world. ‘‘his mose was as sharp as a pen on a table of green frieze!” need only be mentioned to be laughed at. b Was rheumatic ;] Was lunatic, the ‘‘ quondam Quickly” means. ¢ Pitch andpay ;\ A proverbial saying, equivalent to our ‘‘ pay on delivery.” One of the old laws of Blackwell-hall, Farmer says, ‘‘ was that a penny be paid by the owner of every bale of post for pitching.” 'Tusser, in his description of Norwich, calls it,— ‘* A city trim; Where strangers well may seem to dwell, That pitch and pay, or keep their day.” AOT IT.] SCENE IV.—Franece. A Room in the French King’s Palace. Flourish. Enter Kina Cuarzes, attended ; the Daur, the Duxe of Bureunpy, the Con- stable, and others. K. Cua. Thus come the English with full power upon us, And more than carefully it us concerns, To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth,— And you, prince Dauphin,—with all swift despatch, To line and new repair our towns of war, With men of courage, and with means defendant: For England his approaches makes as fieice, As waters to the sucking of a gulf. It fits us then to be as provident As fear may teach us, out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English, Upon our fields. Dav. My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us ’gainst the foe ; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in question, ) But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain’d, assembled, and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say, ’t is meet we all go forth, To view the sick and feeble parts of France ; And let us do it with no show of fear, No, with no more, than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king’d, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Con. O peace, prince Dauphin ! You are too much mistaken in this king: Question, your grace, the late ambassadors,— With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and, withal, How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find, his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring, and be most delicate. Dav. Well, tis net so, my lord high constable ; But though we think it so, it is no matter: In cases of defence, ’tis best to weigh | a Which, of a weak and niggardly projection,—] We should, perhaps, read, ‘‘ Which if,” or ‘* Which oft.’ KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE IV. The enemy more mighty than he seems, So the proportions of defence are fill’d ; Which, of * a weak and niggardly projection, Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting A little cloth. K. Cua. Think we king Harry strong ; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us ; And he is bred out of that bloody strain, That haunted us in our familiar paths : Witness our too—much memorable shame, When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv’d, by the hand Of that black name, Edward, black prince of Wales ; Whiles that his mountain” sire,—on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown’d with the golden sun,— Saw his heroical seed, and smil’d to see him Mangle the work of nature, and deface The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him. Enter a Messenger. Mzrss. Ambassadors from Harry king of Eng- land Do crave admittance to your majesty. K. Cua. We’ll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. [Hxeunt Messenger and certain Lords. You see, this chase is hotly follow’d, friends. Dav. Turn head, and stop pursuit: for coward dogs Most spen] their mouths, when what they seem to threaten, Runs far before them. Good my scvereign, Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head ; Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lords, with Exrter and train. K. Cua. From our brother of England ? Exe. From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow’d glories, that, by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, ’long T'o him, and to his heirs; namely, the crown, _ And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, » Mountain sive,—] Theobald suggested, Mounting sire 79 ACT I1.] By custom and the ordinance of times, Unto the crown of France. That you may know, Tis no sinister, nor no awkward® claim, Pick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak’d, He sends you this most memorable line,” [Gives a paper. In every branch truly demonstrative ; Willing you, overlook this pedigree, And, when you find him evenly deriv’d From his most fam’d of famous ancestors, Edward the third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. K. Cua. Or else what follows ? [crown Exe. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove ; (That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws: and on your head Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries, The dead men’s blood, the pining * maidens’ groans, For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow’d in this controversy. This is his claim, his threat’ning, and my message ; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too.* K. Cua. For us, we will consider of this further : To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother of England. Dav. For the Dauphin, a Awkward—] Distorted. b Memorable line,—] Line is lineage, genealogy. ¢ Pining—] So the quartos; the folio has “ privy.” d Greeting too.] Thus the quartos; the folio reads, ‘ greeting to.” e Shall chide your trespass,—] Chide is here employed in its KING HENRY THE FIFTH. (SCENE Iv- I stand here for him ; what to him from England? Exe. Scorn and defiance; slight regard, con- tempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king: an if your father’s highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He’ll call you to so hot an answer of it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide® your trespass, and return your mock In second accent of his ordinance.’ Dav. Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will: for I desire Nothing but odds with England; to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with the Paris balls. Kixs. He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake fot it, Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe : And, be assur’d, you’ll find a difference, (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) Between the promise of his greener days, And these he masters now; now he weighs time, Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. K. Cua. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our kin Come here himeelf to question our delay ; For he is footed in this land already. K. Cua. You shall be soon despatch’d, with fair conditions : A night is but small breath,® and little pause, To answer matters of this consequence. [Hxewnt. double sense of rebuke and resound, or echo. f Ordinanee.] This was anciently spelt indifferently, ordnance, or ordinance. Here the metre requires it to be pronounced as a. trisyllable. g Small breath,—] Short breathing time. Enter Cuorvs. Thus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton* pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phebus fanning. f Play with your fancies; and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing : Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give To sounds confus’d: behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea, Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think, You stand upon the rivage,” and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; For so appears this fleet majestical, _ Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! Grapple your minds to sternage ” of this navy ; And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, (+) Old copy, fayning. The word is not unfrequent (*) Old copy, Dover. * Rivage,—] The shore or bank. W Otro hE, Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Hither past, or not arriv’d to, pith and puissance : For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France ? Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege : Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back ; ‘ Tells Harry—that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, Alarum ; and chambers go off: And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. | Hat. with our old writers, although this is the only instance of its occurrence in Shakespeare. b To sternage of this navy;| To the steerage, or course, of the fleet. G WEN Ee 4G0L SCENE I.—France. efore Harfleur. Alarums, Enter Kine Henry, Exrrer, Brep- ForD, GuoucresTER, and Soldiers, with scaling ladders. K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead ! In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness and humility : But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon* up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage : Then lend the eye a terrible aspéct ; Let it pry through the portage® of the head, Like the ‘brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it, As fearfully as doth a galled rock O’erhang and jutty® his confounded ® base, Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide : (*) Old copy, commune, -® Portage—] The port-holes. b Jutty—] Project, jut out. ¢ Confounded base,—] Demolished base. $2 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height !—On, on, you noble* English, Whose blood is fet“ from fathers of war-proof !— Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought, And sheath’d their swords for lack of argument :— Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest, That those, whom you call’d fathers, did beget you! Be copy now to ment of grosser blood, [yeomen, And teach them how to war!—And you, good Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear _— [not ; That you are worth your breeding ; which I doubt For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining { upon the start. The game’s afoot ; Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge, Cry —God for Harry! England and _ saint eorge ! [Lxeunt. Alarum; and chambers go off. (*) Old copy, Noblish. (t) Old copy, me. ({) Old copy, Straying. a Whose blood is fet—] Fet is frequently found in our early pets; itis the participle of the Anglo-Saxon verb fet-tan, te fetch. SCENE II.—The same. Forces pass over; then enter Barnvoipu, Nym, Pistoxt, and Boy. Barp. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach ! Nym. Pray thee, corporal,* stay; the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case” of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. Pist. The plain-song is most just ; for humours do abound ; Knocks go and come ; God’s vassals drop and die ; And sword and shield, 7 In bloody field, ~ Doth win immortal fame. Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in London ! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. Pist. And I: If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy. As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. ® Pray thee, corporal,—] See note (°), p. 74. b A case of lives :] A brace, or pair of lives. © Fluellen.] The Welsh pronunciation of Lluellyn. 83 Enter FLUELLEN.® Fro. Got’s plood!*—Up to the preach, you dogs! avyaunt, you cullions! [Driving them forward. Pist. Be merciful, great duke,° to men of mould! Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage! Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawceock, bate thy rage! use lenity, sweet chuck ! Nym. These be good humours !—your honour wins bad humours. [Hxeunt Nym, Piston, and Barpoupy, followed by FrunLuEn. Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers :* I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for, indeed, three such antics do not amount toaman. For Bardolph,—he is white-livered, and red-faced; by the means whereof, ’a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol,—he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword; by the means whereof ’a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym,—he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest ’a should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for ’a never broke any man’s a Got’s plood!] Omitted in the folio, probably on account of the Act 3 Jac. I. c.21. See note (4), p.562, Vol. I. © Great duke,—] Great leader. f Swashors.] Swaggerers, braggadochios. AOT IITI.] head but his own; and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it,—purchase. Bardolph stole a lute- case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching ; and in Calais they stole a fire shovel : I knew by that piece of service, the men would carry coals.* They would haye me as familiar with men’s pockets, as their gloves or their handker- chers; which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another’s pocket, to put into mine ; for it is plain pocketing-up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. [Hat Boy. Re-enter FivettEn, Gower following. Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come pre- sently to the mines; the duke of Gloucester would speak with you. Fiv. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so goot to come to the mines: for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, th’ athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you,) is digt himself four yard under the countermines: py Cheshu, I think, ’a will plow up all, if there is not petter directions. Gow. The duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, 1’ faith. Fru. It is captain Macmorris, is it not? Gow. I think it be. Fivu. Py Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the ’orld: I will verify as much in his peard: he has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Gow. Here ’a comes; and the Scots captain, captain Jamy, with him. Frv. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition, and knowledge, in the auncient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions : py Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any mili- tary man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. Enter Macmorris and Jamy. Jamy. I say, gude-day, captain Fluellen. Fru. God-den to your worship, goot captain James. Gow. How now, captain Maemorris! have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o’er ? * Carry coals.] See note (), p, 159, Vol. I. b What ish my nation ? &c.] Mr. Knight suggests that by acom- mon mistake in printing, the second and third lines were trans- posed, and that we should read, —‘‘ Who talks of my nation, ish a 84 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE II. Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done; the work ish give oyer, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father’s soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! Fuv. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication ; partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. Jamy. It sall be very gude, gude feith, gude captains baith: and I sall quit you with gude leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, mary. Mac. Itish no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the day ish hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes ; it ish no time to dis- course. ‘The town ish beseech’d, and the trompet call us to the breach; and we talk, and, by Chrish, do nothing; tish shame for us all: so God sa’ me, tish shame to stand still ; it ish shame, by my hand: and there ish throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done ; so Chrish sa’ me, la. Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, aile do gude service, or aile ligge 1’ the grund for it; ay, or go to death ; and aile pay’t as valorously as I may, that sal I surely do, that is the breff and the long: mary, I wad full fain heard some question ’tween you tway. Fiv. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation Mac. Of my nation? What ish my nation? ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal ? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation ?” Fru. Look you, if you take the matter other- wise than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradven- ture, I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you; peing as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my pirth, and in other particularities. Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. : Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. Jamy. Au! that’s a foul fault. [A parley sounded. villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and arascal.”” Thisis not un- likely ; yet it 1s equally probable, that the incoherence of the original was designed to mark the impetuosity of the speaker. ACT IIL] ‘Gow. The town sounds a parley. Frv. Captain Macmorris, when there is more petter opportunity to be required, look you, I will pe so pold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end.* [ Hxeunt. SCENE IIIl.—The same. Before the Gates of Harfleur. The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the English Forces below. Hunter Kine Henry, and us Train. K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town ? This is the latest parle we will admit: Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves, Or, like to men proud of destruction, Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh’d soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand, shall range With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins, and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, Array’d in flames, like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch’d complexion, all fell feats Enlink’d to waste and desolation ? What is’t to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation ? What rein can hold licentious wickedness, When down the hill he holds his fierce career ? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, As send precépts to the Leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town, and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of deadly * murder, spoil, and villainy. If not, why, in a moment, look to see The blind and bloody soldier, with foul hand, Defilet the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash’d to the walls ; (*) Old text, headly. (t) Old text, desire. a And there is an end.| This scene was well calculated to be effective in representation, The appearance at one time of an English, a Scotch, an Irish, anda Welsh man, could hardly fail to be an entertaining novelty on the early stage; but the profane gib- KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE LV. Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus’d Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry, At Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid? Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy’d? Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated, Returns us—that his powers are yet not ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy : Enter our gates, dispose of us and ours, For we no longer are defensible. K. Hen. Open your gates—Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly ’gainst the French : Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,—~ The winter coming on, and sickness growing Upon our soldiers,—we’ll retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest, To-morrow for the march are we address’d. [Flourish. The Kine, ke. enter the Town. SCENE IV.—Rouen. A Room in the Palace. Enter KATHARINE and ALICE.” Kartu. Alice, tu as été en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage. Aticr, Un peu, madame. Kartu. Je te prie, menseignez; wu faut que Japprenne & parler. Comment appelez-vous la main, en Anglais ? Artcr. La main? elle est appelée, de hand. Kats. De hand. Jt les dowgts ? Antcr. Les dowgts ? ma foi, 7 oublie les dowgts ; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense, qwils sont appelés de fingres ; owt, de fingres. Kartu. La main, de hand! les doigts, de fingres. Je pense, que je suis le bon écolier, J’ar gagné deux mots @ Anglais vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles ? Axicr. Les ongles ? les appelons, de nails. Kartu. De nails. coutez ; dites-mot, sv je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, e¢ de nails. Autor. Cest bien dit, madame ; wi est fort bon Anglais. Karn. Dites-moi Anglais pour le bras. Azicr. De arm, madame. Karu. Ht le coude. berish put into the mouths of Irish characters in Shakespeare’s day, would indicate but a very limited intercourse between this country and the sister Isle. b Enter Katharine and Alice.] Sothe quarto: the folio, instead of Alice, has ‘‘an old gentlewoman,.”’ 85 Aunicr. De elbow. Karu. De elbow. Je m’en fais la répétition de tous les mots, que vous m’avez appris dés a présent, Auicr. Jl est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. Katu. Hacusez-mot, Alice; écoutez: de hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. Axtcre. De elbow, madame. Karu. O Seigneur Diew! je men oublie! De elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? Aiick. De neck, madame. Karu. De nick: Zt le menton ? Anicre. De chin. Kartu. De sin. de sin. Aurcr. Our. Sauwf votre honneur ; en vérité, vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs @ Angleterre, Karn. Je ne doute point @apprendre par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. Le col, de nick: le menton, 86 Auicr. N’avez-vous pas déja oublé ce que je yous ar ensergnéc ? Karu. Won, je rectterai & vous promptement : de hand, de fingre, de mails,— Azticr. De nails, madame. Karn. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. Autor. Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. Karu. Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick; et de sin: Comment appelez-vous le pred et la robe ? Autcr. De foot, madame ; et de coun. Kartu. De foot, et de coun! O Secgneur Dieu ! ces sont mots de son mauvars, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames Whonneur @user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. Il faut de foot, et de coun, néanmoins. Je reciterat une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: de hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. Autcr. Lacellent, madame ! _ Karu. C'est assez pour une fois ; allons-nous ad diner, [ Hxewnt. ACT IIT. ] SCENE V.—TZhe same. same. Another Room in the Enter Kine Cuaruns, the Daupuin, Dux of Bovurzon, the Constable of France, and others, K. Cua. ’T'is certain, he hath pass’d the river Somme. Con. An if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France ; let us quit all, And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. Dav. O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us,— The emptying of our fathers’ luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters ? Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Nor- : man bastards ! Mort de ma vie ! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten* isle of Albion. Con. Dieu de battailes ! where have they this mettle ? Ts not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ? On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein’d jades, their barley broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses’ thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ; Poor—we may* call them, in their native lords. Dav. By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us, and plainly say, Our mettle is bred out ; and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth, To new-store France with bastard-warriors. Bour. They bid us—to the English dancing- schools, And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos ; (1) Saying, our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. K, Cua. Where is Montjoy the herald ? speed him hence ; Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.— (*) Old text omits, may. a Nook-shotten—] ‘‘ Shotten,” according to Warburton, ‘ sig- nifies any thing projected; so nook-shotten isle, is an isle that shoots out into capes, promontories, and necks of land, the very figure of Great Britain.” ‘‘ Nook-shotten isle,” however, may mean only, an isle, flung in a corner. b Sur-rein’d—] Perhaps, over-ridden, € Charles De-la-bret,—] Correctly, ‘‘Charles D’Albret,” but Shakesneare followed Holinshed, whocalls theConstable Delabreth. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE VI. Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edo’d More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles De-la-bret,* high-constable of France ; You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, Alengon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix," Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,° For your great seats, now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon : Go down upon him,—you have power enough,— And in a captive chariot, into Rouen Bring him our prisoner. Con. This becomes the great. Sorry am I, his numbers are so few, His soldiers sick, and famish’d in their march ; For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, He’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear, And, for achievement, offer us his ransom. Kine Cua. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy, And let him say to England, that we send T’o know what willing ransom he will give.-— Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. Dav. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. K. Cua. Be patient, for you shall remain with us.— Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all, And quickly bring us word of England’s fall. [| Haxeunt. SCENE VI.—The English Camp in Picardy. Enter, severally, Gowrr and FLUELLEN. Gow. How now, captain Fluellen? come you from the bridge ? Fiv. [assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the pridge. Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe ? ad Foix,—] The old text has Loys, which was not the name of any French house of distinction, in the books of that time. e Knights,—] Old text, kings; altered by Theobald. f And, for achievement,—] Should we not read, ‘*‘ And ’fore achievement?’? The import being, At sight of our ariny he will _be so intimidated, as to offer us his ransom before we have cap- tured him. In Act-1V. Sc. 3, Henry says,— ‘* Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones,” 87 ACT III | Fru. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is not, (Got pe praised and plessed!) any hurt in the ’orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an auncient lieutenant* there at the pridge,—I think, in my very conscience, he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the ’orld ; put I did see him do as gallant service. Gow. What do you call him? Fuv. He is called—auncient Pistol. Gow. I know him not. Enter Pistou. Fivu. Here is the man. Pisr. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. Fiv. Ay, I praise Got; and I have merited some love at his hands. Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, . *Of buxom? valour, hath,—by cruel fate And giddy Fortune’s furious fickle wheel,— That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone,— Fuuv. Py your patience, auncient Pistol. Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler pefore her f eyes, to signify to you that fortune is plind, and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and incon- stant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls ;—1in good truth, the poet is make® a most excellent description of it: Fortune, look you,* is an excellent moral. Pist. Fortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him ; For he hath stol’n a pawx,(2) and hanged must ’a be. A damned death ! Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free, (*) Old text prefixes, And. (t+) First folio, afore his. & An auncient lieutenant—] If Fluellen were not designed to blunder, we may suppose that liewlenant having been inadver- tently inserted in the first instance, and ancient afterwards inter- ee both by accident got printed in the text. The quartos read, ** There is an ensigne there.” b Buxom valour,—] The earliest meaning of this word was, pliant, yielding, obedient ; but in Shakespeare’s time it was com- monly used in the sense it appears to bear here, and in “‘ Pericles,” Act I. (Gower) that of lusty, sprightly, buoyant. ¢ The poet is make—] Thus the quartos; the folio has, ‘the poet makes,” &c. d Look you,—] These words are found only inthe quartos. © To executions ; for disciplines, &c.] In the folio, to execution ; for discipline, &c. As Mr. Knight both here and in other instances in the present scene has adopted, though silently, the 88 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE VI, And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate ; But Exeter hath given the doom of death, For pax of little price. Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice; And let not Bardolph’s vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach : Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. Fru. Auncient Pistol, I do partly understand - your meaning. Pist. Why then rejoice therefore. Fuv. Certainly, auncient, it is not a thing to rejoice at: for if, look you, he were my prother, I would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him to executions; for disciplines® ought to be used. Pist. Die and be damn’d; and figo’ for thy friendship ! Fru. It is well. Pist. The fig of Spain !8 Frv. Very goot. Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; I remember him now; a bawd, a cutpurse. Fru. [ll assure you, ’a utter’d as prave ’ords at the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day : but it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. [Lait Pistou. Gow. Why, ’tis a gull, a fool, arogue, that now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his return into London, under the form of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in the great com- manders’ names: and they will learn you by rote, where services were done ;—at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on ; and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned oaths: and what a beard of the general’s cut,(3) and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on! but you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellously mistook. Frv. I tell you what, captain Gower ;—I do perceive, he is not the man that he would gladly reading of the quartos, it: is not uncharitable to suppose that his objection to such a proceeding on the part of his brother-editors was a little more strongly expressed than felt. f And figo for thy friendship!) This is simply ‘‘a fig for thy friendship ;’’ as in the ‘‘ Merry Wives of Windsor,” Act I. Sc. 3, he says, ‘‘A fico for the phrase ;” there is no allusion apparently to the loathsome gesticulation mentioned in note (¢), p. 160, Vol. I. gs The fig of Spain!] From the corresponding passage in the quartos,—*‘ the fig of Spain within thy jaw,” and ‘‘ the fig within thy bowels and thy dirty maw,”—Pistol obviously refers here to the custom of administering poisoned figs, which appears to have been but too common both in Spain and Italy at one time:— “Tt may fall out that thou shalt be entic’d To sup sometimes with a magnifico, And have a fico foisted in thy dish.” GASCOIGNE’S Poems. Where a quibble was perhaps intended between magnifico and fico. So also in Vittoria Corombona:— tn A , “‘T look now fora Spanish fig, or an Italian sallad daily.” a ee ae ee Seo Ee a id 4 a —, e — OP oe Se) ACT III. ] make show to the ’orld he is; if I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you, the king is coming; and I must speak with him from the pridge. Enter Kine Henry, Guoucester, and Soldiers.* Fv. Got pless your majesty ! K. Hen. How now, Fluellen? cam’st thou from the bridge ? Ftv. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge : the French is gone off, look you, and there is gallant and most prave passages: marry, th’ athversary was have possession of the pridge, but he is enforced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master of the pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man. K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen ? Fiv. The perdition of th’ athversary hath been very great, reasonable great: marry, for my part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire ; and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red: but his nose is executed, and his fire’s out. K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut off :—and we give express charge, that, in our marches through the country, there be nothing compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for; none of the French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language ; for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. Tucket sounds. Hnter Montsoy. Mont. You know me by my habit. K. Hen. Well then, I know thee, What shall I know of thee? Mont. My master’s mind. K. Hen. Unfold it. Mont. Thus says my king:—Say thou to Harry of England: Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep; advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur, but that we thought not good to bruise an injury, till it were full ripe:—now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is imperial. England shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance, a And Scldicrs.] ‘The folio has, *‘ Enter the Kingand his poor souldiers.” KING HENRY THE FIFTH. Bid him, therefore, [SCENE VI. consider of his ransom; which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too poor ; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a number ; and for our disgrace, his own person kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add—defiance : and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose condemuation is pronounced. So far my king and master; so much my office. K. Hen. What is thy name? I know thy quality. Monr. Montjoy. K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, And tell thy king,—I do not seek him now, But could be willing to march on to Calais Without impeachment :? for, to say the sooth, (Though ’tis no wisdom to confess so much Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) My people are with sickness much enfeebled ; My numbers lessen’d; and those few I have, Almost no better than so many French ; Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, I thought, upon one pair of English legs [ God, Did march three Frenchmen,—Yet, forgive me, That I do brag thus !—this your air of France Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent. Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am ; My ransom, is this frail and worthless trunk, My army, but a weak and sickly guard ; Yet, God before,° tell him we will come on, Though France himself, and such another neigh- bour, Stand in our way. Montjoy.(4) Go, bid thy master well advise himself: If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder’d, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. The sum of all our answer is but this; We would not seek a battle as we are, Nor, as we are, we say, we will not shun it; So tell your master. Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness. - [ Hait Montsoy. Guo. I hope, they will not come upon us now. K. Hen. We are in God’s hand, brother, not in theirs. March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night :— Beyond the river we ’ll encamp ourselves, And on to-morrow bid them march away. [ Hxeunt. There’s for thy labour, b Impeachment:] Hindrance. © Yet, God before,—] See note (6), page 71. 89 AOT III. ] KING HENRY SCENE VII.—The French Camp, near Agincourt. Enter the Constante of Francn, the Duxr of Or EAnNs, the Daupuiy, the Lorp RamBures, and others. Con. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. Would it were day ! Ort. You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due, Con. It is the best horse of Europe. Orx. Will it never be morning ? Dav. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high- constable, you talk of horse and armour,— Oru. You are as well provided of both, as any prince in the world. Dav. What a long night is this !——TI will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns.* (a, ha /* He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, gui a les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, J am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. Oru. He’s of the colour of the nutmeg. Dav. And of the heat of the ginger. Itisa a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire, and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him: he is, indeed, a horse, and all other jades? you may call —beasts. Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse. Dav. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. Oru. No more, cousin. Dav. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the Jamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey ; it is a theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: ’tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign’s sovereign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart their particular functions, and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus: Wonder of nature,— Oru. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress. (*) Old copy, ch, ha’. ® On four pasterns.] So the folio, 1632, correcting the error of its predecessor, which has, postures. b And all other jades you may call—beasts.] Jade, it may be | 90 THE FIFTH. [SCENE VII. Dav. Then did they imitate that which I com- posed to my courser; for my horse is my mistress. Oru. Your mistress bears well. Dav. Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress. Con. Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back. Dav. So, perhaps, did yours. Con. Mine was not bridled. Dav. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kerne of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait strossers. Con. You have good judgment in horseman- ship. Dav. Be warned-by me, then: they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather have my horse to my mistress. Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. Dav. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears his® own hair. Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress. Dav. Le chien est retourné & son propre vomisse- ment, et la trurve lavée au bourbrer: thou makest use of any thing. Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mis- tress; or any such proverb, so little kin to the _ purpose. Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in your tent to-night,—are those stars, or suns, upon it ? Con. Stars, my lord. Dav. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. Con. And yet my sky shall not want. Dav. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honour, some were away. 7 Con. Even as your horse bears your praises, who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted. Dav. Would I were able to load him with his desert !— Will it never be day? I will trot to- morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of my way: but I would it were morn- ing, for I would fain be about the ears of the English. Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners ? Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them. noticed, was not invariably applied to a horse in a depreciatory sense. ¢ His own hair.] So the folio. In the quartos we have, “her ie hair.” His may have been used for the impersonal pronoun, Us. ie sat’ ACT II. Dav. ’Tis midnight, I'll go arm myself. [ Lxit. Oru. The Dauphin longs for morning. Ram. He longs to eat the English. Con. I think he will eat all he kills. Ort. By the white hand of my lady, he’s a gallant prince. Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath. Oru. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of France. Con. Doing is activity, and he will still be doing.* Oru. He never did harm that I heard of. Con. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep that good name still. Ort. I know him to be valiant. Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better than you. Ort. What’s he? Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he cared not who knew it. Ort. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body saw it, but his lackey: ’tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate.? Oru. Jll-will never said well. Con. I will cap that proverb with—TZhere 1s flattery in frrendship.° Ort. And I will take up that with—Give the devil his due. Con. Well placed; there stands your friend for the devil; have at the very eye of that proverb, with—A pox of the devil. Ort. You are the better at proverbs, by how much—A fool’s bolt is soon shot. Con. You have shot over. Ort. ’Tis not the first time you were overshot. a He will still be doing.] He will always be doing. This was a familiar saying; doing being used equivocally. b ’Tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate.] The allusion is to the ordinary action of a hawk when unhooded, which is to beat and flutter with its wings ; but a quibble may be KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE VII. . Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord high-constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tents. Con. Who hath measured the ground ? Mess. The lord Grandpré. Con, A valiant and most expert gentleman.— Would it were day !—Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for the dawning, as we do. Ort. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so far out of his knowledge ! Con. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away. Oru. That they lack: for. if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-picces. Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures ; their mastiffs are of unmatch- able courage. , Oru. Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten apples! You may as well say, —that ’s a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. Con. Just, just; and the men do sympa- thize with the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives: and then give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. Oru. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. Con. Then shall we find to-morrow—they have only stomachs:to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm; come, shall we about it? Ort. It is now two o’clock: but, let me see,— by ten, We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [ Hwxeunt. intended between bate, the hawking technical, and bate, to dwindle, abate, &e. ¢ There is flattery in friendship.] The usual form of the pro- verb is, *‘ There is falsehood in friendship.” Enter Cuorus. Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of | night, The hum of either army stilly* sounds, That the fix’d sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other’s watch. Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other’s umber’d? face : Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents, The armourers, accomplishing the knights,(1) With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, « Stilly sownds,—] That is, gently, sofily sounds. The word recals an illustration of ‘ stiJi music,’ which properly be- longed to note (¢), p. 870, Vol. I. but was there accidentally omitted, taken from ‘‘ A true reportarie of the most triumphant and royal accomplishment of the Baptisme of the most excel- lent, right high and mightie Prince, Frederik Henry,” &e. &e. 92 And the third hour of drowsy morning name.* Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, The confident and over-lusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice ; And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning’s danger; and their gesture sad, Investing ° Jank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Presentethf them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruin’d band, Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, Let him cry,—Praise and glory on his head! (*) Old copy, nam’d. (+) Old copy, Presented. ie :—‘* After which ensued a still noyse of recorders and utes.” b’ Umber’d face :] That is, shadowed face. ¢ Investing—] This has no meaning; might we read Infestive? st “ee Sa he ee. te a ee ee ee ee a ee ee ee dd a |) VE ee aA 4 o_o me ——_— sn as ot” ACT IV.] For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; Bids them good morrow, with a modest smile ; And calls them—brothers, friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face there is no note, How dread an army hath enrounded him ; Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night ; But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ; That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks; A largess universal, like the sun, KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE L His liberal eye doth give to every one, Thawing cold fear. Then,* mean and gentle all Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night ;” And go our scene must to the battle fly, Where, (O for pity !) we shall much disgrace— With four or five most vile and ragged foils, Right ill dispos’d, in brawl ridiculous,— The name of Agincourt. Yet, sit and see, Minding true things, by what their mockeries be. [ Hat, Og h SCENE I.—7he English Camp at Agincourt. Enter Kina Henry, Brepvrorp, and GLOUCESTER. K. Hen. Gloster, ’tis true, that we are in great danger, The greater therefore should our courage be.— ® Then, mean and gentle all,—] This is the reading adopted by Theobald; the folio having,—‘‘ that mean and gentle all,” which, as ‘mean and gentle ali” clearly refers to the audience, and not to the soldiers, must be an error, | “in the fight?” IV. Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty ! There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out ; For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful, and good husbandry : Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all; admonishing, ‘hat we should dress® us fairly for our end: b In the night;] Is it not more than probable the poet wrote, We have already seen ‘‘ a touch of Harry in the night.” | © Dress us—] That is, prepare us. 93 Aor KING HENRY THE FIFTUL Co Thus may we gather honey fiom the weed, K. Hen. Harry le Roy. . And make a moral of the devil himself. Pist. Le Roy / a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew ? K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. Pist. Know’st thou Fluellen ? Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham : K. Hen. Yes. ; A good soft pillow for that good ce head Pist. Tell him, I’ll knock his leek about his Were better than a churlish turf of France. pate, Erp. Not so, my liege; this lodging hkes me Upon saint David’s day. Weer K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in yours 3 Enter ERpIncHaM. [ Retires. Since I may say—Now lie I like a king. cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. K. ae : Tis good for men to love their present Pist. Art thou his friend 4 pains ; K. Hen. And his kinsman too. Upon example so, the spirit is eased : Pisr. The igo for thee, then! And, when the mind is quicken’d, out of doubt, K. Hen. I thank you: God be with yout The organs, though defunct and dead before, | Pist. My name is Pistol call'd. [ Bxit. Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move | K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. With casted slough and fresh legerity. Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.—Brothers both. Commend me to the princes in our camp ; Do my good morrow to them, and, anon, | | Enter FLUELLEN and Gower, severally. Desire them all to my pavilion. | | | Gow. Captain Fluellen ! [ Hxeunt GLoucEsTER and Brepronp. | 1 SNe x ae name! Of Ches)it) Castelo Erp. Shail I attend your grace ? ower. tis the greatest admiration in the uni- ries No, my good knight ; versal ’orld, when the true and auncient preroga- ; : le at i ’ | tifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle-taddle, nor pibble-pabble, in Pompey’s camp ; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies Gio. We shall, my liege. Go with my brothers to my lords of England: I and my bosom must debate awhile, And then I would no other company. Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! Heit ERPINGHAM. K. Hen. Cadence old bee thou speak’st Of the wars, arid the Caves) Om 3h aC l caoe tase cheerfully : it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. Gow. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night. Fiv. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb ; in your own conscience now ? Gow. I will speak lower. Fuv. I pray you, and peseech you, that you will. [Hxeunt GowER and FLUELLEN. K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There ts much care and valour in this Welshman. Enter Pisrou. Pist. Qui va la? K. Hun. A friend. Pist. Discuss unto me; art thou officer ? Or art thou base, common, and popular ? K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. Pist. Trail’st thou the puissant pike ? K. Hen. Even so, What are you? Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. Pist. The king’s a baweock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame ;* Enter Batrs, Court, and WittaMs.° Of parents good, of fist most valiant : I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-strings Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the I love the lovely bully. What’s thy name? morning which breaks yonder ? a An imp of fame;] Primitively, imp means shoot, and herea | whilethe folio has fewer. It is evident from Gower’s reply, that son. Pistol applies the same expression to the King in the lower is correct. Second Part of ‘‘ Henry IV.” Act V. Sc. 5:— ¢ Bates, Court, and Williams.] The old stage-direction runs, . re : : ‘“ The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame.” ee a souldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court, and Michae} b Speak lower.] So the quarto 1608. That of 1600 reads lewer ; 94 ACT Iv.] Barrs. I think it be, but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day. Witt. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there ? K. Hen. A friend. Wit. Under what captain serve you? K. Hen. Under sir Thomas* Erpingham. Writ. A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ? K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide. Bares. He hath not told his thought to the king? K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me; all his senses have but human con- ditions ; his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing; therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are: yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. Bares. He may show what outward courage he will; but, I believe, as cold a night as ’tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adven- tures, so we were quit here. K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my con- science of the king; I think he would not wish himself any where but where he is. Bates. Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men’s lives saved. K. Hun. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone, howsoever you speak this, to feel other men’s minds: methinks, I could not die any where so contented, as in the king’s company ; his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. Wu. That’s more than we know. Bares. Ay, or more than we should seek ‘after ; for we know enough, if we know we are the king’s subjects: if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out of us. Wit. But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry all—We died at such a place; some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some, upon their wives (*) Old copy, John. @ Contrived murder ;] Plotied, preconcerted murder. Thus, in KING HENRY THE FIFTH. (SCENE I. left poor behind them; some, upon the debts they owe; some, upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well, that die in a battle ; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; who to disobey,. were against all proportion of subjection. K. Hun. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him : or if a servant, under his master’s command, trans- porting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant’s damnation. But thisis not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his suldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers: some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and con- trived* murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law, and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God: war is his beadle ; war is his vengeance ; so that here men are punished, for before-breach of the king’s laws, in now the king’s quarrel: where they feared the death, they have borne life away, and where they would be safe, they perish: then if they die un- provided, no more is the king guilty of their dam- nation, than he was before guilty of those impieties for the which they are now visited. Every sub- ject’s duty is the king’s, but every subject’s soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed,—wash every mote out of his conscience ; and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was gained: and in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he let him out- live that day to see his greatness, and to teach others how they should prepare. Wi. ’Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the king is not to an- swer it. . Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. “Othello,” Act I. Sc. 2:— ** Yet do J hold it very stuff o’ th’ conscience, To do no contriv’d murder,” 95 AcT Iv.] K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed. Witu. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheer- fully ; but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne’er the wiser. K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. Witz. ’Mass,* you pay him then! That’s a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a peacock’s feather. Youll never trust his word after! come, ’tis a foolish saying. K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round ; I should be angry with you, if the time were con- venient. Wit. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. K. Hen. I embrace it. Witt. How shall I know thee again ? K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet; then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. Wit. Here’s my glove; give me another of thine. K. Hen. There. Wi. This will I also wear in my cap; if ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear. K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. Wit. Thou darest as well be hanged. K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king’s company. Wi. Keep thy word: fare thee well. Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends ; we have French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon. K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their shoulders: but itis no English treason, to cut French crowns,.and, to-morrow, the king himself will be a clipper. [ Hxeunt Soldiers. Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the king ;— We must bear all. O hard condition! twin-born with greatness, Subject to the breath of every fool, whose sense (*) First folio omits, ’Mass. & Ceremony ?] See note (¢), p. 23. b What is thy soul, O adoration?} The folio reads,— *‘ What ? is thy Soule of Odoration?’ We adopt the easy emendation, proposed by Dr, Johnson, which 96 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. | | | [SCENE 1, No more can feel, but his own wringing ! What infinite heart’s-ease must kings neglect, That private men enjoy ? And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ?* What kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ? What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in ? O ceremony, show me but thy worth ! What is thy soul, O adoration?” Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men ? Wherein thou art less happy being fear’d, Than they in fearing. What drink’st thon oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison’d flattery ? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! Think’st thou the'fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation ? Will it give place to flexure and low bending ? Can’st thou, when thou command’st the beggar’s knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play’st so subtly with a king’s repose ; I am a king, that find thee; and I know, "Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissu’d robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running ’fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world,— No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all thése, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who, with a body fill’d, and vacant mind, | Gets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful® bread ; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell; But, like a lackey, from the rise to set, Sweats in the eye of Pheebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn, Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse ; And follows so the ever-running year With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country’s peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots, What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. gives a clear and forcible meaning to what, in the original, is in- explicable. © Gets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful bread ;] Mr. Collier’s remorseless annotator substitutes, ‘distasteful bread.” If any change were needed, ‘‘ disrestful bread ’? would be more in Shake- speare’s manner; but ‘‘distressful bread,” the hard fare of poverty, is eats expressive, and better than anything suggested in its stead. = eh URN IN SEN erat ‘y Rae ir Ue) SARE SN “anit baie ‘t = a) An ra CL Enter ERPINGHAM. Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you. K. Hen. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent: I’ll be before thee. Erp. I shall do’t, my lord. [Hait. K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts ; Take from them now The sense of reck’ning, if the opposed numbers Piuck their hearts from them!—Not to-day, O Lord, O, not to-day, think not upon the fault, &e.] In the second line, which the folio prints,— ‘““The sense of reck’ning of th’ opposed numbers :”’ VOL. II. 97 is ‘Nh iit uit pei Hye li I) LATNNAD A IMA VK y WNW f SONS NY ANS i “i SASS aw Possess them not with fear ; take from them now The sense of reck’ning, if* the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them !—Not to-day, O Lord, O, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown ! I Richard’s body have interred new, And on it have bestow’d more contrite tears, Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither’d hands hold up Tyrwhitt first suggested z7f for of;—the reading we adopt. Mr. Singer and Mr. Knight exhibit the passage as follows :— «6 ______ Take from them now The sense of reckoning of the opposed numbers ! Pluck their hearts from them not to-day, O Lord, O not to-day! Think not upon the fault,” &c. H Z Gif if] VST —— Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and | have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still* for Richard’s soul. More will I do: Though all that I can do, is nothing worth, ‘ince that my penitence comes after all, i nploring pardon. Enter GLOUCESTER, Guo. My liege! K. Hen. My brother Gloster’s voice ?—Ay ; I know thy errand, I will go with thee :— The day, my friends,* and all things stay for me. [ Haewnt. SCENE IT.—7he French Camp. Enter the DAuPHIN, ORLEANS, Rampurgs, and others. Orzt. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords ! (*) First folio, friend. & Sing still for Richard’s soul.] That is, sing ever. » And dout them with superfluous courage.) Meaning, do out, extinguish them. The folio has, ‘‘ doubt them;” which Mr. Collier and Mr, Singer retain in the sense of awe, or make them afraid. 98 ‘— Dav. Montez & cheval ;—My horse! varlet lacquay ! ha! Ort. O brave spirit ! Dav. Via /—les eaux et la terre, Ori. Rien puis ? Vair et le feu, Dav. Cie ! cousin Orleans. Enter Constable. Now, my lord Constable ! Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh! Dav. Mount them, and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout? them with superfluous courage. Ha! Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses’ blood ? How shall we then behold their natural tears ? pee ae also reads doubt, although, in ‘*‘ Hamlet,” Act IV Se. 7,— “‘T have a speech of fire that faine would blaze, But that this folly doubts it; ”’— he changes doubts to douts. AcT Iv. } Enter a Messenger. Mass. The English are embattled, you French peers. Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yond poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands ; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, And sheath for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o’erturn them. ’"Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfiuous lackeys, and our peasants,— Who, in unnecessary action, swarm About our squares of battle,—were enow To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Though we, upon this mountain’s basis by Took stand for idle speculation : But that our honours must not. A very little-little let us do, And allis done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket-sonance, and the note to mount ; For our approach shall so much dare the field, That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. What’s to say ? Enter GRANDPRE. Granp. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France ? Yond island carrions,(1) desperate of their bones, Ill-favour’dly become the morning field : Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, And our air shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host, And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And, in their pale dull mouths, the gimmal-bit* a The g:immal-bit—] Spelt Iymold, in the old text. A bit in two parts ; and so called from the Latin gemellus, double or twinned. b IT stay but for my guard; on, &c.] A correspondent of Mr. Knight’s ingeniously suggests, what certainly seems called for by the context, that we ought to read, — “*T stay but for my guidon.—To the field !” The emendation is enforced, too, by a passage in Holinshed, where, speaking of the French, he says,—‘‘ They thought them- selves so sure of victory, that diverse of the noblemen made such haste towards the battle, that they left many of their servants aid men of war behind them, and some of them would not once 99 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE III, Lies foul with chaw’d grass, still and motionless ; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o’er them, all impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words, T’o demonstrate the life of such a battle In life so lifeless as it shows itself. Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. Dav. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits, And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them ? Con. I stay but for my guard ;” on, to the field : I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come away ! The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [ Hxeunt. SCENE II.—7he English Camp. FEinter the English Host ; GLoucrstER, Beprorp, Exerer, SaLispury, and WESTMORELAND. Guo. Where is the king ? Brp. The king himself is rode to view their battle. West. Of fighting men they have full three- score thousand. Extn. There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh. Sau. God’s arm strike with us! ’tis a fearful odds. God buy’ ° you, princes all; I’ll to my charge: If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully,—my noble lord of Bedford,— My dear lord Gloster,—and my good lord Exeter,— And my kind kinsman,—warriors all, adieu ! Brp. Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee ! Exes. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to- day : And yet I he thee wrong to mind thee of it,* For thou art fram’d of the firm truth of valour. [ Hoit SarisBury. Ben. He is as full of valour, as of kindness, Princely in both. WEsT. O that we now had here stay for their standards; as amongst other the Duke of Brabant when his standard was not come, caused a banner to be taken from a trumpet, and fastened to a speare, the which he com- manded to be borne before him, instead of a standard.” ¢ God buy’ you, princes all;] God buy’ is the same as our ‘‘ Good-bye,’-—a corruption of ‘‘ God be with you;” and in this instance, for the sake of the metre, the old form of it should be retained. d And yet Idotheewrong, &c.] The last two lines in this speech are annexed to the preceding one of Bedford in the folio: the present arrangement was suggested by Thirlby. H 2 Aot Iv.] Enter Kina Henry. But one ten thousand of those men in England, That do no work to-day ! K. Hen. What’s he, that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland ?—No, my fair cousin : If we are mark’d to die, we are enow To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost ; It-yearns me not, if men my garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But, if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, ’faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour, As one man more, methinks, would share from me, For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more ! Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man’s company, That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call’d—the feast of Crispian : (2) He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and sees old age,* Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,* And say, To-morrow is saint Crispian : Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, And say, These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.” Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he’ll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in their mouths as household words,—° Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, . Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,— Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d. This story shall the good man teach his son ; And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by ~ From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered,— (*) First folio, neighbours. a He that outlives this day, and sees old age,—] This is from the quartos, and is surely preferable to the lection of the folio :— “ He that shall see this day, and live old age.” b And say, These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.] This line is found only in the quartos. 100 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. | We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; (SCENE IIT. For he to-day that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition :* And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accurs’d, they were not here ; And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks, That fought with us upon saint Crispin’s day. Re-enter SALISBURY. Sat. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed : The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us. K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be 80. West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now ! K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz ? West. God’s will, my liege, would you and I alone ! Without more help, could fight this royal battle ! K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish’d five thousand men, Which likes me better, than to wish us one.— You know your places: God be with you all ! Tucket. Enter Monrtsovy. Monr. Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry, If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured overthrow : For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, The constable desires thee thou wilt mind Thy followers, of repentance ; that their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies Must lie and fester. K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? Mont. The constable of France. K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back ; Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. ¢ Familiar in their mouths as household words,—] So the quartos. In the folio the line runs,— “Familiar in his mouth as household words.” 4 Shall gentle his condition :] ‘“‘King Henry V. inhibited any — person but such as had a right by inheritance, or grant, to assume coats of arms, except those who fought with him at the battle of Agincourt; and, I think, these last were allowed the chief seats of honour at all feasts and publick meetings.”—ToLLeEr, ACT Iv.] Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus ? The man that once did sell the lion’s skin While the beast liv’d, was kill’d with hunting him. A many of our bodies shall no doubt Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust, Shall witness live in brass* of this day’s work : And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, They shall be fam’d ; for there the sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to heaven, Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. Mark, then, abounding valour in our English ; That, being dead, like to the bullet’s grazing,* Break out into a second course of mischief, Killing in relapse of mortality. Let me speak proudly ;—Tell the constable We are but warriors for the working day : Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch’d With rainy marching in the painful field ; There’s not a piece of feather in our host, (Good argument, I hope, we will not fly,) And time hath worn us into slovenry : But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim: And my poor soldiers tell me—yet ere night They’ll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck The gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads, And turn them out of service. If they do this, (As, if God please, they shall,) my ransom then Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour ; Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald ; They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints, — Which if they have as I will leave ’em them, Shall yield them little, tell the constable. Monr. I shall, king Harry. » I fear thou wilt once more come again for ransom.] This is not in the quartos; and the folio has,— ‘“‘T fear thou wilt once more come again for a ransom,” © Quality! cality! construe me, art thou a gentleman?] In the folio (the line is not found in the quartos) this is printed,— ‘“Qualitie calmie custure me.” Malone, having met with ‘‘A Sonet of a Lover in the Praise of his Lady, to Calen o custure me, sung at every line’s end,” concluded that the incomprehensible jargon of the folio was nothing else than this very burden, and he arcordingly gave the line,— ** Quality? Calen o custure me.” Subsequently, Boswell discovered that ‘“ Callino, castore me” is an old Irish song, still preserved in Playford’s ‘‘ Musical Com- panion.” Theline is now, therefore, usually printed,-—— KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE IY Enter the Duxe of Yorx. Yorx. vy Jord, most humbly on my knee I e The leading of the vaward. K. Hun. Take it, brave York.— Now, soldiers, march away :— And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! [ Hxeunt. SCENE IV.—The Field of Battle. Alarums ; Excursions. Enter Piston, French Soldier, and Boy. Pisr. Yield, cur! Fr. Sou. Je pense, que vous étes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité Pist. Quality / cality / construe me,° art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss ! Fr. Sou. O seigneur Dieu | Pist. O signiewr Dew should be a gentleman:— Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark ;— O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,‘ Except, O signieur, thou do give to me Kegregious ransom. Fr. Sou. O, prennez miséricorde! ayez pitié demot ! [moys ; Pist. Moy shall not serve, I -will have forty For I will fetch thy rim® out at thy throat, In drops of crimson blood. Fr. Sou. Lst-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras ? Pist. Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, Offer’st me brass ? Fr. Sox. O pardonnez-moi! [moys ?— Pist. Say’st thou me so? is that a ton of Come hither, boy ; ask me this slave in French, What is his name. Boy. Hcoutez ; comment etes-vous appelé ? Fr. Sou. Monsieur le Fer. “ Quality ? Caillino, castore me !” This solution of the difficulty is certainly curious and very cap- tivating; but to us the idea of Pistol holding a prisoner by the throat and quoting the fag end of a ballad at the same moment, is too preposterous, and in default of any better explanation of the mysterious syllables, we have adopted that of Warburton. d On point of fox,—] The modern editors all agree in informing us that ‘‘ Foe was an old cant word for a sword;” but why a sword was so called none of them appears to have been aware. The name was given from the circumstance that Andrea Ferrara, and, since his time, other foreign sword-cutlers, adopted a fox as the blade-mark of their weapons. Swords, with a running-fox rudely engraved on the blades, aye still occasionally to be met with in the old curiosity-shops of London. e For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat,—] Rim was a term formerly used, not very definitively, for a part of the intestines ; but Pistol’s rim (the folio spells it rymme) was, perhaps, as Mr. Knight conjectured, no more than a word coined for the non:e, in mimickry of the Frenchmaun’s guttural pronunciation. 101 Boy. He says, his name is—master Fer. Pist. Master Fer! 17ll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him:—discuss the same in French unto him. Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk. Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. Fr. Son. Que dit-il, monsieur ? Boy. Jl me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous prét ; car ce soldat ict est disposé tout & cette heure de couper votre gorge. Prist. Our, coupe le gorge, pesant, Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. Fr. Sor. O, je vous supplie, pour vamour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et ge vous donnerai deux cents écus. Pist. What are his words ? Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gentleman of a good house, and for his ransom, he will give you two hundred crowns. Pisr. Tell him my fury shall abate, And I the crowns will take. Fr. Sox. Petit monsieur, que dit-al ? Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier ; néanmoins, pour 102 par ma for, les écus que vous Vavez promis, u est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement. Fr. Sou. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remercimens : et je m’estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d’un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et trés distingué seigneur @ Angleterre. Pist. Expound unto me, boy. Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks: and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, (as he thinks,) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur — of England. Pisr. As I suck blood, I will some merey show.— Follow me ! [Hat PisTou. Boy. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. [#ait French Soldier. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true,—The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i’ the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger ;(#) and they — are both hanged ; and so would this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with — the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp: the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it, but boys. [ Haut, AOT {v.] SCENE V.—Another Part of the Field. Alarums. Enter the Daupuin, OrtEANs, Bour- BON, ConsTABLE, RAmpBurss, and others. Con. O diable ! Oru. O seigneur !—le jour est perdu, tout est perdu ! Dav. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes.—O méchante fortune / Do not run away. [A short alarum. Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. Dav. O perdurable shame !—let’s stab our- selves. Be these the wretches that we play’d at dice for ? Ort. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom ? Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame ! Let’s die in honour :* once more back again ; And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand, Like a base pander hold the chamber-door, Whilst by a slave,* no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminate.} [now ! Con. Disorder, that hath spoil’d us, friend us Let us, on heaps, go offer up our lives Unto these English, or else die with fame.” Oru. We are enow, yet living in the field, To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought upon. Bovur. The devil take order now! I’ll to the throng ; Let life be short: else, shame will be too long! [ Mxvunt. SCENE VI.—Another Part of the Meld. Enter Kine Henry and Forces ; ExtEr, and others. Alarums. K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen ; But all’s not done, yet keep the French the field. Exe. The duke of York commends him to your majesty. [this hour, K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice, within I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting ; From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. Eixr. In which array, (brave soldier, ) doth he lie, Larding the plain: and by his bloody side, (*) First folio, whilst a base slave. (+) First folio, contaminated. a Let’s die in honour:] In the folio, the passage stands,— ** Let us dye in once more backe againe.” The reading of the text, which was suggested by Mr. Knight, is . KING HENRY THE FIFTH. (SCENE Vit (Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,) The noble earl of Suffolk also lies, Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled o’er, Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep’d, And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes, That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; And* cries aloud,—Tarry, dear} cousin Suffolk f My soul shall thine keep company to heaven : Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast, As, in this glorious and well-foughten field, We kept together in our chivalry | Upon these words I came, and cheer’d him up: He smil’d me in the face, raught me his hand, And, with a feeble gripe, says,—Dear my lord, Commend my service to my sovereign. So did he turn, and over Suffolk’s neck - He threw his wounded arm, and kiss’d his lips ; And so, espous’d to death, with blood he seal’d A testament of noble-ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it fore’d Those waters from me, which I would have stopp’d ; But I had not so much of man in me, And all my mother came into mine eyes, And gave me up to tears. K. Hen. I blame you not ; For, hearing this, I must perforce compound With mistfult eyes, or they will issue too.— [Alarum. But, hark! what new alarum is this same ?— The French have reinfore’d their scatter’d men :— Then every soldier kill his prisoners ; (4) Give the word through. [Haewnt. SCENE VII.—Another Part of the Field. Alarums. Enter Fuurtitmn and Gower. Frv. Kill the poys and the luggage! ’tis ex- pressly against the law of arms: ’tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can pe offered; in your conscience now, Is it not? Gow. ’Tis certain, there’s not a boy left alive ; and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, have done this slaughter: besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the king’s tent; wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused every soldier to cut his prisoner’s throat. O, ’tis a gallant king ! Fiv. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower: what call you the town’s name, where Alexander the pig was porn ? (*) First folio, He. (t) First folio, my. ({) Old text, mizxitful. supported by a line in the corresponding scene of the quartos :— ‘* Let’s dye with honor, our shame doth last too long.” b Unto these English, or else die with fame.] This line ig not in the folio. 103 - AST Iv.] Gow. Alexander the great. Fiv. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations. Gow. I think Alexander the great was born in Macedon; his father was called—Philip of Macedon, as I take it. Fuv. I think it isin Macedon, where Alexander is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in the maps of the ’orld, I warrant, you sall find, in the comparisons petween Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is poth alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth: it is called Wye, at Mon- mouth; put it is out of my prains, what is the name of the other river: put ’tis all one, ’tis a- like as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in poth. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is come after it indifferent well, for there is figures in all things. Alexander (Got knows, and you know,) in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indig- nations, and also peing a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. . Gow. Our king is not like him in that; he never killed any of his friends. Frv. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end* and finished. I speak put in the figures and comparisons of it: as Alexander killed his friend Clytus, peing in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, peing in his right wits and his goot judgments, turned away the fat knight with the great pelly doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name. Gow. Sir John Falstaff. Fiv. That is he: I’ll tell you, there is goot men porn at Monmouth. Gow. Here comes his majesty. Alarum. nter Kine Henry, with a part of the English /orces ; Warwick, GLOUCESTER, Exnter, and others. K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France, (*) First folio omits, an end. a To book our dead,—] Mr. Collier’s annotator reads ‘‘ to look our dead,” which is at least a very plausible emendation. Thus, in ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor,” Act IV. Sc. 2,— ‘Mistress Page and I will look some linen for your head.” Again, in “ As You Like It,” Act IT. Sc. 5,— 104 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCHNE VII. Until this instant.—Take a trumpet, herald ; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill ; If they will fight with us, bid them come down, Or void the field: they do offend our sight: If they ’ll do neither, we will come to them, And make them skir away, as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : Besides, we ’Il cut the throats of those we have ; And not a man of them that we shall take, Shall taste our mercy :—Go, and tell tnem so. Ex. Here comes the Herald of the French, my liege. Guo. His eyes are humbler than they us’d to be. Enter Montsoy. K. Hen. How now! what means this, herald? know’st thou not, That I have fin’d these bones of mine for ransom ? Com’st thou again for ransom ? Mont. No, great king: I come to thee for charitable licence, That we may wander o’er this bloody field, To book* our dead, and then to bury them ; To sort our nobles from our common men,— For many of our princes (woe the while !) Lie drown’d and soak’d in mercenary blood ; (So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes ;) and their* wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in*gore, and with wild rage Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king, To view the field in safety, and dispose Of their dead bodies. K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, I know not if the day be ours or no ; For yet a many of your horsemen peer And gallop o’er the field. Mont. The day is yours. K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it !— What is this castle call’d, that stands hard by ? Monr. They call it—Agincourt. K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agin- court, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. Fru. Your grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your majesty, and your great-uncle (*) Old text, with. ‘‘ He hath been all this day to look you.” And again, in ‘‘ All’s Well That Ends Well,” Act III. Sc. 6,— “‘T must go look my twigs.” To book our dead, was, however, we have no doubt, the poet’s phrase. ~ ACT Lv.] Edward the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. KX. Hen. They did, Fluellen. Fru. Your majesty says very true. It your majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot service in a garden where lecks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps, which, your majesty know, to this hour is an honourable padge of the service: and, I do pelieve, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon saint Tavy’s day. K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour : For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. Fiv. All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty’s Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too! K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman.* Fru. By Cheshu, I am your majesty’s country- man, I care not who know it; I will confess it to all the ’orld: I need not be ashamed of your majesty, praised pe God, so long as your majesty is an honest man. K. Hen. God? keep me so!—Our heralds go with him ; Bring me just notice of the numbers dead On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. [Points to Witt1ams. Hxeunt Montsoy, and others. Ex. Soldier, you must come to the king. K. Hen. Soldier, why wear’st thou that glove in thy cap ? Wi. An’t please your majesty, ’t is the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. K. Hey. An Englishman ? Witt. An’t please your majesty, a rascal, that swaggered with me last night: who, if ’a live, and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o’ the ear: or, if I can see my glove in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly. K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it fit this soldier keep his oath ? Fuv. He is a craven and a villain else, an’t please your majesty, in my conscience. K. Hen. It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. Fru. Though he pe as goot a gentleman as the tevil is, as Lucifer and Pelzebub himself, it is necessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath: if he pe perjured, see you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack-sauce, as ever his plack shoe trod upon Got’s ground and his earth, in my conscience, la. (+) Pirst folio, Good. (*) First folio, countrymen. KING HENRY THE FIFTH. (SCENE VIII. K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet’st the fellow. Witt. So I will, my liege, as I live. K. Hen. Who servest thou under ? Wiu. Under captain Gower, my liege. Fru. Gower is a goot captain, and is goot knowledge and literatured in the wars. K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. Wu. I will, my lege. [ Heit. K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this favour for me, and stick it in thy cap: when Alengon and myself were down together, I plucked this glove from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alengon, and an enemy to our person ; if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love. iv. Your grace does me as great honours, as can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain see the man, that has put two legs, that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all; put I would fain see it once; an please Got of his grace, that [ might see. K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower ? Fiv. He is my dear friend, an please you. K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent. Frv. I will fetch him. [ Lat. K. Hen. My lord of Warwick,—and my brother Gloster, Follow Fluellen closely at the heels: The glove which I have given him for a favour, May haply purchase him a box o’ the ear ; It is the soldier’s ; I, by bargain, should Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick : If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) Some sudden mischief may arise of it ; For I do know Fluellen valiant, And, touch’d with choler, hot as gunpowder, And quickly will return an injury: Follow, and see there be no harm between them.— Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [ Hxeunt. SCENE VIIi.—Before King Henry’s Pavilion. Enter GowER and WituiaAMs. Wr. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. Enter FLUELLEN. Fru. Got’s will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech you now, come apace to the king: there is more goot toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledge to dream of. Wi. Sir, know you this glove ? 105 AcT Iv.] Ftv. Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove. Wut. I know this, and thus I challenge it. [Strokes him. Exv. ’Splud, an arrant traitor, as any’s in the universal orld, or in France, or in England. Gow. How now, sir? you villain! Writ. Do you think I’ll be forsworn ? Frivu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. Witt. I am no traitor. Fru. That’s a lie in thy throat.—I charge you in his majesty’s name, apprehend him; he’s a friend of the duke Alengon’s. Enter Warwick and GuoucESTER. War. How now! how now! what’s the matter ? Fru. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer’s day. Here is his majesty. Enter Kina Henry and Exeter. K. Hen. How now! what’s the matter? Frv. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your grace, has struck the glove which your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencon. Wut. My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it: and he, that I gave it to in change, promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike him, if he did: I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word. j Fru. Your majesty hear now (saving your majesty’s manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, peggarly, lousy knave it is: I hope your majesty is pear me testimony, and witness, and will avouch- ment that this is the glove of Alencon, that your majesty is give me, in your conscience, now. K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here is the fellow of it. ’T was I, indeed, thou promised’st to strike ; And thou hast given me most bitter terms. Fro. An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the orld. ; K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction ? Wit. All offences, my liege,* come from the heart: never came any from mine, that might offend your majesty. K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. Witt. Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to me but as a common man ; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and (*) First folio, my Lord, 106 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCHNB VIII. what your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you, take it for your own fault, and not mine: for had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me. K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, And give it to this fellow.—Keep it, fellow, And wear it for an honour in thy cap, Till I do challenge it—Give him the crowns :— And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. Fiv. Py this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his pelly—Hold, there is twelve- pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and I warrant you, it is the petter for you. Wut. I will none of your money. Fiv. It is with a goot will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes: come, where- fore should you be so pashful? your shoes is not so goot: tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. Enter an English Herald. K. Hen. Now, herald; are the dead number’d? Her. Here is the number of the slaughter’d French. [Delivers a paper. K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle ? Iixr. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king ; John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt : Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French, That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this number, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead One hundred twenty-six: added to these, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, Hight thousand and four hundred ; of the which, Five hundred were but yesterday dubb’d knights: So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, And gentlemen of blood and quality. The names of those their nobles that lie dead,— Charles De-la-bret, high-constable of France ; Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France ; The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures ; Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard Dauphin ; John duke of Alengon; Antony duke of Brabant, ACT Iv.] The brother to the duke of Burgundy ; And Edward duke of Bar: of lusty earls, Grandpré, and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, Beaumont, and Marle, Vaudemont, and Lestrale. Here was a royal fellowship‘of death! Where is the number of our English dead ? [Herald presents another paper. Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: None else of name; and, of all other men, But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here, And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Ascribe we all !—When, without stratagem, But in plain shock and even play of battle, Was ever known so great and little loss, On one part and on th’ other ?—Take it, God, For it is none but thine! *T is wonderful ! KING HENRY THE FIFTH. | [SCENE VIII. K. Hen. Come, go we* in procession to the village : And be it death proclaimed through our host, To boast of this, or take that praise from God, Which is his only. Fuv. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell how many is killed? K. Hun. Yes, captain; but with this acknow- ledgment, That God fought for us. Fru. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. K. Hen. Do we all holy rites ; Let there be sung Von nobis, and Te Deum.() The dead with charity enclos’d in clay, And then to Calais; and to England then, Where ne’er from France arriv’d more happy men. [Mxeunt. (*) First folio, me. ' S, fe CN we Mee \\ y yy) SS FE at’ i afl ie he ae jc {<— | Enter Cuorvs. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story, That I may prompt them: and of such as have, I humbly pray them to admit th’ excuse Of time, of:numbers, and due course of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life Be here presented. Now we bear the king Toward Calais: grant him there ; there seen, Heave him away upon your winged thoughts, Athwart the sea: behold, the English beach Pales in the flood with men, and* wives, and boys, Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth’d sea, Which, like a mighty whiffler(1) ’fore the king, Seems to prepare his way: so let him land, And solemnly see him set on to London. So swift a pace hath thought, that even now You may imagine him upon Blackheath: Where that his lords desire him, to have borne His bruised helmet and his bended sword, Before him through the city, he forbids it ; Being free from yainness and self-glorious pride ; Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, Quite from himself to God. But now behold, (*) Old copy omits, and, 108 In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens ! The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort,— Like to the senators of the antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels,—- Go forth, and fetch their conqu’ring Cesar in: As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, Were now the general of our gracious empress (As in good time he may,) from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, How many would the peaceful city quit, [cause, To welcome him?* much more, and much more Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ; (As yet the lamentation of the French : Invites the king of England’s stay at home. The emperor’s coming in behalf of France, To order peace between them ;) and omit All the occurrences, whatever chane’d, Till Harry’s back-return again to France ; There must we bring him; and myself have play‘d The interim, by remembering you—’tis past. Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance After your thoughts, straight back again to France. ® To welcome him?] See the Preliminary Notice. OO — a ACT V. SCENE I.—France. Enter FLUELLEN and GowEr. Gow. Nay, that’s right; but why wear you your leek to-day ? saint Davy’s day is past. Fiv. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, captain Gower ;—the rascally, scald, peg- garly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol,—which you and yourself, and all the ’orld, know to pe no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits,—he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yester- day, look you, and pid me eat my leek: it was in a place where I.could not preed no contention with him ; but I will pe so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. Fuv. ’Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks. An English Court of Guard. Enter Pistou. Got pless you, auncient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, Got pless you ! Pist. Ha! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca’s fatal web ? Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. Fru. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek ; pecause, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appe- tites, and your disgestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. Fru. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him. Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it ? Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. Fru. You say very true, scald knave,—when Got’s will is: I will desire you to live in the mean 109 ACT V.] time, aud eat your victuals: come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again.| You called me yesterday, mountain-squire; put I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. Gow. Enough, captain; you have astonished him. Fru. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days.—Pite, I pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb. Pist. Must I bite? Fiv. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of guestion too, and ampiguities. Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge ; I eat, and eat,—I swear Fuv. Eat, I pray you: will you have some more sauce to your leek ? there is not enough leek to swear py. Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat. Fru. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them ; that is all. Pist. Good. Fuv. Ay, leeks is goot :—hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate. Pist. Me a groat! Fru. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. Fuv. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels ; you shall pe a woodmonger, and puy no- thing of me put cudgels. Got pe wi’ you, and keep you, and heal your pate. [ Leeit. Pist. All hell shall stir for this ! Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition,— begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour,—and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentle- man twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it otherwise ; and, henceforth, let a Welsh cor- rection teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well. [ Hartt. Pisr. Doth fortune play the huswife with me now ? News have I, that my Nell* is dead 7’ the spittal Of + malady of France ; (*) Qid capy, Doll. (+) Old copy inserts, a. 1i0 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENB IL. And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs Honour is eudgell’d. Well, bawd I’ll turn, And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. ‘To England will I steal, and there I’ll steal: And patches will I get unto these scars,* And swear,f I got them in the Gallia wars. [ Lait. SCENE II.—Troyes in Champagne. An Apart- ment in the French King’s Palace. Enter, at one door, Kina Hrnry, BEeprorp, GuoucEsTER, Exrtrr, Warwick, WEsT- MORELAND, and other Lords; at another, Kine CuHaries, QurEEN IsasEt, the Princess KatrHartine, Lords, Ladies, dc. the Duxs of Buraunpy, and his Train. K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met ! Unto our brother France,—and to our sister, Health and fair time of day:—joy and good wishes To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine ; And (as a branch and member of this royalty, By whom this great assembly is contriv’d,) We do salute you, duke of Burgundy ;— And, princes French, and peers, health to you all ! K. Cua. Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England ; fairly met :— So are you, princes English, every one. Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England, Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them Against the French, that met them in their bent, The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, Have lost their quality ; and that this day Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. K. Hen. To cry Amen to that, thus we appear. Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, Great kings of France and England! That I have labour’d With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, To bring your most imperial majesties Unto this bar and royal interview, Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Since, then, my office hath so far prevail’d, (*) First folio, evdgeld scarres. (+) Old copy, swere. (1) First folio, Ireland. 7 f d | } } j } 4 i tf iy! f 7" SSS SS SS = — Se > SSS SS = That, face to face, and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me, If I demand, before this royal view, What rub or what impediment there is, Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not, in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage ? Alas! she hath from France too long been chas’d, And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in it own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies : her hedges even-pleach’d,— Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, 1g AUT YV.]| Put forth disorder’d twigs: her fallow lea- The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory * Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts, That should deracinate such savagery : The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility. And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness ; Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, The sciences that should become our country ; But grow, like savages,—as soldiers will, That nothing do but meditate on blood,— To swearing, and stern looks, diffus’d attire, And every thing that seems unnatural. Which to reduce into our former favour, You are assembled; and my speech entreats, That I may know the let, why gentle Peace Should not expel these inconveniencies, And bless us with her former qualities. _[ peace, K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the Whose want gives growth to th’ imperfections Which you have cited, you must buy that peace With full accord to all our just demands ; Whose tenours and particular effects You have, enschedul’d briefly, in your hands. Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the which, as yet, There is no answer made. K. Hun. Well then, the peace, which you before so urg’d, Lies in his answer. K. Cua. I have but with a cursorary} eye O’erglane’d the articles: pleaseth your grace To appoint some of your council presently To sit with us once more, with better heed To re-survey them, we will, suddenly, Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. K. Hen. Brother, we shall.—Go, uncle Exeter,— And brother Clarence,—and you, _ brother Gloster,— Warwick,—and Huntington,—go with the king ; And take with you free power to ratify, Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best Shall see advantageable for our dignity, — Any thing in or out of our demands, And we’ll consign thereto.— Will you, fair sister, Go with the princes, or stay here with us? Q, Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them ; {*) Old copy, femetary. (+) Old copy, withal. (tf) First folio, curselarie. 112 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE 11. Haply a woman’s voice may do some good, When articles too nicely urg’d be stood on. K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us ; She is our capital demand, compris’d Within the fore-rank of our articles. Q. Isa. She hath good leave. [ Hxeunt all but Henry, Karuanrine, and ALICE. K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair! Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, Such as will enter at a lady’s ear, And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ? Karn. Your majesty sall mock at me; I cannot speak your England. K. Hun. O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate? Katu. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is— like me. K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are like an angel. Karu. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges ? Aticr. Out, ainse dit-al. K. Hun. I said so, dear Katharine, and I must not blush to affirm it. Karu. O bon Diew! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies. K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits ? | AurcE. Our ; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de princess. K_ Hen. The princess is the better English- woman. I’faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am glad, thou canst speak no better English, for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king, that thou wouldst think, I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say—lI love. you: then, if you urge me farther than to say— Do you in faith ? I wear out my suit. Give me your answer: 1’faith, do; and so clap hands, and a bargain. How say you, lady? Kartu. Sauf votre honneur, me understand well. K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I have neither words nor measure ; and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the cor- rection of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could Jay on like a butcher, and sit like a jack-an-apes, never vraiment, (sauf votre grace) - i Xe ee eh n, — <2 ACT V.] off: but, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation ; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: if thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true,—but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy, for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop ; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon ; for it shines bright, and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me: and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king: and what sayest thou then to my love ? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. Karu. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France? K. Hen. No, it is not possible, you should love the enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France so well, that I will not part with a village of it; I will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is mine, and 1 am yours, then yours is France, and you are mine. Karu. I cannot tell vat is dat. K. Hen. No, Kate? I wili tell thee in French; which, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her husband’s neck, hardly to be shook off. Quand j'ai la possession de France, et quand vous avez la possession de moi, (let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!) donc votre est France, et vous étes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom, as to speak so much more French: I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. Kartu. Sauf votre honneur, le Frangars que vous parlez, est meilleur que V Anglais lequel je parle. *~ K. Hen. No, ’faith, is’t not, Kate: but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much Eng- lish,—Canst thou love me? Karu. I cannot tell. K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I’ll ask them. Come, I know, thou lovest VOL. II. 112 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE ITI. me: and at night when you come into your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart: but, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, (as I have a saving faith within me, tells me, thou shalt,) I get thee with scamb- ling, and thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder: shall not thou and J, between saint Denis and saint George, compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Con- stantinople, and take the Turk by the beard? shall we not? what sayest thou, my fair flower-de-luce ? Karu. I do not know dat. K. Hen. No; ’tis hereafter to know, but now to promise: do but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy: and, for my English moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon trés chére et divine déesse ? Kartu. Your maesté ave fausse French enough to deceive de most sage demovselle dat is en France. K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me, yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew my father’s ambition ! he was thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear: my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face: thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst, and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better ;—and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes ; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress ; take me by the hand, and say—Harry of England, I am thine: which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud,—England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music ;(1) for thy voice is music, and thy English broken ; therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English,—wilt thou have me ? Kartu. Dat is, as it sall please de rou mon pere. K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it shall please him, Kate. I ACT V.] Karu. Den it sall also content me. K. Hen. Upon that, I kiss your hand, and I call you—my queen. Kartu. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laassez: ma fot, je ne veux point que vous abarssez votre grandeur, en baisant la main dune votre indigne serviteur ; excusez-mot, je vous supplie, mon trés puissant seigneur’. K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. Kartu. Les dames, et demoiselles, pour étre baiseés devant leur néces, tl n’est pas le cottume de France. K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says she ? Aticr. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France,—I cannot tell vat is baiser en Eng- lish. K. Hen. To kiss. Axicr. Your majesty entendre bettre que mor. K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say? Autcr. Out, vraiment. K. Hen. O, Kate, nice customs court’sy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country’s fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places, stops the mouths of all find-faults,—as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country, in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently and yielding. [Kissing her.| You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in the tongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father. Enter Kina Cuaries and QuEEN IsaBEL, Bur- GunDy, Brprorp, GuLoucesTER, EXETER, Warwick, WESTMORELAND, and other French and English Lords. Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach, you our princess English ? K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is good English. Bun. Is she not apt? K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true likeness. Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you would conjure in her, you must make a circle: if conjure up love in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked and 114 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. [SCENE II. blind. Can you blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield,—as love is blind and enforces. Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they see not what they do. K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking. Bor. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know my meaning: for © maids, well summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes ; and then they will endure handling, which before would not abide looking on. K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer ; and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too. Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. K. Hen. It is so: and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city, for one fair French maid that stands in my way. K. Cua. Yes, my lord, you see them per- spectively, the cities turned into a maid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never* entered. K. Hn. Shall Kate be my wife? K. Cua. So please you. K. Hen. I am content; so the maiden cities you talk of, may wait on her: so the maid that stood in the way for my wish, shall show me the way to my will. K. Cua. We have consented to all terms of reason. K. Hen. Is it so, my lords of England? West. The king hath granted every article; His daughter, first; and then,t in sequel, all, According to their firm proposed natures. Exs. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this :— Where your majesty demands, that the king of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your highness in this form and with this addition, in French—Wotre trés cher fils Henri roi d’ Angleterre, héritier de France; and thus in Latin, —Preeclarissimus* filius noster Hen- ricus, rex Anglie, ct heres Francie. K. Cua. Nor this I have not, brother, so» denied, (*) Old copy omits, never. (t) Old copy omits, then. & Notre trés cher fils,——and thus in Latin,—Preclarissimus filius—] In the preamble of the original treaty of Troyes, Henry is correctly styled Precarissimus ; the mistake, however, did not originate with Shakespeare, it occurs in Holinshed as well as in previous historians, or v.] But your request shall make me let it pass. K. Hen. I pray you then, in love and dear alliance, Let that one article rank with the rest, And, thereupon, give me your daughter. K. Cua. Take her, fair son; and from her blood raise up Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms [pale Of France and England, whose very shores look With envy of each other’s happiness, May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance His bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France. Att. Amen! [ witness, all, K. Hen. Now, welcome, Kate:—and bear me That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Plourish. Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! As man and wife, being two, are one in love, So be there ’twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, Thrust in between the paction* of these kingdoms, To make divorce of their incorporate league ; a The paction of these kingdoms,—] The old text has Pation, which was altered by Theobald. Tah Ke \S KING HENRY THE FIFTH. — SS We [SCENE 1 That English may as French, French Englishmen, Receive each other !—God speak this Amen! Ati. Amen! [which day K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage ;—on My lord of Burgundy, we’ll take your oath, And all the peers, for surety of our leagues.— Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be ! [ Lxeunt. Enter Cuorvs. Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, Our bending author hath pursu’d the story ; Tn little room confining mighty men, Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv’d This star of England: Fortune made his sword ; By which the world’s best garden he achiev’d, And of it left his son imperial lord. Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown’d king Of France and England, did this king succeed ; Whose state so many had the managing, That they lost France, and made his England bleed : Which oft our stage hath shown: and, for thes sake, In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [ Haxeunt. ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS, 7U Os Mie (1) Scene IIl.—Then hear me, gracious soverergn,—and you peers.] This speech is taken almost verbatim from Holinshed ; and as it may interest the reader to observe the facility with which Shakespeare converted prose into verse, we subjoin a few parallel lines. HOLINSHED. In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant, that is to saye, lette not women succeede in the land Salique, whiche the French glosers expound to bee the Realme of France, and that this law was made by King Pharamond, wheras yet their owne authors affirme, that the land Salique is in Germanie, between the rivers of Elbe and Sala, and that when Charles the great had overcome the Saxous, hee placed there certaine Frenchmen, which having in disdeine the dishonest maners of the Germain women, made a lawe, that the females should not succeede to anye inheritance within that lande. (2) Scene II.— — the lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain. | ‘By Charles the Great is meant the Emperor Charle- magne, son of Pepin: Charlemain is Charlechauve, or Charles the Bald, who, as well as Charles le Gros, assumed the title of Magnus. See Goldasti Animadversiones in Einhardum. Edit. 1711, p.157. But then Charlechauve had only one daughter, named Judith, married, or, as some say, only betrothed, to our king Ethelwulf, and carried off, after his death, by Baldwin the Forester, after- wards Earl of Flanders, whom it is very certain Hugh Capet was neither heir to, nor any way descended from. This Judith, indeed, had a great grand-daughter, called Luitgarde, married to a Count Wichman, of whom nothing further is known. It was likewise the name of Charle- magne’s fifth wife ; but no such female as Lingare is to be met with inany French historian. In fact, these fictitious personages and pedigrees seem to have been devised by the English heralds, to ‘fine a title with some show of truth,’ which ‘in pure truth was corrupt and naught.’ It was manifestly impossible that Henry, who had no here- ditary title to his own dominions, could derive one by the same colour, to another person’s. He merely proposes the invasion and conquest of France, in prosecution of the dying advice of his father :— to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels; that action, thence borne out, Might waste the memory of the former days.” RItTson. (3) SCENE IT.— Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to hele his lion’s whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. | Alluding to the battle of Cressy, fought 26th August, 1346: the incident in the text is thus described by Holin- shed :—‘‘ The earle of Northampton, and others sent to the king, where he stood aloft on a windmill hill, requiring him to advance forward, and come to their aid, they being as then sore laid to of their enimies. The king hereupon demanded if his sonne were slaine, hurt, or felled to the earth. No, (said the knight that brought the message, ) but he is sore matched. Well, (said the king,) returne to 116 SHAKESPEARE. In terram Salicam mulieres né succedant, No woman shail succeed in Salique land: Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, That the land Salique is in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe: Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women, For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish’d then this law,—to wit, no female Shouid be inheritrix in Salique land. him and them that sent you, and saie to them that they send no more to me for any adventure that falleth, as long as my son is alive, for I will that this iournie be his, with the honor thereof. With this answer the knight returned, which greatlie incouraged them to doo their best to win the spurs, being half abashed in that they had so sent to the king for aid. * * * The slaughter of the French was great and lamentable.” (4) SceNE IT.— For government, though high, and low, and lower, Put into parts, doth keep vn one concent. | Concent, a term in music, signifies consonance of har- mony ; whence we use consent to express, by metaphor, concord or agreement. The foundation of the simile, Theo- bald conjectured, was borrowed from Cicero’s ‘‘ De Re- publica,” lib. ii. ; but, as a correspondent of Mr. Knight’s suggests, the thought was more probably derived from a passage in the fourth book of Plato’s ‘‘ Republic :”—* It is not alone wisdom and strength which make a state simply wise and strong, but it (Order), like that harmony called the Diapason, is diffused throughout the whole state, making both the weakest and the strongest, and the middling people concent the same melody.” Again: “‘The harmonic power of political justice is the same as that musical concent which connects the three chords, the octave, the bass, and the fifth.” ‘ (5) Scene II.— —— this mock of his © Hath turn’d his balls to gun-stones.| One of the most familiar charges of armorial ensigns is the circular figure called a Roundle, the name of which, in English heraldry, varies according to the metal or colour of which it is composed. Black Roundles are called Pellets, Ogresses, or Gunstones, the first and last of which terms readily convey the idea of shot for ordnance ; and the second is supposed to be derived from the medizval Latin word Agvessus, which was considered to be synony- mous with the old French Agresser, to attack. The ancient use of stone-shot for cannon, before the intro- duction of iron balls, both explains the reason why these roundles were always black, and also discovers a stern ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. concealed satire in this line of Henry’s speech. Tennis balls were covered with white leather, but gun-stenes became black from being discoloured by the powder and smoke of the cannon. And such a change Henry hints that he would certainly effect. In illustration of this passage Steevens quotes ‘‘ The Brut of England,” in which it is said that, when Henry the Fifth, before Hare-flewe, received a taunting message from the Dauphin of France, and a ton of tennis-balls by way of contempt, ‘‘he anone lette make tennis-balls for The Dolfyn (Henry’s ship) in alle the haste that they might; and they were great gunne-stones for the Dolfyn to playe withall. But this game at tennis was too rough for the besieged, when Henry played at the tennis with his hard gunne-stones.” The provision of this kind of ammunition, made by the king, is mentioned by Grose in his ‘‘ History of the English Army,” i. p. 400, as stated in a writ directed to the Clerk of the Ordnance and John Bonet, mason, of Maidstone, to cut 7,000 stone-shot in the quarries at that place. As Henry’s gun-stones were all to be transported across the sea, they were probably not very large; but when Mahomet the Second besieged Constantinople in 1453, he battered the walls with stone-shot, and some of his pieces were of the calibre of 1,200lbs.; but they could not be fired more than four times in the day. The well-known circumstance of the tennis-balls, which Shake- speare has introduced into this scene, is noticed by several contemporaneous historians; but the probability of it is questioned by Hume. For an examination into the truth of the story, see Sir N. H. Nicolas’s ‘‘ History of the Battle of Agincourt,” pp. 8—13. J OM ET IAL (1) ScrenE I.—Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thow prick- ear'd cur of Iceland !| The Iceland, or Island dog, as the name is often spelt by our old authors, was a shag-haired animal, imported in great numbers from Iceland, which it was the fashion for ladies to carry about with them.— “Use and custome hath entertained other Dogs of an Out-landish kinde, but a few and the same being of a pretty bigness, I mean Island Dogs, curled and rough all over, which by reason of the length of their hair make shew neither of face nor of body: And yet these Curs, forsooth, because they be so strange, are greatly set by, esteemed, taken up, and many times in the room of the Spaniel gentle or comforter.” *—ToPsEL’s History of Fouwr- footed Beasts, 1658. It is mentioned in the play of ‘‘ Ram-Alley,: or Merry Tricks,” 1611 :— «« ________. vou shall have jewels, A baboon, a parrot, and an Izeland dog.” as again in the Masque of “ Britannia Triumphans,” ‘¢ _____. she who hath been bred to stand Near chair of queen, with Island shock in hand.” (2) Soune IIL— A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child.| The chrisom, so called from chrism, the holy oil which was anciently used in baptism, was a white cloth, placed on the child’s head, and always worn by it for seven days afterwards. After the Reforma- tion the sacred oil was no longer used, but the chrisom was ACT (1) Scene V.—And teach lavolias high, and swift co- rantos.| Lavolta, a dance of Italian origin, appears by the description given of it in Thoinot Arbeau’s ‘‘ Orchesogra- phie,” and in Florio’s ‘“‘ World of Words,” to have somewhat resembled the modern “ Polka.” It is frequently mentioned by our earlier writers, and was evidently much in vogue about Shakespeare’s time :— . ‘*So may you see by two Lavaito danced, Who face to face about the house do hop; And when one mounts, the other is advanced, At once they move, at once they both do stop.” An old-fashioned Love. Poem by J.T. “Yet there is one the most delightfull kind, A loftie iumping or a leaping round, 1594. * This description we find Topsel has borrowed from Abraham Fleming’s translation of ‘‘ Caius de Canibus,” 1576, ‘Of English Dogges.” retained, the child wearing it until the purification of the mother by the rite of churching. If an infant died before this latter ceremony, the chrisom formed its shroud, from which circumstance, probably, children, in the old bills of mortality, are denominated chrisoms. (83) Scene ILI.—A parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o the tide.| The opinion that ani- mals, more particularly man, die only at the ebb of tide is of great antiquity, and was not peculiar to the profane vulgar. In the short chapter in which Pliny notices the marvels of the sea, he says that Aristotle affirms ‘‘that no living crea- ture dieth but in the reflux and ebb of the sea. This is much observed in the Gallic Ocean, but is found true, in experience, only as to man.” —AHist. Nat., lib. ii. ¢. xeviii. Dr. Mead, in his Tract, On the Influence of the Sun and Moon on Bodies, originally published in 1704, chap. ii, enters into an elaborate examination of this question, in which, having shown the moon’s power over the tides when new and full, he illustrates his inquiry by several cases, ancient and modern, of great and fatal changes having taken place at those periods. If, at the present day, any importance is to be attributed to those seasons as critical times, it is probably on the principle that a great external disturbance, whether meteorological or otherwise, unduly excites and quickens’the nervous-action, to bring on amore rapid crisis ; and, in the case of dying persons, unnaturally agitates and expends those vital powers which were already nearly exhausted LEE Where arme in arme, two dauncers are entwin’d, And whirle themselves with strict embracements bound, And still their feet an Anapest do sound: An Anapest is all their musick’s song, Whose first two feet are short, and third is long.” Orchestra, by SIR Joun DAVIES, 1622. Stanza 70. The Coranto has been already spoken of as a dance characterised by the spirit and rapidity of its movements. See note (b), p. 20. It is thus described in Davies’ ‘* Orchestra :”— ‘¢ What shall I name those currant travases, That ona triple Dactile foot doe runne Close by the ground with sliding passages, Wherein that Dauncer greatest praise hath wonne: Which with best order can all orders shunne: For every where he wantonly must range, And turne and wind, with unexpected change.” Stanza 69. 117 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. (2) SczrnzE VI.— Fortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him ; Lor he hath stol’n a pax.) it was customary, in the early Church, for Christians, in conformity with the words of St. Paul, ‘‘to salute one another with a holy kiss.” This ceremony appears to have obtained until about the twelfth or thirteenth century, when, for some reason not clearly defined, the laity (for the clergy of the Roman Catholic Church still practise it at High Mass, ) were required to kiss, instead, an instrument called indifferently a pax, a tabula pacis, oran osculatorium. ‘This was a small plate of metal, precious or otherwise, according to circumstances, having a religious subject engraved upon its surface, generally a representation of the crucifixion ; and the proper time for using it was at that part of the mass just before the communion, where the priest recites the prayer for peace. The pax itself became disused in its turn, owing, it is said, to certain jealousies about precedence, an irregularity rebuked by Chaucer’s ‘‘ Persone :”’—‘‘ And yit is ther a prive spice of pride, that wayteth first to be saluet er he saliewe, al be he lasse worth than that other is, parad- venture ; and eek wayteth or desireth to sitte above him, or to go above him in the way, or kzsse the pax, or ben encensed, or gon to the offringe biforn his neighebore.” Nevertheless, the use of the pax was not at first abrogated at the Reformation in England, but, on the contrary, en- forced by the Royal Ecclesiastical Commissioners of Edward VI. The act of sacrilege which Shakespeare has fathered upon Bardolph agrees in the main with Holinshed’s state- ment :—‘‘ That a folish soldiour stale a pixe out of a churche, for which cause he was apprehended, and the king would not once remove till the box was restored, and the offender strangled.” The elder commentators thought it necessary to re- concile Shakespeare’s text with Holinshed, by reading pix instead of pax ; but without reason, as the alteration was most likely deliberate on the part of the poet. The pix was a sacred vessel, made sometimes of precious metal, but more usually of copper gilt, and intended to receive the consecrated host for conveyance to the sick. Shake- speare might well shrink from bringing anything of this nature in contact with Falstaff’s worthless old retainer. We may add that the first line of Pistol’s speech— ‘Fortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him’”’— conveys an allusion to the famous old ballad, ‘‘ Fortune my Foe,”— “* Fortune my Foe, why dost thou frown on me?” See note (3), p. 688, Vol. I. (3) ScenE VI.—A beard of the general's cut.] Not the least odd among the fantastic fashions of our forefathers, was the custom of distinguishing certein professions and classes by the cut of the beard: thus we-hear, inter alia, of the bishop’s-beard, the judge’s-beard, the soldier’s-beard, the citizen’s-beard, and even the clown’s-beard. The pecu- liar shape appropriated to the Bench we have failed to discover: but Randle Holme tells us, ‘‘ the broad or cathedral beard [is] so called because bishops and gown- men of the church anciently did wear such beards.” By ACT CHORUS. (1) The armourers, accomplishing the knights, Werth busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of epariaen The din of preparation before battle has always been a favourite theme of poets. Chaucer has a passage much 418 the military man, the cut adopted was known as the stiletto or the spade :—‘‘he [the barber] descends as low as his beard, and asketh whether he please to be shaven or no? whether he will have his peak cut short and sharp, amiable, like an izamorato, or broade pendante, like a spade, to be terrible, like a warrior and soldado ?’— REENE’S Quip for an Upstart Courtier, 1592. The beard of the citizen was usually worn rownd, as Mrs. Quickly describes it, ‘‘like a glover’s paring-knife ;” and that of the clown was left bushy or untrimmed :— ‘‘ Next the clown doth out-rush, With the beard of the bush.” Old Ballad, quoted by Malone from a Miscellany, entitled, ‘Le Prince d’Amour,” 1660. For additional particulars on the subject of beards, con- sult F. W. Fairholt’s ‘‘ Costume in England.” Lond. 1846. (4) Scene VI.— Theres for thy labour, Montjov. Go, bid thy master well advise himself : If we may pass, we will; if we be hender’d, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. ]} The embassy here referred to, and even the words of Henry on that occasion, are taken from the follow- ing passage in Holinshed. Thirty of the French King’s council ‘‘agreed that the Englishmen should not depart unfought withall, and five were of a contrary opinion; but the greater number ruled the matter: and so Montjoy, King at Armes, was sent to the King of England, to defie him as the enemie of France, and to tell him that he should shortlie have battell. King Henrie advisedlie answered, ‘Mine intent is to doo as it pleaseth God. I will not seeke your maister at this time; but if he or his seeke me I will meete with them God willing. If anie of your nation attempt once to stop me in my journie now towards Callis, at their jeopardie be it: and yet wish I not anie of you so unadvised as to be the occasion that I dye your tawnie ground with your red blood.’ When he had thus answered the herald, he gave him a princelie reward and monie to depart.” It has been supposed that many of the English nobility retained heralds in their households, who bore their names, and proclaimed their titles, even before the reign of Edward III. when Heraldry and officers of arms began to rise into the greatest eminence. Both the private heralds and the royal heralds received regular stipends, and wore surcoats or tabards embroidered with the armorial ensigns of their patrons ; and considerable gratuities or largesses were at one period given to them at all ceremonials in which they performed any duty, either for the king or the nobility. These consisted of coronations, creations of peers and knights, embassies, dispieying of banners in the field or at tournaments, processions and progresses, great banquets, baptisms, and funerals ; the annual festivals of the Church, and the enthronisation of prelates. Some notion of the amount of these fees is supplied by a record of the reign of Richard II. of the dues and largesses anciently accus- tomed to be paid to the Kings of Arms and Heralds on such occasions, printed in the Rey. James Dallaway’s Inquiries into the Origin and Progress of Heraldry in England, p. 142—148, IV. resembling the above, which Shakespeare probably re- membered :— ‘* Ther fomen steedes, on the golden bride] Gnawyng, and faste armurers also With fyle qnd hamer prikyng to and fro.” The Knightes Tale, 1. 2508. ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. To both descriptions some poetical licence must be ac- corded ; and it is diflicult to repress a smile at the gravity with which the commentators assume they are to be con- strued literally. Doubtless, in actual warfare, armour frequently wanted repair; but surely the poor knight had enough to endure in his cumbrous equipment without being made a blacksmith’s anvil. No such necessity is recognised in any of the instructions “‘how to arme a man,” still extant. From these we learn, that about Henry the Fifth’s time, when plate armour had superseded chain mail, the ‘‘accomplishing” a knight consisted in first encasing him in garments of leather or fustian, fitting tight to the person and padded. The arming then began at the feet, and was continued gradually upward, each piece being fastened by “‘points,” z.¢. laces with tags at the end, or buckles and leather straps. The last thing fixed was the bascinet, or steel skull cap, which was ‘‘pynned upon two grete staples before the breste,’’ and rendered firm by ‘‘a double bocle,” or two buckles and straps ‘‘behynde upon the back.” * Thus it is apparent that arming a knight for battle or tourney, although a tedious business, was yet one simply and easily performed, and necessarily so, or the wounded man might die before he could be unharnessed. When Arcite is injured by a fall from his steed, Chaucer tells us that,— ‘¢ _____ he was y-born out of the place With herte sore, to Theseus paleys, Tho was he corven out of his harneys.”’ The Knightes Tale, 1. 2696. 2.e. cut out of his armour, meaning that the laces which held it together were cut, for greater expedition. (1) ScenE II.— Why do you stay so long, my lords of France ? Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ili-favour dly become the morning field. | The miserable condition of the English army previous to the battle is feelingly depicted by Holinshed :— “The Englishemen were brought into great misery in this iorney, their victuall was in maner spent, and nowe coulde they get none; for their enimies had destroied all the corne before they came: Reste coulde they none take, for their enimies were ever at hande to give them alarmes : daily it rained, and nightly it freesed: of fewell there was great scarsitie, but of fluxes greate plenty: money they hadde ynoughe, but wares to bestowe it uppon, for their reliefe or comforte, hadde they little or none.” (2) SceNE III.—The feast of Crispian.| Of the martyrs Crispin and Crispinian, whose festival was formerly kept with especial honour in France on the 25th of October, the ‘‘ Golden Legende” says,— ‘In the tyme whan the furyous persecucyon of crysten men was vnder Dyoclesyan and Maxymyan toogydre reonynge, Cryspyn and Cryspynyan borne at Rome of noble lygnage came with the blessyd sayntes Quyntyn, Faustyan, and Victoryn vnto Parys in Fraunce ; and they there chese dyverse places for to preche the fayth of Cryste. Cryspyn and Cryspynyan came to the cyte of Suessyon [Soissons] and chosen that cyte for the place of theyr pylgrymage where they folowed the steppes of saynt Poule the appostle, that is to saye, To laboure with theyr hondes for to provyde to them necessaryly to lyve, and exervysed the craft of makynge of shoes. In whiche craft they passed other and toke by constraynt no reward of no body, wherefore the gentyles and paynems overcome by love of them, not only for nede of the craft, but also for the love of God came oft to them and left the error of the ydollys and byleuyd in very God.” After a series of persecutions and torments, borne with great constancy, these saints ‘‘ receyved the crowne of martyrdome on the x kalendes of Novembre,” about the year 287. * Archeologia, xx. 505. (8) Scene IV.—This roaring devil ? the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger.| In the ancient religious dramas, called ‘ Mysteries,” the Devil was usually a very prominent personage. He was hideously apparelled ; wore a mask with goggle eyes, wide mouth, and huge nose ; had ared beard, horned head, cloven feet, and hooked nails to his fingers. He was generally armed with a massive club, stuffed with wool, which he laid about him, during the performance, on all within his reach. To frighten others, he was wont to bellow out, ‘‘ Ho, ho, ho!” and when himself alarmed, he roared, ‘‘Out haro, out!” As these popular representations assumed a more secular tone, an addition was made to the dramatis persone, in the shape of a character called the “ Vice,” (see note 5, p. 628, Vol. I.) whose chief humour consisted in belabouring the evil-one with a wooden lath or dagger similar to that em- ployed by the modern Harlequin, in skipping on to bis back, and, as a crowning affront, in pretending to pare his nails. . Shakespeare again alludes to this last exploit in “‘ Twelfth Night,” Act IV. Se. 2 :— **T’ll be with you again In a trice, Like to the old vice, Your need to sustain. Who with dagger of lath, In his rage and his wrath, Cries, ah, ha! to the devil. Like a mad lad, Pare thy nails, dad, Adieu, goodman devil.” (4) Scene VI.—Then every soldier kill his prisoners.] ‘‘In the meane season, while the battaile thus continued, and that the englishemen had taken a greate number of prisoners, certayne frenchemen on horse back, whereof were capteines Robinet of Bornevill, Rifflart of Clamas, Isambert of Agincourt, and other men of armes, to the number of six hundréd horssemen, which were the first that fled,—hearing that the english tents and pavilions were a good way distant from the army, without any sufficient gard to defend the same, either upon a covetous meaning to gaine by the spoile, or upon a desire to be revenged, entred upon the kings camp, and there spoiled the bales, robbed the tents, brake up chests, and carried away caskets, and slew suche servants as they founde to make any resistance. For the which acte they were after committed to prison, and had loste their lives, if the Dol- phin had longer lived: for when the outcrye of the lackies and boys which ran away for feare of the frenchmen thus spoiling the campe, came to the kings eares, he doubting least his enemies should gather togither againe and begin a newe fielde; and mistrusting further that the prisoners would either be an aide to his enimies, or verie enimies to their takers in deed if they were suffred to live, contrary to his accustomed gentlenes, commanded by sound of trumpet, that every man (upon paine of death) should in- continently slaie his prisoner.” —HOLINSHED. (5) Scene VIII.—Let there be sung ‘‘Non nobis,” and “*Te Deum.” | The incidents referred to in the preceding passage appear to be the last for which Shakespeare was indebted to Holinshed in this play ; as well as the last of the more serious parts of the noble dramatic history of the French wars of Henry V. ‘‘ Aboute foure of the clocke in the after noone,” says the old chronicler, deriving his infor- mation from the contemporaneous historian known by the name of Titus Livius,—‘‘ the king, when he saw no appear- ance of enemies, caused the retreit to be blowen ; and, gathering his armie together, gave thanks to Almightie God for so happie a victorie: causing his prelates and chapleins to sing this psalm, ‘J Haitu Israel de Aigypto,’ and commanded everie man to kneele downe on the ground at this verse, ‘Von nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed Nomint Tuo da gloriam :’ which done, he caused ‘Te Deum,’ with certaine anthems to be sung, giving laud and praise to God, without boasting of his owne force, or anie humane power.” In the English version Psalm cxiii. commences, ‘‘ When 119 {LLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. Israel came out of Egypt.” and the verse ‘‘ Von nobis” forms the beginning of that following ; answering to,Psalms exiv. cxy. of the ordinary Vulgate; though in the older psalters they are united into one. It will be remem- bered that Shakespeare has given to Henry a very fine paraphrase of the ‘* Von nobis” in his speech on receiving the account of the loss sustained by both armies :— O God, thy arm was here, And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Ascribe we all!” The command which the king issues in his next speech :— ‘* And be it death proclaimed through our host, Yo boast of this, or take that praise from God, Which is his only,”— would appear to have been derived from the following very curious passage in Holinshed, though it really refers to Henry’s entry into London. ‘ The king, like a grave and sober personage, and as one remembering from whom all victories are sent, seemed little to regard such vaine pompe and shewes as were in triumphant sort devised for his wel- coming home from so prosperous a journie ; insorauch that he would not suffer his helmet to be carried before him, whereby might have appeared to the people the blowes and dints that were to be seene in the same: neither would he suffer any ditties to be made and sung by min- strels of his glorious victorie, for that he would have the praise and thanks altogether given to God.” In our Illustrative Comments on Act V. of ‘‘ Richard IT.” we referred to this play our notice of the removal of the deposed king’s body from Abbot’s Langley to Westminster, in A.D. 1414. That ceremony appears to have been one of the earliest acts of Henry V. and he refers to it as an act of penitential restitution, in his speech immediately before the battle of Agincourt, Act IV. Se. 1:— ce Not to-day, O Lord, ©! not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard’s body have interred new, And on it have bestow’d more contrite tears, Than from it issued forcéd drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither’d hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and i have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do: Though all that I can do, is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon.” Shakespeare derived the materials of this speech partly from Holinshed, and partly from the contemporaneous chronicler Fabyan. The former historian says that ‘ when the king had settled things much to his purpose, he caused the bodie of King Richard to be removed, with all funerall dignities convenient to his estate, from Langley to West- minster, where he was honourablie interred, with Queen Anne, his first wife, in a solemne toome, made and set up at the charges of this king. Polychronicon saith that after the bodie of the dead king was taken up out of the earth, this new king, happily tendering the magnificence of a prince, and abhorring obscure buriall, caused the same to be conveied to Westminster in a roiall seat or chaire of estate, covered all over with black velvet, and adorned with banners of divers armes round about.” Fabyan adds that, ‘‘after a solemne terrement there holden, he provided that fower tapers should bren day and night about his grave while the world endureth ; and one day in the weeke a solempne Dirige, and upon the morowea masse of Requiem- song by note: after which masse ended to be geven wekely unto the poore people an xis. and viii. pense, in pense. And upon the daye of his anniversary, after the saide masse of Requiem-song, to be yerely distributed for his soule, xx poundein pense.” But notwithstanding Holinshed’s praise of the princely disposition which Henry V. exhibited towards the remains of Richard II. it seems to be almost certain that, so far as related to the translation of his body to Westminster, it was only restoring to him the occupation of his own sepulchre. His will proves that the tomb had been actually erected during his own life ; and there are in Rymer’s Federa two indentures made for its erection, between Richard and Henry Yevell and Stephen Lote, Citizens and Masons of London, and Nicholas Broker and Godfrey Prest, Citizens and Coppersmiths. There is but one other point requiring illustration, which refers to the meaning of Henry in saying, ‘‘ More will I do,” in the way of satisfaction for the death of Richard II. : and a passage in the Chronicles of Monstrelet shews that, like his father, he designed another crusade. When Henry was informed that he could not live more than two hours, he ‘‘sent for his confessor, some of his household, and his chaplains, whom he ordered to chaunt the Seven Penitential Psalms. When they came to ‘ Benedic fac Domine,’ where mention is made of the ‘ Muri Hierusalem,’ (Psalm li. 18,) he stopped them, and said aloud that he had fully intended, after he had wholly subdued the realm of France to his obedience and restored it to peace, to have gone to conquer the kingdom of Jerusalem, if it had pleased his Creator to have granted him longer life.” In the play also, in his courtship of the Princess Katharine, Act V. Sc. 2, Henry makes the following humorous reference to the same intention :—‘‘Shall not thou and I, between St. Denis and St. George, compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard ? : Shall we not? What sayest thou, my fair flower- de-luce ?”’ ACT WW: CHORUS. (1) A mighty whifler.| The term is supposed by some to be derived from whijle, a name for a fife or flute; and whifflers, Douce surmises, were originally those who pre- ceded armies or processions as fifers or pipers. Other authorities derive it from whifle, to disperse as by a puff of wind, and affirm that a whzfler, in its original significa- tion, meant a staff-bearer. In the old play of ‘‘Clyomen, Knight of the Golden Shield,” &c. 1599, a whzfler presents himself at the tourney, clearing a passage for the king ; and in Day’s ‘‘ le of Gulls,”’ 1606, Miso says :—‘‘ And Manasses shall goe afore like a whifler, and make way with his horns,” (1) ScenE II1.—Come, your answer in broken music. ] ‘Broken music,” says Mr. Chappell, who was the first to }20 explain the term, “‘means the music of stringed instru- ments, in contradistinction to those played by wind. The term originated probably from harps, lutes, and such other stringed instruments as were played without a bow, not having the capability to sustain a long note to its full du- ration of sound.” See also Popular Music of the Olden Time, vol. i. p. 246. Shakespeare quibbles on the expression in ‘‘ Troilus and Cressida,” Act III. Sc. 1:— ‘‘ Fair prince, here is good broken music ;” proving, as Mr. Chappell remarks, that the musicians on the stage were then performing on stringed instruments. And again in ‘‘ As You Like It,” Act I. Sc. 2:— “But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides?” CRITICAL OPINIONS ON AN UN Gia EL PE Ne Reever belts tee tLe’ EL, “King HENRY THE Firru is manifestly Shakspeare’s favourite hero in English history: he paints him as endowed with every chivalrous and kingly virtue; open, sincere, affable, yet, as a sort of reminiscence of his youth, still disposed to innocent raillery, in the intervals between his perilous but glorious achievements. However, to represent on the stage his whole history subsequent to his accession to the throne, was attended with great difficulty. The conquests in France were the only distinguished event of his reign ; and war is an epic rather than a dramatic object. For wherever men act in masses against each other, the appearance of chance can never wholly be avoided ; whereas it is the business of the drama to exhibit to us those determinations which, with a certain necessity, issue from the reciprocal relations of different individuals, their characters and passions. In several of the Greek tragedies, it is true, combats and battles are exhibited, that is, the preparations for them and their results ; and in historical plays war, as the wltima ratio regum, cannot altogether be excluded. Still, if we would have dramatic interest, war must only be the means by which something else is accomplished, and not the last aim and substance of the whole. For instance, in Macdeth, the battles which are announced at the very beginning merely serve to heighten the glory of Macbeth and to fire his ambition: and the combats which take place towards the conclusion, before the eyes of the spectator, bring on the destruction of the tyrant. It is the very same in the Roman pieces, in the most of those taken from English history, and, in short, wherever Shakspeare has introduced war in a dramatic combination. With great insight into the essence of his art, he never paints the fortune of war as a blind deity who sometimes favours one and sometimes another; without going into the details of the art of war, (though sometimes he even ventures on this,) he allows us to anticipate the result from the qualities of the general, and their influence on the minds of the soldiers ; sometimes, without claiming our belief for miracles, he yet exhibits the issue in the light of a higher volition: the consciousness of a just cause and reliance on the protection of Heaven give courage to the one party, while the presage of a curse hanging over their undertaking weighs down the other. In Heury the Fifth no opportunity was afforded Shakspeare of adopting the last-mentioned course, namely, rendering the issue of the war dramatic; but he has skilfully availed himself of the first.—Before the battle of Agincourt he paints in the most lively colours the light-minded impatience of the French leaders for the moment of battle, which to them seemed infallibly the moment of victory ; on the other hand, he paints the uneasiness of the English King and his army in their desperate situation, coupled with their firm determination, if they must fall, at least to fall with honour. He applies this asa general contrast between the French and English national characters ; a contrast which betrays a partiality for his own nation, certainly excusable in a poet, especially when he is backed with such a glorious document as that of the memorable battle in question. He has surrounded the general events of the war with a fulness of individual, characteristic, and even sometimes comic features. A heavy Scotchman, a hot Irishman, a well-meaning, honourable, but pedantic Welshman, all speaking in their peculiar dialects, are intended to show us that the warlike genius of Henry did not merely carry the English with him, but also the other natives of the two islands, who were either not yet fully united or in no degree subject to him. Several good-for-nothing associates of Falstaff among the dregs of the army either afford an opportunity for proving Henry’s strictness of discipline, or are sent home in disgrace. But all this variety still seemed to the poet insufficient to animate a play of which the subject was a conquest, and nothing but a conquest. He has, therefore, tacked a prologue (in the technical language of that day @ chorus) to the beginning of each act. hese prologues, which unite epic pomp and solemnity with lyrical sublimity, and among which the description of the two camps before the battle of Agincourt forms a most 121 CRITICAL OPINIONS. admirable night-piece, are intended to keep the spectators constantly in mind, that the peculiar grandeur of the actions described cannot be developed on a narrow stage, and that they must, therefore, supply, from their own imaginations, the deficiencies of the representation. As the matter was not properly dramatic, Shakspeare chose to wander in the form also beyond the bounds of the species, and to sing, as a poetical herald, what he could not represent to the eye, rather than to cripple the progress of the action by putting long descriptions in the mouths of the dramatic personages. The confession of the poet that “four or five most vile and ragged foils, right ill-disposed, can only disgrace the name of Agincourt,” (a scruple which he has overlooked in the occasion of many other great battles, and among others of that of Philippi,) brings us here naturally to the question how far, generally speaking, it may be suitable and advisable to represent wars and battles on the stage. The Greeks have uniformly renounced them: as in the whole of their theatrical system they proceeded on ideas of grandeur and dignity, a feeble and petty imitation of the unattainable would have appeared insupportable in their eyes. With them, consequently, all fighting was merely recounted. The principle of the romantic dramatists was altogether different: their wonderful pictures were infinitely larger than their theatrical means of visible execution ; they were everywhere obliged to count on the willing imagination of the spectators, and consequently they also relied on them in this point. It is certainly laughable enough that a handful of awkward warriors in mock armour, by means of two or three swords, with which we clearly see they take especial care not to do the slightest injury to one another, should decide the fate of mighty kingdoms. But the opposite extreme is still much worse. If we in reality succeed in- exhibiting the tumult of a great battle, the storming of a fort, and the like, in a manner any way calculated to deceive the eye, the power of these sensible impressions is so great that they render the spectator incapable of bestowing that attention which a poetical work of art demands; and thus the essential is sacrificed to the accessory. We have learned from experience, that whenever cavalry combats are introduced, the men soon become secondary personages beside the four-footed players. Fortunately, in Shakspeare’s time, the art of converting the yielding boards of the theatre into a riding course had not yet been invented. He tells the spectators in the first prologue in Henry the Fifth :— Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs in the receiving earth. When Richard the Third utters the famous exclamation,— A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! it is no doubt inconsistent to see him both before and afterwards constantly fighting on foot. It is however better, perhaps, that the poet and player should by overpowering impressions dispose us to forget this, than by literal exactness to expose themselves to external interruptions. With all the disadvantages which I have mentioned, Shakspeare and several Spanish poets have contrived to derive such great beauties from the immediate representation of war, that I cannot bring myself to wish they . had abstained from it. A theatrical manager of the present day will have a middle course to follow: his art must, in an especial manner, be directed to make what he shows us appear only as separate groups of an immense picture, which cannot be taken in at once by the eye; he must convince the spectators that the main action takes place behind the stage; and for this purpose he has easy means at his command in the nearer or more remote sound of warlike music and the din of arms. “However much Shakspeare celebrates the French conquest of Henry, still he has not omitted to hint after his way, the secret springs of this undertaking. Henry was in want of foreign war to secure himself on the throne; the clergy also wished to keep him employed abroad, and made an offer of rich contributions to prevent the passing of a law which would have deprived them of the half of their revenues. His learned bishops consequently are as ready to prove to him his indisputable right to the crown of France, as he is to allow his conscience to be tranquillized by them. They prove that the Salic law is not, and never was, applicable to France ; and the matter is treated in a more succinct and convincing manner than such subjects usually are in manifestoes. After his renowned battles Henry wished to secure his conquests by marriage with a French princess ; all that has reference bas this is intended for irony in the play. The fruit of this union, from which two nations promised to themselves such happiness in future, was the weak and feeble Henry VI., under whom every thing was so miserably lost. It must not, therefore, be imagined that it was without the knowledge and will of the poet that a heroic drama turns out a comedy in his hands, and ends in the manner of Comedy with a marriage of convenience.” SCHLEGEL, ° 122 ae. fie Wii ig 4) Act ILI. Se. 5. -s eo a] l rc « of ‘ ere Cs Wim lbale ses ineetl le Tuts charming dramatic pastoral was first printed, it is believed, in the folio, 1623. On the Stationers’ Registers, however, is an entry, conjectured, with good reason, to belong to the year 1600, which may induce a different conclusion. It runs thus :— ‘4 Augusti. **As you like yt, a book. Henry the ffift, a book. Every Man in his humor, a book. The Commedie of Much Adoo about Nothinge, a book. To be staied.” The object of the “stay,” as Mr. Collier supposes, was no doubt to prevent the publication of these plays by any other booksellers than Wise and Apsley; and as the three other “books” were issued by them in a quarto form, probabilities are in favour of the fourth having been so published also. At all events, there are sufficient grounds for hope that a quarto edition may some day come to light. “As You Like It” is founded on Lodge’s novel, entitled ‘ Rosalynde, Euphues Golden Legacy,” &e., 1590; which in turn was derived from the ‘“ Coke’s Tale of Gamelyn,” attributed to Chaucer, and sometimes printed in his works, though now very gene- rally believed to be the work of another and much inferior hand. The quotation, in Act. III. Sc. 5, from Marlowe’s poem of ‘‘ Hero and Leander,”— “* Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight 2”— which appeared in 1598 ; the circumstance of its not being included in the list by Meres; and the memorandum above mentioned in the Stationers’ Registers, have led Malone and others, we think rightly, to assign the composition of “ As You Like It” to the year 1599. In connexion with this comedy there is a tradition too pleasing to be forgotten. It is related, on the authority of the poet’s brother Gilbert, who survived till after the Restoration of Charles II, that Shakespeare himself personated the faithful old Adam on the Stage. ‘One of Shakespeare’s younger brothers,” Oldys relates, ‘‘ who lived to a good old age, even some years, as I compute, after the restoration of King Charles II, would in his younger days come to London to visit his brother Will, as he called him, and be a spectator of him as an actor in some of his own plays. This custom, as his brother’s fame enlarged, and his dramatick entertainments grew the greatest support of our principal, if not of all our theatres, he continued, it seems, so long after his brother's death as even to the latter end of his own life. The curiosity at this time 125 AS YOU LIKE IT. of the most noted actors to learn something from him of his brother, &ec. they justly held him in the highest veneration. And it may be well believed, as there was besides a kinsman and descendant of the family, who was then a celebrated actor among them, this opportunity made them greedily inquisitive into every little circumstance, more especially in his dramatick character, which his brother could relate of him. But he, it seems, was so stricken in years, and possibly his memory so weakened with infirmities, which might make him the easier pass for a man of weak intellects, that he could give them but little light into their enquiries ; and all that could be recol- lected from him of his brother Will in that station was the faint, general, and almost lost ideas he had of having once seen him ‘act a part in one of his own comedies, wherein, being to personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and appeared so weak and drooping, and unable to walk, that he was foreed to be supported and carried by another person to a table, at which he was seated among some company, who were eating, and one of them sung a song.’ ” This description accords in all essential particulars with the introduction of Adam to the banished duke and his followers, at their sylvan banquet, in Act II. Se. 7. aetsons Represented. Doky, living in banishment. CHARLES, a Wrestler. FREDERICK, his Brother, and usurper of his ‘ er, : P if ToucHstTonE, a Clown, or Domestic Fool. Dominions. Men sa Corin, TENS; | Gentlemen attending on the Nxiled DuKE. Sinvius Shepherds, J AQUES, ) Le Brau, a Courtier attending upon FREDERICK. WiniiaM, a Peasant, in love with AUDREY. OLIVER , The Representative of Hymen. JAQUES, | Sons of Srr Rouanyd pz Bois. d yf Hy ORLANDO, RosaLinD, Daughter to the banished Duxkn. ADAM Crenia, Daughter to FREDERICK. PuHEBE, a Shepherdess. AUDREY, a Country wench. pee Servants to OLIVER. ? Sir OnIveR Marvrext, a Vicar. Followers and Attendants on the two Dukes, Pages, Foresters, ke. &c. SCEN E,—First, (and in Act IT. Sc. 3,) near OutveR’s House ; intermediately and afterwards, partly in the usurper’s Court, and partly in the Forest of Arden. 126 AL~ , ) ia 7 Wee ACLs I; SCENE I.—An Orchard, adjoining Oliver’s House. Enter OnwaAnDo and ADAM. Ort. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion ,—bequeathed* me by will, but poor a” thou- sand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept. For call you that keeping, for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better: for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their a Bequeathed me—] Some of the modern editions read, ‘‘ he bequeathed me :” and it is not improbable that the pronoun was omitted by the carelessness of the transcriber or compositor. b But poor a thousand crowns,—] So the folio, 1623, but most editors have adopted the reading of the folio, 1632:—‘“‘a poor thousand crowns;” and those who adhere to the original have failed to produce a single instance of similar phraseology to sup- port them. This is the more strange, since the idiom was at feast as old as the time of Chaucer, and by no means uncom- mon:— ‘‘And so I followed, till it me brought manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth ; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully 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 remedy how to avoid it. To right a pleasaunt herber.” Cuavucer: Flower and Leaf, 1. 49. ‘* At Leycester came to the Kynge ryght a fayre felawship of folks, to the nombar of three thousand men.”—Arrival of Edward IV. p. 8. ‘“‘The Kynge * * * * travaylynge all his people, whereof were moo than three thousand foteman, that Fryday, which was right-an-hot day, thirty myle and more.”—Jbid. p. 27. c His countenance seems to take from me:] The commentators appear to have misunderstood this expression. It does not here import aspect, carriage, and the like, but entertainment. See > note (g), p. 255, Vol. I. 127 Apam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Oru. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. [ApAm retires. Enter OLIvER. Our. Now, sir! what make* you here? Ort. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. Oxr. What mar you then, sir? Ort. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. Our. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.” Ort. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks a What make you here?] What do you here? b Be naught awhile.] A proverbial phrase, equivalent to a mischief on you. © Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.| The obscurity in this speech is at once cleared up by a passage in the original story :—‘‘ Though I am eldest by birth, yet, never having 128 with them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury ? Oxt. Know you where you are, sir? Ort. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard. Oxr. Know you before whom, sir? Oru. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know, you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me: the courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born; but the same tra- dition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. Oxr. What, boy! Ort. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.° attempted any deeds of arms, I am youngest to perform any martial exploits.”—Lopex’s Rosalynd, p. 17 of reprint in Shake- speare’s Library. Stung by the sarcastic allusion to his reverence, Oliver attempts to strike his brother, who seizes him, observing at the same time, ‘‘ You are too young at this game of manly prowess; in this, I am the elder.” _ - Orr. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? Oru. I am no villain: I am the youngest son of sir Roland de Bois: he was my father ; and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast railed on thyself. Avam. [Coming forward.| Sweet masters, be patient; for your father’s remembrance, be at accord, Oxz. Let me go, I say. Oru. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring my hiding from me all gentle- man-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oxz. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me. VOL. II. 129 Li ae a = R XY S| | Oru. I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good. Our. Get you with him, you old dog. Apam. 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. [Lxeunt ORLANDO and Apam. Ox. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Denis! Enter DENIs. Dern. Calls your worship ? Oxr. Was not Charles, the duke’s wrestler, here to speak with me? Dern. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oxr. Call him in. [Hit Denis.]|—T will be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is, Enter CHAaRruzEs. Cua. Good morrow to your worship. Oxz. Good monsieur Charles !—wihat’s the new news at the new court? K AOT 1] Cua. There’s no news at the court, sir, but the old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke ; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. Orr. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke’s daughter, be banished with her father ? Cua. O, no; for the duke’s daughter, her cousin, so loves her,—being ever from their cradles bred together,—that she* would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. Our. Where will the old duke live? Cua. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of Eng- land: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Ox. What,—you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? Cua. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguised 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 loth 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. Oxx. 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 under-hand 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 viilainous contriver against me his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: and thou wert best look to’t; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by some indirect means or (*) First folio, hee. 130 AS YOU LIKE IT. [SCENE It. 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 anatomise him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. Cua. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I[’Il give him his payment : if ever he go alone again, [’ll never wrestle for prize more: and so, God keep your worship ! (1) [ Lait. Ox. Farewell, good Charles—Now will I stir this gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him ; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he’s gentle: never schooled, and yet learned ; full of noble device ; of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I’ll go about. [ Hart. SCENE II.—A Lawn before the Duke’s Palace. Enter Rosatinp and CEtta. Creu. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I* were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. Cru. Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy banished 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 wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours. Cex. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine honour, I will ; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster ; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see ;—what think you of falling in love ? (*) Old copy omits, J. Crt. 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 mayst in honour come off again. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Crt. 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 woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. Cex. ’Tis true; for those that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest :* and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favouredly. Ros. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune’s office to Nature’s: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Crt. No? When Nature hath made a fair crea- ® Honest:] That is, chaste. 6 ToucHstoneE.] In the old copy he is called ‘‘ Clown.” 131 ays NA MN NT ; Vi HNN Hin { f AV WY) ture, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire ?— Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at For- tune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument ? Enter ToucustTons.? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature’s natural the cutter off of nature’s wit. Crn. Peradyenture, this is not Fortune’s work neither, but Nature’s ; who perceiving* our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.— How now, wit! whither wander you?° Toucn. Mistress, you must come away to your father. (*) First folio, perceiveth. ¢ How now, wit! whither wander you?] The beginning, pro- bably, of some ancient ballad. K 2 ACT I.] Crt. Were you made the messenger ? Toucu. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Tovucu. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I’ll stand to it, the paneakes were naught, and the mustard was good;.and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cru. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge ? Ros. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Toucu. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins and swear by your beards that I am a knave. Crt. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Toucu. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any ;* or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard. Crt. Pr’ythee, who is’t that thou meanest ? Tovcx. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cru.’ My father’s love is enough to honour him. Enough! speak no more of him: you’ll be whipped for taxation,® one of these days. Toucu. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Crt. By my troth, thou sayest 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.* Ros. With his mouth full of news. Crt. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Ros. Then we shall be Cee ecranined Cr: All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Enter Lr Brav. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau: what’s the news? Le Brav. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Crt. Sport? of what colour ? Lz Beav. What colour, madam! how shall I answer you ? (*) First folio, the Bey. a By his honour, for he never had any;] This was an ancient gibe. Boswell quotes a passage in which it occurs, from the play of ‘‘ Damon and Pithias,” 1573 :— *‘T have taken a wise othe on him; have I not, trow ye, To trust such a false knave upon his honestie? As he is an honest man (quoth you?) he may bewray all to the Kinge And breke his oth for this never a whit.” b Cexta.] In the old copy, this speech is assigned to Rosalind, manifestly in error, since Frederick was the name of Celia’s father. The correction is due to Theobald. ¢ Taxation,—] Satire, invective, sarcasm. 132 AS YOU LIKE IT. (SCENE II. Ros. As wit and fortune will. Toucu. Or as the Destinies decree. Cri. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. Toucu. Nay, if I keep not my rank, Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. Le Beav. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beav. 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. Crt. Well,—the beginning, that is dead and buried. Lr Brav. There comes an old man, and his three sons, Cru. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Lz Brav. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ;— Ros. With bills on their necks,°—Be it known unto all men by these presents,* Lr Brav. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke’s wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he served the second, and so the third; yonder they lie ; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas! Tovcu. But what is the sport, monsieur, that . the ladies have lost? Lz Brav. Why, this that I speak of. Toucu. Thus men may grow wiser every day! it is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. Cru. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken music® in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking ?—Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ? Tz Brav. You must, if you stay here: for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. Crx. Yonder, sure, they are coming: now stay and see it. let us ad Laid on with atrowel.] An old proverbial expression, which means, /aid on thickly. We still say, when any one bespatters another with gross flattery, that he lays it on with a trowel. e With bills on their necks,—] From a passage in Lodge’s Rosalynde, the story whence Shakespeare derived the plot of this comedy :—‘*‘ Rosader came pacing towardes them with his forest bill on his neck,’”’ Farmer conjectured, perhaps rightly, that these words originally formed part of Le Beau’s speech. f Beit known, &c.] Rosalind plays on the word bills, con- verting the forester’s weapons into advertising bills, which, in Shakespeare’s day, very commonly began with the phrase ‘she quotes. gs Broken music—] See note (1), p. 120. ACT 1.] Flourish. Enter Duxr Frepericr, Lords, Or.LANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants. Doxe F. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. Ros. Is yonder the man? Lr Brav. Even he, madam, - Cex. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks successfully, Duxer I, How now, daughter and cousin ! are you crept hither to see the wrestling ? Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. Douxe F, You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men.* In pity of the challenger’s youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies ; see if you can move him. Crt. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. Duxs F, Do so; I’ll not be by. [DuxeE goes apart. Lz Brav. Monsieur the challenger, the prin- cessesf call for you. Ort. I attend them with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler ? Ort. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but in, as others do, “to. try with him the strength of my youth. Cet. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years: you have seen cruel proof of this man’s strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the duke that the wrestling might not go forward, Ort. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts ; wherein I confess me much guilty,* to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious ; if killed, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me ; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing ; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Crx. And mine, to eke out hers. (*) Old text, man, (+) Old text, princesse. a Wherein I confess me much guilty,—] This is somewhat AS YOU LIKE iT. [SCENE IT. Ros. Fare you well. ceived in you! Crt. Your heart’s desires be with you! Cua. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? Oru. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duxs F. You shall try but one fall. Cua. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. Ort. 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 ! Cru. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [OrtANDO and Cuar zs wrestle. Ros. O excellent young man ! Crt. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [Cuaries zs thrown. (2) Dux F. No more, no more. Oru. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed. Dvuxs F. How dost thou, Charles? Lz Brav. He cannot speak, my lord. Doxe F. Bear him away. [CHaAREs ts borne out. What is thy name, young man ? Oru. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Roland de Bois. Dore F. I would thou hadst been son to some man else. The world esteem’d thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy : Thou shouldst have better pleas’d me with this deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; I would thou hadst told me of another father. [Hxeunt Duxe Frep. Train, and Lz Brav. Cet. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? Oru. I am more proud to be sir Roland’s son, His youngest son;—and would not change that calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick. Ros. My father lov’d sir Roland as his soul, And all the world was of my father’s mind: Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventur’d. CEL. Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: Pray heaven I be de- Shout. perplexed. Malone’s gloss is:—‘‘ Punish me not with your hard thoughts, which, however, I confess, I deserve to incur, for denying such fair Jadies any request.” 133 f yj nL HP Faas iH it NYY A i My father’s rough and envious disposition Sticks me at heart.—Sir, you have well deserv’d: If you do keep your promises in love, But justly, as you have exceeded all promise, Your mistress shall be happy. Ros. Gentleman, Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.— [Giving him a chain from her neck. 134 Shall we go, coz ? CEL. Ay.—Fare you well, fair gentleman. Ort. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts [up, Are all thrown down; and that which here stands Is but a quintain,(3) a mere lifeless block. [fortunes ; Ros. He calls us back. My pride fell with my T’ll ask him what he would.—Did you call, sir ?— Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown More than your enemies. ACT L.] Cru. Will you go, coz? Ros. Haye with youu—Fare you well. [Lxeunt Rosarinp and CEita. Ort. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue ? T cannot speak to her, yet she urg’d conference. O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown ! Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. Re-enter Le Brau. Lr Brav. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel jou To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv’d High commendation, true applause, and love ; Yet such is now the duke’s condition,* That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous ;” what he is, indeed, More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. Oru. I thank you, sir; and, pray you, tell me this,— Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling ? [manners ; Lz Brav. Neither his daughter, if we judge by But yet, indeed, the lower* is his daughter : The other is daughter to the banish’d duke, And here detain’d by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company ; whose loves Ave dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you, that of late this duke Hath ta’en displeasure ’gainst his gentle niece ; Grounded upon no other argument, But that the people praise her for her virtues, And pity her for her good father’s sake ; And, on my life, his malice ’gainst the lady Will suddenly break forth.—Sir, fare you well ; Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Oru. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well. [Lait Lm Buav. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother ; From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother :— But heavenly Rosalind ! [ Lait. SCENE IITI.— That’s as much to say as,—] In modern editions this is \usually printed in conformity with modern construction,— ‘That's as much as to say ;” but the form in the text was not un- common in old language :—“‘ And yet it is said,—labour in thy Vocation; whichis as much to say as,’’ &c.—‘‘ Henry VI.” (Part | VOL. I. 241 | | | TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE V. what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so ,beauty’s a flower.—The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. Out. Sir, I bade them take away you. Cro. Misprision in the highest degree !—Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum ; that’s as much to say as,” I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Our. Can you do it? Cro. Dexterously, good madonna. Oxz. Make your proof. Cro. I must catechize you for it, madunna ; good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Ort. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I’Il bide your proof. Cio. Good madonna, why mournest thou ? Our. Good fool, for my brother’s death. Cro. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. Out. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Cro. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. Our. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend ? ; Mau. Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death shake him: infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. _ Cro. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that Iam no fox; but he will not pass his word for two pence that you are no fool. Our. How say you to that, Malvolio ? Mat. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool,° that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already ; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools’ zanies. Out. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Cro. Now Mereury endue thee with leasing,* for thou speakest well of fools. Second), Act IV. Sc. 2. ¢ Anordinary fool,—] An ordinary fool may mean a common fool; but more probably, as Shakespeare had always an eye to the manners of his own countrymen, he referred to a jester hired to make sport for the diners at a public ordinary. d Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools.) The humour of this is not very conspicuous even by the light of Johnson’s comment,—‘‘ May Mercury teach thee to lie, since thou liest in favour of fools!" R ACT I.] Re-enter Marta. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you. Out. From the count Orsino, is it ? Mar. I know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oxt. Who of my people hold him in delay ? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Out. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: fie on him! [Hatt Maria. | Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, T am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dis- miss it. [Haxit Marvorto. | Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. Cro. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool,—whose skull Jove cram with brains! for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pra mater. Enter Sir Topy Bewtcu. Out. By mine honour, half drunk.— What is he at the gate, cousin ? Sm To. A gentleman, Our. A gentleman! what gentleman ? Siz To. ’Tis a gentleman here—a plague o’ these pickle-herring !—How now, sot! “ro. Good sir Toby ! Oxr. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy ? Str To. Lechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate. Our. Ay, marry; what is he? Srr To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it’s all one. [Hxit. Oxt. What’s a drunken man like, fool ? Cro. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a mad- man: one draught above heat makes him a fool ; the second mads him ; and a third drowns him. Our. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in the third degree of drink,—he’s drowned: go, look after him. Cro. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool shall look to the madman. [Hat Clown. Re-enter MALVoLtio. Mat. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep ; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he’s fortified against any denial. Oxt. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mat. H’as been told so; and he says, he'll 242 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE Y. stand at your door like a sheriffs post,(6) and be the supporter to a bench, but he’ll speak with you. Out. What kind 0’ man is he? | Mat. Why, of man kind. Oxt. What manner of man ? Mau. Of very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no. Ort. Of what personage and years is he? Mau. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before ’tis a peas- — cod, or a codling when ’tis almost an apple: ’tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think his mother’s milk were scarce out of him. ; Ort. Let him approach; call in my gentle-. woman. Mau. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [ Hatt. Re-enter Marta. Oxi. Give me my veil: come, throw it o’er my face ; We'll once more hear Orsino’s embassy. Enter Vioua.* Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she ? Ox. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable - beauty,—I pray you tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loth to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn ; I am very comptible,* even to the least sinister usage. Ox1. Whence came you, sir? Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question’s out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oxz. Are you a comedian ? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house ? Ox. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message. (*) Old copy, Violenta. ye Comptible,—] This must mean impressible, susceptive, sen= sible, : : ! | | AcT 1I.] Our. Come to what is important in’t : I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and *tis poetical, Ot. It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not* mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue. Mar, Will you hoist sail,sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little longer.—Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Oct. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger.” Oxr. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter. Ox. Yet you began rudely. what would you? Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maiden- head: to your ears, divinity ; to any other’s, pro- fanation. Ott. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Hait Manta.| Now, sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady, Oxt. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino’s bosom. Our, In his bosom! in what chapter of his bosom ? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Ox. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Our. Haye you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one I was this present: is’t not well done ? [ Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Ort. ’Tis in grain, sir; *twill endure wind and weather. What are you? & If you be not mad,—] We should perhaps read—‘‘ If you be but mad,” &c. that is, “Jf you are a mere madman, begone,” &c. No two words are more frequently confounded in these plays than not and but. b Oui. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. ] 243 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE vy. Vio. "Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruel’st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy. Out. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty : it shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil, labelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red ; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them ; dem, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise® me? Vio. I see you what you are,—you are too proud ; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and master loves you: O, such love Could be but recompens’d, though you were crown’d The nonpareil of beauty ! Ox. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with* fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oxr. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him: Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; In voices well divulg’d, free, learn’d, and valiant, And, in dimension and the shape of nature, A. gracious person ; but yet I cannot love him ; He might have took his answer long ago. Vio. If I did love you in my master’s flame, With such a suffering, such a deadly life, In your denial I would find no sense ; I would not understand it. Our. Why, what would you ? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house ; Write loyal cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. Oxr. You might do much. rentage ? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. Ox1. Get you to your lord ; I cannot love him: let him send no more ; Unless, perchance, you come to me again, To tell me how he takes it. are you well: I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. Vio. I am no fee’d post, lady; keep your purse; What is your pa- (*) Old copy omits, with. In the old copy these lines are annexed to the preceding speech, thus,—‘‘ Vio. . . Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie ; tell me your minde, I am a messenger.” c¢ To praise me?] Thatis to value, to avpraise me. Be ACT I.] My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love; And let your fervour, like my master’s, be Plae’d in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Hait. Our. What is your parentage ? Above mu fortunes, yet my state is well; I am a gentleman. T’ll be sworn thou art ; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon :—not too fast :—soft ! soft ! Unless the master were the man.—How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? Methinks, I feel this youth’s perfections, With an invisible and subtle stealth, To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.— What ho, Malvolio !— TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE ¥, Re-enter Matvouro. | Mat. Here, madam, at your service. Out. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county’s man ; he left this ring behind him Would I or not ; tell him, I’ll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him: | If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I’ll give him reasons for ’t. Hie thee, Malvolio. | Mau. Madan, I will. [ Hat. Ot. I do I know not what; and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. | Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe ; What is decreed must be ;—and be this so! [ Haeunt. MORE ANE SCENE I.—The Sea-coast. Enter Antonio and SEBASTIAN. _ Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not hat I go with you? Ses. By your patience, no: my stars shine arkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might erhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave f you your leave, that I may bear my evils lone: it were a bad recompense for your love, to 4y any of them on you. _ Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are ound, _ Ses. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is tere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- cllent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort om me what I am willing to keep in; therefore _ charges me in manners the rather to express -yself. You must know of me, then, Antonio, y name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo ; y father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom _know you have heard of: he left behind him yself and a sister, both born in an hour: if the »avens had been pleased, would we had so ended! it you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before yu took me from the breach of the sea was my ster drowned. mine eyes will tell tales of me. Ant. Alas the day! Ses. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beau- tiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her—she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. SEB. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble! Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. Ses. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least oceasion more, I am bound to the count Orsino’s court: farewell. [ Lait. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee ! I have many enemies in Orsino’s court, Else would I very shortly see thee there : But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [ Hait. 245 AOT I1.] SCENE II.—A Street. Enter ViowtA; Marvonrto following. Mat. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia? Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mat. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: and one thing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it So. Vio. She took the ring of me ;—I’Il none of it. Mat. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. [ Hat. Vio. I left no ring with her. What means this lady ? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm’d her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord’s ring ! why, he sent her none. I am the man! If it be so,—as ’tis,— Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper-false In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms ! Alas, our* frailty is the cause, not we ! For, such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge ? My master loves her dearly, And I, poor monster, fond as much on him. And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: What will become of this! As I am man, My state is desperate for my master’s love ; As I am woman—now alas the day !— What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! O time, thou must untangle this, not I ; It is too hard a knot for me t? untie! [ Lait. SCENE III.—A Room in Olivia’s House. Enter Sir Tospy Betcu and Sir ANDREw AGUE- CHEEK. Smr To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed (t) Old text, if; corrected by Tyrwhitt. &% Does not our life consist of the four elements?} The old copy has Hives, and the modern lection is, ‘‘ Do not our lives,” &c.; but see sir Andrew’s rejoinder:—I think, it rather consists,” &e, 246 (*) Old copy, O. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. a a a [SCENE It. after midnight, is to be up betimes ; and diluculo surgere, thou knowest, Sm Anp. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late is to be up late. Srr To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early: so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life* consist of the four elements ? Str Anp. Faith, so they say. but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking. : Srr To. Thou’rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.—Marian, I say! a stoop of wine ! Str Anp. Here comes the fool, 1’ faith. Enter Clown. Cro. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of we three ? (1) “@ Str To. Welcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch. Str Anp. By my troth, the fool has an ex- cellent breast.” I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok’st of Pigro- gromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus ;(2) ’twas very good, i’faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman :° hadst it ? Cro. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Mal- volio’s nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Str Anp. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Str To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let’s have a song. Str Anp. There’s a testril of me too: knight give a—— Cro. Would you have a love-song, or a song of — good life ?* , Str To. A love-song, a love-song. Smr Ano. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. if one SONG. | Cro. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear ; your true-love’s coming, - That can sing both high and low : Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; Journeys end in lovers’ meeting, Hvery wise man’s son doth know. Smr Anp. Excellent good, i’ faith ! Sir To. Good, good. b An excellent breast.] Breast meant voice. The phrase is SO common in our old writers that it would be superfluous to cite examples of its use in this sense. © Sixpence for thy leman:] The old copy reads lemon. Leman | signified sweet-heart or mistress. a A song of good life?] That is, a moral song. AOT It. } Cro. What is love? ’tis not hereafter ; Present mirth hath present laughter ; What’s to come is still unsure : In delay there les no plenty ; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty :* Youth’s a stuff will not endure. Sm Anp. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Smr To. A contagious breath. Smr Anp. Very sweet and contagious, 1’ faith. Sm To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver ? shall we do that ? Srr Anp. An you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch. Cro. By’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. Sm Anp. Most certain. Thou knave.(3) Cro. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be constrained in’t to call thee knave, knight. Srr Ann. ’Tis not the first time I have con- strained one to call me knave. Begin, fool ; it begins, Hold thy peace. Cro. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sm Anp. Good, i’faith! Come, begin. =~ [They sing a catch. Let our catch be, Enter Marta. Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here ! If my lady have not called up her steward, Mal- volio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sm To. My lady’s a Cataian, we are politi- cians ; Malvolio’s a Peg a-Ramsey,(#) and Zhree merry men be we.5) Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally ; lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady ! (®) [ Singing. Cro. Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling. Sm Anp. Ay, he does well enough, if he be ® Sweet-and-twenty :] A proverbial endearment; thus in ‘‘ The Merry Devil of Edmonton,” ‘‘ —— his little wanton wagtailes, his sweet and twenties, his pretty pinckineyd pigsnies,” &c. = Coziers’ calches—j A coxier meant a botcher of clothes or shoes. -t © Sneck-up.] A contemptuous exclamation, equivalent to ‘‘ go ang :”’— “* And now, helter-skelter, to th’ rest of the house: The most are good fellows, and love to carouse ; Who’s not may go sneck-up ; he’s not worth a louse That stops a health i’ th’ round.” Song by Patrick Carey, ‘‘ Come, faith, since I’m parting.” (See CHAPPELL’s Popular Music of the Olden Time, Vol. I. p. 289.) TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE ITI. disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Str To. O, the twelfth day of December,— [ Singing. Mar. For the love o’ God, peace ! Enter Matvouio. Mat. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night ? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’” catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck-up. ° Mat. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she’s nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. Str To. Larewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.*(7) [ Singing. Mau. Nay, good sir Toby. Cro. His eyes do show his days are almost done. [Singing. Mat. Is’t even so? Sir To. But [ will never die. [ Singing. Cro. Sir Toby, there you lie. Mat. This is much credit to you. Str To. Shall I bid him go ? [ Stinging. Cro. What an vf you do? [Singing. Str To. Shall [ bid him go, and spare not ? [ Stinging. Cro. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. [ Singing. Srr To. Out o’ tune, sir?® ye lie—Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ? Cro. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot 1’ the mouth too. Str To. Thou’rt 7’ the right.—Go sir, rub your chain with crumbs.‘ Great swarths :] A swarthis explained to mean as much corn or grass as a mower cuts down at one sweep of his scythe. © Call me cut.] Cali me cut is a phrase not unfrequent in our old plays; so, in the Interlude of ‘ Nature :”— | ‘‘Yf thou se him not take his way, TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE IV, Str Ann. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. Str To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ the end, call me cut.° Sr Anp. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Srr To. Come, come; I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight ; come, knight. | Hxeunt. SCENE IV.—A Room in the Duke’s Palace. Enter Duxs, Vioua, Curio, and others. Dvuxr. Give me some music.—Now, good mor= row, friends :— Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night ; Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs, and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times :— Come, but one verse. Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Dvxe. Who was it? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the lady Olivia’s father took much delight in: he is about the house. Dux. Seek him out:—and play the tune the while. [ Hait Curto.— Music. Come hither, boy ; if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it, remember me: For such as I am, all true lovers are,— Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save, in the constant image of the creature That is belov’d.—How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is thron’d. Dvxe. Thou dost speak masterly : My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye Hath staid upon some favour ¢ that it loves ;— Hath it not, boy ? Vio. A little, by your favour. Doxs, What kind of woman is’t ? Vio. Of your complexion. Doxe. She is not worth thee, then. What years, 1’ faith ? Vio. About your years, my lord. Duxe. Too old, by heaven: let still the woman take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, Call me cut, when thou metest me another day.” It appears to be synonymous with the ‘‘call me horse” of Falstaff, and, Malone suggests, was probably an abbreviation of curtal. d Favour—] Countenance. word in a double sense. In her reply, Viola employs the 249 Ac? 11.) So sways she level in her husband’s heart : For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,* Than women’s are. VIED I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as roses, whose fair flower, Being once display’d, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so ;— To die, even when they to perfection grow! Re-enter Curto and Clown. Dux. O fellow, come, the song we had last night,— Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Cro. Are you ready, sir? Duxe. Ay; pr’ythee, sing. [ Music. SONG. Cro. Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly* away, fly* breath ; LI am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare rt ! My part of death, no one so true Did share tt. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, To weep there | (8) Dux. There’s for thy pains. _Cxo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Dvuxr. I’ll pay thy pleasure then. Cro. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. (*) Old text, Fye—fie, ® Sooner lost and worn,—] Johnson proposed to read won for worn, and perhaps rightly, 250 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE IY, Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Cro. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal !"—I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their busi- ness might be everything, and their intent every- where ; for that’s it that always makes a good voyage of nothing.—Farewell. [ Zxit Clown. Dox. Let all the rest give place.— [Lxeunt Curio and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty : Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; The parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; But ’tis that miracle and queen of gems, That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. Vio. But if she cannot love you, sir? Dvxs. I* cannot be so answer’d. Vio. Sooth, but you must. Say that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her ; You tell her so: must she not, then, be answer’d ? Dvuxr. There is no woman’s sides, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. Alas, their love may be call’d appetite,— No motion of the liver, but the palate,— That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt ; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much: make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me, And that I owe Olivia. | Vio. Ay, but I know,— Duxr. What dost thou know? Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov’d a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. DvKE. And what’s her history ? Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought ; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more, but, indeed, Our shows are more than will; for still we prove (*) Old text, Jé. b For thy mind is a very opal!] The opal being a stone which varies its hues according to the different lights in which it is seen. i " SoA \\\\H!) Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duxx. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father’s house, And all the brothers too ;—-and yet I know not :— Sir, shall I to this lady ? Duke. Ay, that’s the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel ; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. [ Hxewnt, SCENE V.—Olivia’s Garden. Enter Sir Tospy Betou, Sir ANDREW AGUE- CHEEK, and FABIAN. Srr To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Faz. Nay, I’ll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. & My nettle of India ?] So the second folio. That of 1623 has mettle, which in most of the modern editions is changed into metal, and explained to mean gold. By the nettle of India, Steevens says, is meant a zoophyte, called Urtica Marina, abound- ing in the Indian seas. ‘‘ Que tacta totius corporis pruritum 7 64 Hg Uy, aA d Sir To. Wouldst thou not be giad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame ? Fas. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o’ favour with my lady, about a bear- baiting here. Smr To. To anger him, we’ll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue :— shall we not, sir Andrew ? Str Anp. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. Sir To. Here comes the little villain. Enter Marta. How now, my nettle* of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal- volio’s coming down this walk ; he has been yonder i’the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this letter will make a quendam excitat, unde nomen Urtice est sortita.”—FRANzIT, Hist. Animal. 1665, p. 620. This plant is likewise mentioned in Greene’s ‘‘ Card of Fancie,” 1608 :—*‘ The flower of India, pleasant to be seen, but whoso smelleth to it feeleth present smart.” 251 ACT I1.] contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [Zhe men hide themselves.| Lie thou there ; [Throws down a letter.| for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [EHait Manta. Enter MALVOLIO. Mat. "Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I think on’t? Sm To. Here’s an over-weening rogue ! Fas. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his ad- vanced plumes ! Str Ann. ’Slight, I could so beat the rogue ! Sir To. Peace! I say. Mat. To be count Malvolio ;— Sre To. Ah, rogue! Str Anp. Pistol him, pistol him. Str To. Peace, peace! Mau. There is example for’t; the lady of the Strachy * married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Str Anp. Fie on him, Jezabel ! Fas. O, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him. Mau. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,— Sir To. O, for a stone-bow,(9) to hit him in the eye! Mat. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day- bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping,— Str To. Fire and brimstone ! Fas. O, peace, peace. Mat. And then to have the humour of state: and after a demure travel of regard,—telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs —to ask for my kinsman Toby ;— Smr To. Bolts and shackles ! Fas. QO, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mat. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court’sies there to me,— Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? Fas. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars,” yet peace. Mat. I extend my hand to him thus,—quench- ® The lady of the Strachy—] The allusion is obviously to some old story in which a lady of distinction married a person much beneath her, but who she was, and whether Strachy was her name, her family, or her occupation, are as much a mystery now as they were a century ago. 252 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE V. ing my familiar smile with an austere regard of control,— Str To. And does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then ? Mat, Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech,— Str To. What, what? Mat. You must amend your drunkenness. Str To. Out, scab! Fas. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. Mau. Besides, you waste the treasure of your tume with a foolish knight ;— Str Anp. That’s me, I warrant you. Mau. One sir Andrew :— Str Anp. I knew, ’twas I; for many do call me fool. Mau. What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter. Fas. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Str To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him ! Mat. By my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and her Z’s; and thus makes she her great P’s. It is, in contempt of question, her hand. Str Anp. Her C’s, her U’s, and her 7’s: why that ? Mau. [feads.| To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes: her very phrases !—By your leave, wax.—Soft !—and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be? Fas. This wins him, liver and all. Mat. [Leads.| Jove knows, I love: But who ? Lips do not move : No man must know. No man must know.—What follows? the numbers . altered !—Vo man must know :—if this should be thee, Malvolio ! Str To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! Mat. [ Reads. | I may command where I adore ; But silence, like a Lucrece’ knife, With bloodless stroke my heart deth gore ; M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Fas. A fustian riddle! Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mau, J, O, A, I,1°) doth sway my life.-—Nay, but first, let me see,—let me see,—let me see. Fas. What dish of poison has she dressed him! b With cars,—] For cars, an undoubted misprint, Hanmer gave ‘*by th’ ears ;’ Johnson proposed “ with carts ;’ Tyrwhitt, ‘‘ with cables ;” Mr. Singer, ‘‘ tears;’? and Mr. Sidney Walker, ‘‘ with are i ” which last we consider preferable to any suggestionhere offered. Sim To. And with what wing the stannyel * checks at it! Mat. I may command where I adore. (*) Old text, stallion « corrected by Hanmer. Why, she may command me: I serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capa- city; there is no obstruction in this ;-——-and the end,—what should that alphabetical position por- tend? if I could make that resemble something in Softly !—17, O, A, T.— me, ACT IT.] Sm To. O, ay! make up that:—he is now at a cold scent. Fas. Sowter will ery upon’t, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. Mat. 1/,—Malvolio ;—J/,—why, that begins my name. Fas. Did not I say, he would work it out ? the cur is excellent at faults. Mat. J/,—but then there is no consonancy in the sequel ; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does. Fas. And OQ shall end, I hope. Str To. Ay, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry O! Mat, And then J comes behind. Fas. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than for- tunes before you. Mau. WW, O, A, J ;—This simulation is not as the former :—and yet, to crush this a little, 1t would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose.—| Reads. | [f this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee ;. but be not afraid of greatness: some are born* great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy Fates open their hands ; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art lke to be, cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state ; put thy- self into the trick of singularity : she thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who com- mended thy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered ; I say, remember. Gro to; thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, Tue Fortunate UNHAPPY. Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagi- nation jade me: for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg (*) Old text, become. a® Tray-trip,—] A game similar to, if not the same as, our back- gammon, ko oO ee TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE Y. being cross-gartered; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised !—Here is yet a postscript. [Jeads.] Thou canst not choose but know who [am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling ; thy smiles become thee well : therefore in my presence still smile, dear ny sweet, I pr’ythee, Jove, I thank thee.—I will smile: I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. [ Hat. Fas. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Str To. I could marry this wench for this device,— Str Anp. So could I too. Srr To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest. Sir Anp. Nor I neither. Fas. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. Re-enter Marta. Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck ? Sir Anp. Or 0’ mine either ? Srr To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip,* and become thy bond-slave ? Srr Ann. I’faith, or I either? Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him ? Str To. Like aqua-vite with a midwife. Mar. If you will, then, see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me. Str To. To the gates of Tartar,’ thou most excellent devil of wit! Str Anp. I’ll make one too. [ Haeunt. b:- Tartar,—] Jartarus. .Soin ‘‘ Henry V.” Act II. Se. 2:— ‘‘He might return to vasty Tartar back.” ; 1 Od WE SCENE I.—Olivia’s Garden. ’ Enter Vioia, and Clown with a tabor.2) Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by thy tabor.? | Cro. No, sir, I live by the church. ‘Vio. Art thou a churchman? Cro. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church, for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. cave & Vio. So thou may’st say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. Cro. You have said, sir.—To see this age !— A sentence is but a cheveril glove* to a good wit ; how quickly the wrong side may be turned out- ward ! Vio. Nay, that’s certain; they, that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton. [name, sir. Cro. I would, therefore, my sister had had no Vio. Why, man? Cio. Why, sir, her name’s a word; and to &® Cheveril glove—] See note (¢), p. 180, Vol. I. dally with that word, might make my sister wan- ton: but, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them. Vio. Thy reason, man ? Cro. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words ; and words are grown so false, I am loth to prove reason with them. Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing. Cro. Not so, sir, I do care for something :_ but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible. Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia’s fool ? Cro. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings,—the husband’s the bigger ; I am, in- deed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words. Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino’s. Cro. Foolery, siz, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress: I think, I saw your wisdom there. 255 AOT III] Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee. Cro. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard ! Vio. By my troth, I’ll tell thee,—I am almost sick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within ? Cro. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Cro. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. Vio. I understand you, sir; ’*tis well begged. Cro. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; who you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin,—I might say, ele- ment, but the word is over-worn. [ Lact. Vio. This fellow’s wise enough to play the fool ; And to do that well craves a kind of wit ; He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time ; And, like the haggard, check at every feather ‘That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a wise man’s art : For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit ; But wise men,* folly-fallen. quite taint their wit. Enter Sir Tony Briucu and Sir ANDREW AGUECHEEK. Sir To. Save you, gentleman. Vio. And you, sir. Sir Anp. Diew vous garde, monsicur. Vio. Ht vous aussi ; votre serviteur. Srr Anp. I hope, sir, you are, and I am yours. Sm To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is the list of my voyage. Str To. Taste* your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. Str To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: —but we are prevented. (*) Old text, mens. ® Taste—) Taste was frequently employed in the old writers as test, or try. Steevens gives an apt example from Chapman’s translation of the Odyssey :— — he now began To faste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg’d hard.”—Book 21. 256 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE 1, Enter Ourvia and Marta. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you! Str Anp. That youth’s a rare courtier ! odours ! well. Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. Srr Anp. Odowrs, pregnant, and vouchsafed : —I’ll get ’em all three ready.* Our. Let the garden-door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Hxeunt Sir Tosy, Str AnprEew, and Marta. Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble ser- vice. Our. What is your name? Vio. Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess. [ world, Orr. My servant, sir! ’I'was never merry Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment : Youw’re servant to the count Orsino, youth. Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours ; Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam. Ont. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Rain | Would they were blanks, rather than fill’d with me! Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf :— Ou. O, by your leave, I pray you,— I bade you aever speak again of him: But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres. Vio. Dear lady, Ot. Give me leave, beseech you: I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you: Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours: what might you think? . Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? ‘To one of your receiving Enough is shown; a cyprus,” not a bosom, Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak. _ *) Old text, already. But Sir Toby uses it as he does encounter the house, and as the Clown adopts welkin and element, to ridicule the fantastic jargon of the Euphuists. b Cyprus,—] Cyprus, or civress, was a thin, transparent stuff, similar to that now called crape. . “+ AOT IIL. ] Vio. I pity you. Out. That’s a degree to love. Vio. No, not a grise ;* for ’tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies. [again. Ort. Why, then, methinks, ’tis time to smile O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf! [ Clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.— Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you: And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man : There lies your way, due west. Vio. Then westward-ho !—(2) Grace and good disposition ’tend your ladyship ! You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? Our. Stay: I pr’ythee, tell me what thou think’st of me. Vio. That you do think you are not what you are. Ox. If I think so, I think the same of you. Vio. Then think you right ; Iam not what I am. Our. I would you were as I would have you be! Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am? I wish it might; for now I am your fool. Ox. [ Aside.] O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip ! A murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid : love’s night is noon. Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, I love thee so, that maugre all thy pride, Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause: But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter,— Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better. Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,— And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam ; never more Will I my master’s tears to you deplore. Ort. Yet come again: for thou perhaps, may’st move That heart, which now abhors; to like his love. [ Haeunt. SCENE II.— == Msp # fF E> Enter Clown and Fasian. Fas. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. _ Cto. Good master Fabian, grant me another | request. Fas. Any thing. Cro. Do not desire to see this letter. Fas. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, desire my dog again. Enter Duxn, Vioza, Curtro, and Attendants. | Doxe. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends ? | bed Conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your _ two affirmatives,—] A passage cited by Farmer from the tragedy of “Lust’s Dominion,” in some degree explains the Clown’s thought :— ‘ ¥ : x a De iVes SCENE I.—The Street before Olivia’s House. Cro. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings. Duxe. I know thee well; how dost thou, my good fellow ? Cro. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends. Duxs. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends. : Cro. No, sir, the worse. Dux. How can that be? Cro. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the know- ledge of myself; and by my friends i am abused : so that, conclusions to be as kisses,* if your four ‘© Queen. ——-— Come, let’s kisse. Moor. Away, away. Queen, No, no, says a e; and twice awa’, sayes stay.” 271 ACT V.] negatives make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. Duxr. Why, this is excellent. Cro. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends. Duxs. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold. Cro. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another. Duxe. O, you give me ill counsel. Cro. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. Douxr. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double dealer ;* there’s another. Cro. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; and the old saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of St. Benet, sir, may put you in mind,— one, two, three. Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw: if you will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further. ~ Cro. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I come again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness: but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will awake it anon. [Hatt Clown. Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. Enter Antonto and Officers. Duxr. That face of his I do remember well ; Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear’d As black as Vulean, in the smoke of war: A bawbling vessel was he captain of, For shallow draught and bulk unprizable ; With which such seatheful grapple did he make With the most noble bottom of our fleet, That very envy and the tongue of loss, Cried fame and honour on him.—What’s the matter ? 1 Orr. Orsino, this is that Antonio That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy, And this is he that did the Tiger board, When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, In private brabble did we apprehend him. Vio. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side ; But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me,— I know not what ’twas, but distraction. Dvuxe. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief! a A double dealer;] See note (4), p. 740, Vol. I. 272 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE I, What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, Whom thou. in terms so bloody and so dear, Hast made thine enemies ? ANT. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleas’d that I shake off these names you give me; Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither; That most ingrateful boy there by your side, From the rude sea’s enrag’d and foamy mouth Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was: His life I gave him, and did thereto add My love, without retention or restraint, All his in dedication. For his sake, Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into the danger of this adverse town ; Drew to defend him when he was beset ; Where being apprehended, his false cunning (Not meaning to partake with me in danger) Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, And grew a twenty-years-remoyed thing, While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before. Vio. How can this be? Duxr. When came he to this town ? Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months before, (No interim, not a minute’s vacancy,) Both day and night did we keep company. Dux. Here comes the countess ; now heaven walks on earth.—— But for thee, fellow,—fellow, thy words are mad- ness : Three months this youth hath tended upon me; But more of that anon.—Take him aside. Enter Outvta and Attendants. Ont. What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ?— Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. Vio. Madam! Dvuxe. Gracious Olivia, Ort. What do you say, Cesario ? lord,_— Vio. My lord would speak; my duty hushes me. Ors. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, Tt is as fat” and fulsome to mine ear, ; As howling after music. Duke. Good my till so eruel ? b Itisas fat—] Fat, here, means o’ercloying, sickening. AOT Y.] Out. Still so constant, lord. Duxr. What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull’st offerings hath breath’d out, That e’er devotion tender’d ! What shall I do? Ort. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. Dvuxr. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, Like to th’ Egyptian thief at point of death, Kill what I love? (1) a savage jealousy That sometime savours nobly.—But hear me this: Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your fayour, Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ; But this your minion, whom I know you love, And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.— Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief ; I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, To spite a raven’s heart within a dove. —_[ Going. Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. [ following. Or. Where goes Cesario ? Vio. After him I love More than f love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife. If I do feign, you witnesses above, Punish my life for tainting of my love! Our. Ay me, detested! how am I beguil’d! Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong? Ox1. Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long ?— Call forth the holy father. [Hit an Attendant. Doxe. Come, away! [Zo Vioxa. | Orr. Whither, my lord ?—Cesario, husband, stay! Douxr. Husband ? Ox. Ay, husband, can he that deny ? _ Duxz. Her husband, sirrah ? Vio. No, my lord, not I. Orr. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear That makes thee strangle thy propriety : Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up ; Be that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art ‘As great as that thou fear’st.— . | : Re-enter Attendant, with Priest. : O, welcome, father ! Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, ‘Here to unfold (though lately we intended To keep in darkness, what occasion now VOL. It, 273 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE I. Reveal before ’tis ripe) what thou dost know, Hath newly pass’d between this youth and me, Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love Confirm’d by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthen’d by interchangement of your rings : (2) And all the ceremony of this compdct Seal’d in my function, by my testimony : Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave I have trayell’d but two hours. Duxsz. O, thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be, When time hath sow’d a grizzle on thy case? * Or will not else thy craft s> quickly grow, That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow ? Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. Vio. My lord, I do protest,— pane O, do not swear! Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. bd Enter Sir Anprew AGuECHEEK, with his head broken. Str Anp. For the love of God, a surgeon ! send one presently to sir Toby. Oxr. What’s the matter? Sir Anp. H’as broke my head across, and has given sir 'T'oby a bloody coxcomb too: for the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home. Our. Who has done this, sir Andrew ? Sm Anp. The count’s gentleman, one Cesario: we took him for a coward, but he’s the very devil incardinate. Douxr. My gentleman, Cesario? Str Anp. ’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing ; and that that I did, I was set on to do’t by sir Toby. Vio. Why do you speak tome? I never hurt you: You drew Raat sword upon me without cause ; But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. Str Anp. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me ; I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.—Here comes sir Toby, halting—you shall hear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you othergates than he did. Enter Sir Tosy Brucu, drunk, led by the Clown. Duxr. How now, gentleman! how is’t with you ? Sr To. That’s all one; h’as hurt me, and there’s the end on’t.—Sot, did’st see Dick surgeon, sot ? a Case,] An old term, not altogether disused, for skin. a Cro. O, he’s drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone ; his eyes were set at eight 7 the morning. Str To. Then he’s a rogue, after a passy-mea- sure’s pavin ;* I hate a drunken rogue. Orr. Away with him! Who hath made this havoe with them ? Sm Anp. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together. Str To. Will you help ?—an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave!—a thin-faced knave, a gull! Our. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to. [Hxeunt Clown, Fantan, Sir Tony, and Sir ANDREW. Enter SEBASTIAN. Ses. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman ; But had it been the brother of my blood, T must have done no less with wit and safety. You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that, I do perceive it hath offended you ; Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows We made each other but so late ago. a After a passy-measure’s pavin;] The first folio reads, ‘‘ anda passy measures panyn.”’ Ina M5. list of old dances, Mr. Collier 274 Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons ! | A natural perspective,” that is and is not! Sze. Antonio? O my dear Antonio! | How have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me, | Since I have lost thee! F Ant. Sebastian are you ? SEB. Fear’st thou that, Antonio? Ant. How have you made division of yourself?— An apple cleft in two is not more twin | Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? | Oxt. Most wonderful ! Srs. Do I stand there? I never had a brother; Nor can there be that deity in my nature, Of here and every where. I had a sister, Whom the blind waves and surges have devour’d:— Of charity, what kin are you to me? [7Z'o Vion. What countryman? what name? what parentage? Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father; Such a Sebastian was my brother too, . | So went he suited to his watery tomb : If spirits can assume both form and suit, | You come to fright us. SEB. A spirit I am indeed : But am in that dimension grossly clad, Which from the womb I did participate. ' } has found one dance called “ The passinge measure Pavyon.” \ b Perspective,—] See note (4), p. 498, Vol. I. . AcT V.] Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, And say—Thrice welcome, drowned Viola! Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow,— Srs. And:so had mine. Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth Had number’d thirteen years. Sz. O, that record is lively in my soul! He finished, indeed, his mortal act, That day that made my sister thirteen years. Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both But this my masculine usurp’d attire, Do not embrace me, till each circumstance Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump, That I am Viola: which to confirm, T’ll bring you to a captain in this town, Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help * I was preserv’d to serve this noble count ; All the occurrence of my fortune since Hath been between this lady and this lord. Ses. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook : [Zo Oxtvia. But nature to her bias drew in that. You would have been contracted to a maid ; Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv’d,— ‘You are betroth’d both to a maid and man. | Doxs. Be not amaz’d; right noble is his blood.— If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, I shall have share in this most happy wreck :— Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, [Zo Vrona. Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. _ Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; And all those swearings keep as true in soul As doth that orbed continent, the fire That severs day from night. _ Doxs. Give me thy hand ; nd let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds. Vio. The captain that did bring me first on shore, Hath my maid’s garments: he, upon some action, {s now in durance at Malvolio’s suit, A gentleman, and follower of my lady’s. Out. He shall enlarge him :—fetch Malvolio hither :— And yet, alas, now I remember me, [hey say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract. j ; & Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help 4 I was preserv’d to serve this noble count ;] “0 correct the prosody of the first line, Theobald reads, ‘‘my naid’s weeds ;” perhaps the object is attained more effectually by idding than subtracting a syllable :— “Where lie my maiden weeds; he by whose gentle help,” &e. dis alteration of preferr'd for preserv'd in the second line is, oo an undeniable improvement, and is almost verified by € passage in Act I. Sc. 2, where Viola tells the captain she is tere speaking of,— 275 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE TI. Re-enter Clown, with a letter, and Fanran. A most extracting frenzy of mine own From my remembrance clearly banish’d his.— How does he, sirrah ? Cro. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end, as well as a man in his case may do: h’as here writ a letter to you, I should have given *t you to-day morning ; but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are delivered. Oxx. Open ’t, and read it. Cro. Look then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman: [Reads.| By the Lord, madam,— Ort. How now! art thou mad? Cro. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow vow. Out. Pr’ythee, read 7? thy right wits. Cro. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to read thus: therefore perpend, my prin- cess, and give ear. Out. Read it you, sirrah. [Zo Fanran. Fas. [Reads.]| By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know wt : though you have put me into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right, or you much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. The madly-used Mauvouio. Out. Did he write this ? Cro. Ay, madam. Doxs. This savours not much of distraction. Oxt. See him deliver’d, Fabian; bring him hither. [Lait Pasian. My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, To think me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown the alliance on’t, so please you, Here at my house, and at my proper cost. Duxr. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.— Your master quits you; [Zo Vzoxa.] and, for your service done him,— “‘T’ll serve this duke: Thou shalt present me.” b Extracting frenzy—] The second folio has ‘‘ exacting,” and Mr. Collier’s annotator reads ‘‘distracting;” but see the passage quoted by Malone, from ‘* The Hystorie of Hamblet” “to try ifmen of great account be extract out of their wits; ” and another, cited by Steevens, where William de Wyrcester, speaking of Henry VI. says :—‘‘—subito cecidit in gravem infirmitatem capitis, ita quod extractus 4 mente videbatur.” T2 ACT V.] So much against the mettle of your sex, So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, And since you call’d me master for so long,— Here is my hand; you shall from this time be Your master’s mistress. Ort; A sister !—you are she, Re-enter Fasian, with MALvouio. Duxe. Is this the madman ? Oxt. Ay, my lord, this same :— How now, Malvolio ! Mau. Madam, you have done me wrong, Notorious wrong. Ox. Have I, Malvolio? no. [letter: Mat. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that You must not now deny it is your hand,— Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase ; Or say, *tis not your seal, nor your invention : You can say none of this: well, grant it then, And tell me, in the modesty of honour, Why you have given me such clear lights of favour ; Bade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you ; To put on yellow stockings, and to frown Upon sir Toby and the lighter people : And, acting this in an obedient hope, Why have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d, Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, And made the most notorious geck and gull, That e’er invention play’d on ? tell me why. Oxr. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, Though, I confess, much like the character : But, out of question, ’*tis Maria’s hand. And now I do bethink me, it was she [| smiling,” First told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in And in such forms, which here were presuppos’d Upon thee in the letter. Pr’ythee, be content : ‘This practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee : But when we know the grounds and authors of it, Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge Of thine own cause. Fas. Good madam, hear-me speak ; And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come, Taint the condition of this present hour, Which I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not, Most freely I confess, myself and Toby Set this device against Malvolio here, Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts We had conceiv’d against him: Maria writ The letter at sir Toby’s great importance ;? In recompense whereof he hath married her, a Then cam’st in smiling,—] Thou must be understood after cam’st, ‘‘ then cam’st thou in smiling,” &c. b Importance;] That is, importunity. © Some have greatness thrown upon them.] ‘Query,’ Mr. Dyce asks, ‘‘is thrown, instead of ‘thrust,’ an oversight of the author, or an error of the scribe or printer?” We believe it to be neither one nor the other, but a purposed variation common to 276 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. [SCENE I, How with a sportful malice it was follow’d, May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; If that the injuries be justly weigh’d, That have on both sides pass’d. Out. Alas, poor fool! how have they baffled thee! Cro. Why, some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrown® upon them. I was one, sir, in this interlude; one sir Topas, sir; but that’s all one:—By the Lord, fool, IT am not mad ;—but do you remember? Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal ? an you smile not, he’s gagged: and thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. Mau. I’ll be reveng’d on the whole pack of you! [ Hot. Ox1. He hath been most notoriously abus’d. Dvuxs. Pursue him, and entreat him to a. eace :— He hath not told us of the captain yet ; When that is known and golden time convents, A solemn combination shall be made Of our dear souls—Meantime, sweet sister, We will not part from henee.—Cesario, come ; For so you shall be, while you are a man ; But when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen. [Hxeunt all, except the Clown, Sona. Cro. When that I was and a little tiny boy,(3) . With hey, ho, the wind and the ram : A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came to man’s estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain : ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut thew gate, For the rain ut raineth every day. But when I came, alas ! to wive, } With hey, ho, the wind and the rain : By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain tt raineth every day. But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain : With toss-pots still had drunken heads, . Lor the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and.the rain: But that’s all one, our play is done, And we'll strive to please you every day. — (Bait, Shakespeare in cases of repetition, possibly from his knowing, by professional experience, the difficulty of quoting with perfect accuracy. Thrown occurs with precisely the same sense Wilkins’ tract of ‘* Pericles, Prince of Tyre :””—‘‘ If the eminence of your place came unto you by descent, and the royalty of your blood, let not your life prove your birth a bastard: if it were thrown upon you by opinion, make good that opinion,” &c, z | | | | | | | | " | { = — CEE ss sss ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACE I , (1) ScenE Ill.—He plays o° the viol-de-gamboys.| Mr. Gifford observes (BEN JONSON’S Works, I]. 125), ‘that a viol-de-gambo (a bass viol, as Jonson also calls it) was an indispensable piece of furniture in every fashionable house, where it hung up in the best chamber, much as the guitar does in Spain, and the violin in Italy, to be he on at will, and to fill up the void of conversation. oever pretended to fashion, affected an acquaintance with this instrument.” ‘The allusions to it are frequent in our old dramas: thus, in the Induction to Marston’s “Malcontent,” 1604 :— “Sink. Save you, coose. Sry. O, coosin, come, you shall sit betweene my legges heare. Sixx. No, indeede, coosin, the audience then will take me for a viol-de-gambo, and thinke that you play upon me.”’ (2) ScEnE III.—A parish-top.] ‘‘A large top was for- merly kept in every village, to be whipped in frosty weather, that the peasants may be kept warm by exercise, and out of mischief, while they could not work.”— STEEVENS. The amusement must have been very popular, being repeatedly mentioned in early books: thus, in Beaumont and Fletcher’s ‘‘ Thierry and Theodoret,” Act II. Se. 3:— fs I’ll hazard My life upon it, that a boy of twelve Should scourge him hither like a parish-top, And make him dance before you.” So also in Taylor, the Water Poet’s ‘‘ Jacke-a-Lent,” “Were it not for these Netmongers, it is no flat lye to say, the Flounder might lye flat in his watry Cabin, and the Eele (whose slippery taile put mee in mind of a formall Courtiers promise) would wriggle up and downe in his muddy habitation, which would bee a great discommodity for schoole-boyes, through the want of scourges to whip Gigs and Towne-Tops.” (8) Scene IIl].—The buttery-bar.] This was a favourite locality in the palaces of royalty, and in the houses of the opulent. Mr. Halliwell has furnished an engraving of one still preserved at Christ Church College, Oxford ; and he remarks that ‘‘this relic of ancient customs is still found im most of our ancient colleges. ‘ Furst every mornyng at brekefast oon chyne of beyf at our kechyn, oon chete loff and oon maunchet at our panatry barre, and a galon of ale at our buttrye barre; Item, at dyner, a pese of beyfe, a stroke of roste, and a reward at our said kechyn, a cast of chete bred at our panatry barze, and a galon of ale at our buttry barre.’—MS. dated 1522.” (4) Scene III.—Mistress Mall’s picture.| The picture in question is supposed to be a portrait of one Mary Frith, commonly known as Mall Cut-purse,; an Amazonian. bona roba, to whom allusions innumerable are made by the dramatic and satirical writers of the period. She is said to have been born in Barbican, and to have attained to such disreputable celebrity, that about 1610 a book was published, entitled ‘‘The Madde Prancks of mery Mall of the Banckside, with her walkes in man’s appa- rell and to what purpose, written by John Day.” In the following year she was made the heroine of a comedy by Middleton and Decker, called ‘‘'The Roaring Girle, or Moll Cutpurse, as it hath lately beene Acted on the Fortune-stage by the Prince his Players,” on the title-page of which she is represented in her male habiliments, and smoking tobacco. About the same time she. did penance at St. Paul’s Cross, of which ceremony the following ac- count is preserved in a letter from John Chamberlain to ° Sir Dudley Carleton, dated February 12, 1611-12 :—‘‘ This last Sunday Moll Cutpurse, a notorious baggage that used to go in man’s apparel, and challenged the field of diverse gallants, was brought to the same place, where she wept bitterly, and seemed very penitent ; but it is since doubted she was maudlin drunk, being discovered to have tippel’d of three quarts of sack before she came to her penance.” She died in 1659, and is stated to have left twenty pounds by her will for the Fleet-street conduit to run with wine when King Charles the Second returned, which happened soon after. (5) SCENE V.—Clown.] Clown, in our old plays, was the generical term for the buffone, or low-comedy character of the piece. Sometimes this merry-man was a mere country bumpkin, like the old shepherd’s son in ‘‘ The Winter’s Tale ;” or a shrewd rustic, like Costard in ‘‘ Love’s Labour’s Lost ;” or a witty retainer, such as Launce in ** The Two Gentlemen of Verona ;” and Launcelotin ‘‘ The Merchant of Venice;” sometimes he was an ‘‘allowed,” or hired domestic jester, like Touchstone in “As You Like it,” Lavatch in ‘‘ Alls Well that Ends Well,” and the fool in the present comedy. For a description of the sort of amusement the domestic fools were expected to afford their employers, see note (2), p. 54. (6) Scene V.—He says, he’li stand at your door like a sheriff’s post.| The doors of Mayors’ and Sheriffs’ houses were furnished with ornamented posts, on which were set up the royal and civic proclamations. It appears to have been the custom to repaint the posts whenever a new election of these officials took place: thus in ‘‘ Lingua :” ‘‘Knowes he how to become a scarlet gowne? hath hea paire of fresh posts at his doore?” And again in ‘‘ Skia- letheia, or w Shadowe of Truth,” 1598 :— ‘“‘ Or like a new sherifes gate-posts, whose old faces Are furbished over to smoothe time’s disgraces.”’ A pair of Mayors’ posts are still standing in Norwich, which, from the initials.T. P. and the date 159.., are conjectured to have belonged to Thomas Pettys, who was Mayor of that city in 1592. 277 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACT IL. % (1) Scenz III.—Did you never see the picture of we three 2] The Clown roguishly refers to a once common sign, which represented two fools drinking, with an inscription be- neath of ‘‘ We three loggerheads be.” ‘‘Plain home-spun stuffe shal] now proceed from me, Much like unto the picture of Wee Three.” Taytor’s Farewell to the Tower-Bottles, 1622. There is a marginal note to this passage,—‘‘ The picture of two fooles and the third looking on, I doe fitly compare with the two black bottles and myselfe.” (2) Scene IIIl.—In sooth, thou wast in very gracious Sooling last night, when thow spok'st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus.] Sir An- drew’s commendation calls to mind one of the most charac- teristic accomplishments of the wittiest domestic jesters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. We say the wittiest, for, without distributing the Clowns of the period according to the careful classification adopted by Mr. Douce, it is evident that, in the Fool’s calling, as in others, there were various degrees, and that the first-class jester of a royal or noble family ranked as much above his brother clown of the common sort, as the leading histrion of a London theatre tops the poor varlet who struts and frets his hour upon the stage at a country fair; ‘I mar- vel,” says Malvolio, ‘‘ that your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brains than a stone.” All clowns were capable, more or less, of the biting sarcasms and coarse practical merriment which their vocation licensed ; but few, probably, had sufficient infor- mation, not to say learning, to garnish their discourse with the mock erudition and the snatches of axiomatical philosophy exhibited by the jesters of ‘‘ Twelfth Night” and “ As You Like It;” and from them any reasoning admitting a sensible interpretation must not, of course, be looked for; though something may be traced in them which bears a close affinity to the fantastic ex- travagance and wild conceits of Rabelais. The source, however, of their sham sententiousness is of an earlier date than the romance of the great French satirist. The first known edition of that work is dated 1532; but in the library of M. de Bure were found two more ancient though undated books, entitled ‘‘ Les Chroniques de Gargantua,” which have much of this peculiar humour. The history of Gargantua, as an enormous giant, was well known too in England during the sixteenth century, though the romance relating to him contains nothing of the amusing rhodomontade indulged in by Rabelais and the humorists in question. A remote resemblance to it may be detected in some parts of the poems of Robert Longland, “The Vision and Creed of Pierce Ploughman;” and there is extant a genuine specimen of the ‘excellent fooling” for which the clowns of Shakespeare stand unrivalled, in the form of a mock sermon, in a manuscript of the fifteenth century, preserved in the Advocates’ Library at Edinburgh, which, with other burlesques of the same date, was printed in 1841 by Mr. T. Wright, in the Reliquie Antique, Vol. I. pp. 82—84. One extract from this effusion, with the orthography partly modernised, will convey no very imperfect notion of the clown’s ‘gracious fooling” with Sir Toby and his companion knight :—‘* Why hopest thou not, for sooth, that there stood once a cook, on St. Paul steeple top, and drew up the strapuls of his breech? How provest thou that? By all the four doctors of Wynebere hylles; that is to say, Vertas, Gadatryme, Trumpas, and Dadyl Trymsert ; the which four doctors say, that there was once an old wife hada cook to her son; and he looked out of an old dove-cote, and warned and charged that no man should be so hardy neither to ride nor to go on St. Paul steeple top but if he rode on a three-footed stool, or else that he brought with him a warrant of his 278 neck, and yet the lewd letherand lurdon went forth, and met seven acres of land betwixt Dover and Quicksand, . he brought an acre in his recke [hand-basket] from Tower of London unto the Tower of Babilon; and, as he went by the way, he had a foul fall, and he fell down at the castle of Dover into a gruel pot, and brake both his _ shins. Thereof came tripping to the king of Hon that all people which might not lightly come to the Plain — of Salisbury, but the fox and the grey convent, should — pray for all the old shoe-soles that ben roasted in the king’s dish on Saturday.” (3) ScenE ITI.—Let our catch be, Thou knave.] In this catch, the notes of which we append, the fun consists in the parts being so contrived that each singer in turn calls his fellow knave. . 1 == Hold thy peace! and I pri-thee hold thy peace. a PORTE Seem SSE i Thou knave! Hold thy peace, thouknaye! <= Thou knave! ; iF (4) Scenz II.—Malvolio’s a Peg a-Ramsey.] The words of the old ballad of Peg-a-Ramsey are lost, but Mr. Chappell — informs us that ‘‘ there are two tunes under the name, and both as old as Shakespeare’s time. The first is called | Peg-a-Ramsey in William Ballet’s Lute Book, and is given by Sir John Hawkins as the tune quoted in the text. (See | the Variorum edition.) ‘ Little Pegge of Ramsie’ is one | of the tunes in a manuscript by Dr. Bull, which formed | a part of Dr. Pepusch’s, and afterwards of Dr. Kitchener’s - library.” | (5) Scene III.—Three merry men be we.] This song is mentioned in Peele’s “‘ Old Wives’ Tale,” 1595. Anticke, — Frolicke, and Fantasticke, three adventurers, are lost ina wood in the night, and Anticke says, ‘“‘ Let us rehearse the old proverb :— a ‘¢« Three merrie men, and three merrie men, And three merrie men be wee; I in the wood, and thou on the ground, a And Jacke sleeps in the tree.’”’ : The burden being a jovial and popular one, is continually. quoted by the old play-wrights. For the tune the reader — is referred to Chappell’s Popular Music of the Olden Time, — Vol. I. p. 216. 2 (6) Scunz IlIl.—There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady !] Of this long and wearisome ballad we have already given a sufficient sample (Vol. I. p. 217) in illustration of — the familiar burden, “‘lady, lady.” In a broadside pre- served in the Roxburghe collection, it is headed, ‘‘An — excellent Ballad, Intituled, The constancy of Susanna. To an excellent new tune.” A ‘ballette of the godly con- stante wyse Susanna,” was entered on the books of the Stationers’ Company so early as 1562-3, and a play on the — same subject was printed in 1578, | (7) ScenzE III.—Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.] The ballad referred to in the note at p. 247, is printed by Percy, (Reliques, i. 205,) from an ancient — miscellany, entitled “The golden Garland of princely delights.” | { 2 & ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. (8) Scene IV.— Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, Tu weep there /] On comparing the Duke’s description of that ‘‘antique song” he heard last night, with this ballad, the difference is so striking, as to beget suspicion that the latter was an interpolation and not the original song intended by the poet. It,appears, indeed, to have been the privilege of the singer formerly, whenever the business of the scene hired a song, to introduce one of his own choice ; hence we frequently find in our old dramas, instead of the words of a ballad, merely a stage direction, ‘‘A Song,” or “‘He sings.” (9) ScenE V.—O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye /] «« A stone-bow was a cross-bow made for propelling stones, or rather bullets, merely in contradistinetion to a bow that shot arrows. ‘Litle more then a yeare after I maried, 1 and my wife being at Skreenes with my father, (the plague being soe in London, and my building not finished, } I had exercised my-selfe with a stone-bow and a spar-hawke at the bush.’—Autobcography of Str JOHN BRAMSTON, p. 108.” —HALLIWELL. (10) ScenE V.—M, O, A, J, doth sway my life.| Fustian riddles of this kind were not uncommon in Shakespeare’s time, and several examples are quoted by Mr. Halliwell. Thus, in the ‘‘Squyr of Lowe Degre”— In the myddes of your sheld ther shal be set A ladyes head, with many a frete; Above the head wrytten shall be A reason for the love of me; Both O and R shall be therein, With A and M it shall begynne. ACT IIL (1) ScenE Il—Hnter Clown with a tabor.] The tabor was a favourite instrument with the professional fools. Most people are familiar with the print prefixed to Tarl- ton’s Jests, 1611, in which that famous comedian is represented playing on a pipe and beating a small drum or tabor. Mr, Knight, in his ‘‘ Pictorial Shakspere,” has given an earlier portrait of Tarlton, (the original, appa- rently, of that attached to the ‘“‘Jests,”) which is taken from the Harleian MS. No. 3885. It is to this representa- tion, probably, that allusion is made in ‘‘ The pleasant and Stately Morall of the three Lordes and three Ladies of London.” By Robert Wilson, 1590. The dialogue is be- tween Wil, Wit, Wealth (pages of the three Lords), and Simplicitie (‘‘a poore Free man of London”), Simplicitie. ‘‘This is Tarlton’s picture. Didst thou neuer know Tarlton?” Wil. ‘‘No: what was that Tarlton? I neuer knew him.” Simplicitie. ‘What was he? A prentice in his youth of this honourable city, God be with him. When he was young, he was Jeaning to the trade that my wife vseth nowe, and I haue vsed, vide lice shirt, water bearing. 1 wis he hath tost a tankard in Cornehi] er nowe: If thou knewst him not, I will not call thee ingram; but if thou knewest not him, thou knewest nobody. I warrant, her’s two crackropes knew him.” - Wit. ‘I dwelt with him.” Simplicitie. ‘‘ Didst thou? now giue me thy hand: I loue thee the better.” Wit. ‘* And I, too, sometime.” Simplicitie. ‘‘ You, child! did you dwell with him sometime?” Wit dwelt with him, indeed, as appeared by his rime, and served him well; and Wil was with him now and then. But soft: thy aa” is Wealth: I think in earnest he was litle acquainted with ee. O, it was a fine fellow, as ere was borne: There will neuer come his like while the earth can corne. O, passing fine Tarlton! I would thou hadst liued yet.” Wealth. “‘ He might haue some, but thou showest small wit. There is no such finenes in the picture, that I can see.” ae ada ‘Thou art no Cinque Port man; thou art not wit ree. The finenes was within, for without he was plaine; But it was the merriest fellow, and had such jests in store, That if ails hadst scene him, thou wouldst have laughed thy art sore.” (2) Scenr I.—Then westward-ho !| In our poet’s time the Thames formed the great highway of traffic, and “Westward, ho!” ‘‘Eastward, ho!” equivalent to the modern omnibus conductor’s “‘ West-end !” “City!” were the cries with which the watermen made its shores resound from morn till night. At that period, before the general intro- duction of coaches, there were not less, according to Taylor, than forty thousand of these clamorous Tritons plying their calling on the river in and near to the metro- polis; and their desperate contentions.to secure custom sometimes led to scenes of scandalous riot and confusion. Decker took the exclamation ‘‘ Westward, ho!” for the title of a comedy, and Jonson, Chapman, and Marston | adopted that of ‘‘ Eastward, ho!” for one jointly written by them a few years afterwards. (8) ScENE II.—A Brownzst.| The Brownists were a sect who derived their name from Robert Browne, a gentleman of good family, and who had been educated at Cambridge. He separated from the Church, and gave great offence about 1580 by maintaining that her discipline was Popish and Antichristian, and her ministers not rightly ordained. Strype, in his life of Whitgift, relates, however, that in the year 1589 he ‘‘went off from the separation, and came into the communion of the Church.” (4) Scene II.—/J/f thow thou’st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss.| Theobald’s conjecture that this passage was levelled at the Attorney-General Coke for his thowing Sir Walter Raleigh is at once put out of court since ‘‘ Twelfth Night” is discovered to have been acted nearly two years before Sir Walter’s trial took place. But if Theobald were ignorant of the fact, subsequent editors who have adopted his supposition ought to have known that to thou any body was once thought a direct mark of insult, as might be shown by a hundred examples. Mr. Singer has adduced one pertinent illustration from ‘‘ The Enimie of Idlenesse,” by William Fulwood, 1568: ‘‘A merchaunt having many servantes, to his chiefest may speake or wryte by this terme you: but to them whome he lesse esteemeth, and are more subject to correction, he may use thys terme thou.” The following, from the ‘‘ Galateo of Maister John Della Casa, Archebishop of Beneventa,” 4to. Lond. 1576, pp. 45-6, is even still more to the purpose :— *‘ Many times it chaunceth that men come to daggers drawing, even for this occasion alone, that one man hath not done the other, that worship and honour uppon the way, that he ought. For to saye a trueth, the power of custome is great and of much force, and would be taken for a lawe, in these cases. And that is the cause we say: You: to every one, that is not a man of very base calling, and in suche kinde of speach wee yealde such a one, no maner of courtesie of our owne. But if wee say: Thou: to suche a one, then wee disgrace him and offer him outrage and wronge : and by suche speach, seeme to make no better reconing of him, then of a knave and a clowne. * * * * So that it be- hoves us, hedefully to marke the doings and speache, where- with daily practise and custome, wonteth to receave, salute, and name in our owne country, all sortes and kinds of people, and in all our familiar communication with men, let us use the same. And notwithstanding the Admerall * (as, peradventure, the maner of his time was such) in his talke with Peter the king of Aragon, did many times Thou him: Let us yet saye to our King, Your majestie : and your highnes: as well in speache as in writing.’ * Bocc. Novel. 6. Gior. 5. 279 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. (5) Scenr I1.—The new map, with the augmentation of the Indies.] An allusion, it is supposed, to a multilineal map engraved for the English translation of Linschoten’s Voyages, published in 1598. Of a portion of this “‘ new map,” Mr. Knight has given a copy in his ‘ Pictorial Shakspere,” among the notes to the present play. (6) ScENE IV.—Zt is with me as the very true sonnet is, Please one, and please all.] Of this ‘‘ very true sonnet” a copy, believed to be unique, was discovered a few years ago, and is now in the possession of Mr. George Daniel. It is adorned with a rude portrait of Queen Elizabeth, with her feathered fan, starched ruff, and ample farthingale, and is said to have been the composition of her majestie’s right merrie and facetious droll, Dick Tarlton. The numbers of this recovered relic are not-lofty, nor the expression very felicitous ; but ‘‘Please One and Please All” is worth preserving, both as an illustration of Shakespeare, and as a specimen of the quaint and simple old ballad literature of our forefathers :— A prettie new Ballad, tntvtuled; The Crowe sits upon the wall, Please one and please all. To the tune of, Please one and please all. Please one and please all, Be they great be they small, Be they little be they lowe, So pypeth the Crowe, sitting upon a wall: Please one and please all, please one and please all. Be they white be they black, Have they a smock on their back, Or a kercher on her head, Whether they spin silke or thred, Whatsoever they them call: Please one and please all. Be they sluttish be they gay, Love they worke or love they play, Whatsoever be theyre cheere, Drinke they ale or drinke they beere, Whether it be strong or small; please one and please all. Be they sower be they swete, Be they shrewish be they meeke, Weare they silke or cloth so good Velvet bonnet or french-hood, upon her head a cap or call: please one and please all. Be they halt be they lame, Be she Lady be she dame, . If that she doo weare a pinne, Keepe she taverne or keepe she Inne, Either bulke bouth or stall: please one and please all. The goodwife I doo meane, Be she fat or be she leane, Whatsoever that she be, This the Crowe tolde me, sitting uppon a wall: please one and please all. f the goodwife speake aloft, See that you then speake soft, Whether it be good or ill, Let her doo what she will: and to keepe yourselfe from thrall, please one and please all. If the goodwife be displeased, All the whole house is diseased, And therefore by my will, To please her learne the skill, Least that she should alwaise brall : please one and please all. If that you bid her do ought, If that she doo it not, And though that you be her goodman, You yourself must doo it then, be it in kitchin or in hall: please one and please all. Let her have her owne will, Thus the Crowe pypeth still, Whatsoever she command, See that you doo it out of hand, whensoever she doth eall: please one and please all. 280 Be they wanton be they wilde, Be they gentle be they milde: Be shee white be shee browne, Doth shee skould or doth she frowne, Let her doo what she shall: please one and please all. Be she coy be she proud, Speake she soft or speake she loud, Be she simple be she flaunt, Doth she trip or dooth she taunt, the Crowe sits upon the wall: please one and please all. Ts she huswife is she none, Dooth she drudge dooth she grone, Is she nimble is she quicke, Is she short, is she thicke, Let her be what she shall: please one and please all. Be she cruel be she curst, Come she last come she first, Be they young be they olde, Doo they smile doo they scold, though they doo nought at all: please one and please all. Though it be some Crowes guise, Oftentimes to tell lyes, Yet this Crowes words dooth try, That her tale is no lye, For thus it is and ever shall please one and please all. Please one and please all, Be they great be they small, Be they little be they lowe, So pipeth the Crowe, sitting upon a wall: please one and please all, please one and please all. FINIS. R Imprinted at London for Henry Kyrkham, dwelling at the little North doore of Paules, at the syne of the blacke Boy. (7) ScenE IV.—On carpet consideration.| By carpet consideration Shakespeare points at the carpet riights or knights of the green cloth, as those persons were called who attained to the distinction of knighthood, not by military services, but for some real or supposed merit in their civil capacities. Of such, Francis Markham, in The Booke of Honour, folio 1625, p. 71, observes: ‘‘ Next unto these (he had been speaking of Dunghill, or Truck knights) in degree, but not in qualitie (for these are truly for the most part vertuous and worthie), is that rank of Knights which are called Carpet Knights, being men who are by the prince’s grace and favour made knights at home and in the time of peace, by the imposition or laying on of the king’s sword, having, by some special service done to the common-wealth, or for some other particular virtues made known to the soveraigne, as also for the dignitie of their births, and in recompence of noble and famous actions done by their ancestors, deserved this great title and dig- nitie.” ; Randal Holme, in much the same terms, describes the several orders of persons eligible for the title, and speaks of it as an honourable distinction. It is plain, however, ‘ from innumerable passages in the old writers, that, to the popular idea, a carpet knight was synonymous then, as it is — now, with an effeminate popinjay, who gained by favour what he would never have won by deeds. So, in Harring- ton’s epigram, *‘ Of Merit and Demerit :”— ‘¢ That captaines in those days were not regarded : That only Carpet-knighis were well rewarded.” Whetstone, in the story of Rinaldo and Giletta, in The Rock of Regard, 1576, says:—‘‘ Now he consults with — carpet knights about curious masks and other delightful shewes ; anon he runs unto the tailer’s, to see his apparell made of the straungest and costliest fashion.”’ And in “A Happy Husband, or Directions for a Maid to chuse her Mate, together with a Wive’s Behaviour after Mariage,” by Patrick Hannay, Gent. 1622, there is a full-length portrait of the character :— ‘ ‘* A carpet knight, who makes it his chiefe care To trick him neatly up, and doth not spare (Though sparing) precious time for to devoure; 4 Consulting with his glasse, a tedious houre J ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. Soon flees, spent so, while each irreguler haire His Barbor rectifies, and to seem rare, His heat-lost lockes, to thicken closely curles, And curiously doth set his misplac’d purles ; Powders, perfumes, and then profusely spent, To rectifie his native, nasty sent: This forenoones task perform’d, his way he takes, And chamber-practis’d craving cursies makes To each he meets; with cringes, and screw’d faces, (Which his too partiall glasse approv’d for graces :) Then dines, and after courts some courtly dame, Or idle busie-bout misspending game ;”’ &c. ACT IV. (1) Scenz II.—Clear-stories.] The clear-stories are the upper story or row of windows in a church, hall, or other erection, rising clear above the adjoining parts of the building, adopted as a means of obtaining an increase of light. ‘‘ Whereupon a iij thousand werkmen was werkynge iiij monethes to make it so grete in quantyté, so statly, and all with clere-story lyghtys, lyk a lantorne, the roffis .garnyshed with sarsnettys and buddys of golde, and borderyd over all the aras over longe to dysturbe the rychnes therof.”—ARNOLD’S Chronicle. (2) ScrnE II.— Hey Robin, jolly Robin, Tell me how thy lady does /| “The original of this song is preserved in a MS. con- taining poems by Sir Thomas Wyatt, and is entitled ‘The oN Lover complaineth, and the happy Lover coun- selleth :’— A Robyn,—Jolly Robyn, Tell me how thy leman doeth,—And thou shalt knowe of myn. My lady is unkyinde, perde.—Alack! why is she so? She loveth an other better than me:—And yet she will say, no. I fynde no such doubleness :—I fynde women true. My lady loveth me dowtles,—And will change for no newe. Thou art happy while that doeth last ;—But I say, as I fynde, ; That woman’s love is but a blast,—And torneth _ with the wynde. But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme,—Lerne this lesson of me, At others fieres thy selfe to warme,—And let them warme with the. Suche folkes can take no harme by love,—That can abide their torn, But I, alas, can no way prove—In love but lake and morn.” —HALLIWELL. RESPONSE, LE PLAINTIF. RESPONSE. Le PLaIntiF. ACT V. (1) ScznE I.— ae re I not, had I the heart to do tt, ike to th’ Egyptian thief at point of death Kilt what 1 Yove?) I te aa This relates, perhaps, as Theobald suggested, to a story found in the AMthiopics of Heliodorus. The Egyptian thief was Thyamis, a native of Memphis, and the chief of a band of robbers. Theagenes and Chariclea falling into their hands, Thyamis fell desperately in love with the lady, and would have married her. Soon after, a strong body of robbers coming down upon the band of Thyamis, he was under such apprehensions for his beloved that he had her shut up in a cave with his treasure. It was customary for those barbarians, ‘“‘when they despaired of their own safety, first to make away with those whom they held dear,” and desired for companions in the next life. Thya- mis, therefore, benetted round with his enemies, raging with love, jealousy, and anger, betook himself to his cave ; and calling aloud in the Egyptian tongue, so soon as he heard himself answered towards the mouth of the cave by a Grecian, making to the speaker by the direction of the voice, he caught her by the hair with his left hand, and (supposing her to be Chariclea) with his right hand plunged his sword into her breast. (2) SckNE I,— A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm d by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthen’ d by interchangement of your rings. | The ceremony which had taken place between Olivia and Sebastian, Mr. Douce has conclusively shown, was not an actual marriage, but that which was called espousals, namely, a betrothing, affiancing, or promise of future mar- ruage. ‘‘ Vincent de Beauvais, a writer of the thirteenth century, in his Speculum historiale, lib. ix. c. 70, has defined espousals to be a contract of future marriage, made either by a simple promise, by earnest or security given, by a ring, or by an oath. During the same period, and the following centuries, we may trace several other modes of betrothing, some of which it may be worth while to describe more at large. I.*The interchangement of rings—Thus in Chaucer's Troilus and Creseide, book 3:— | ‘* Soon after this they spake of sondry things As fill to purpose of this aventure, And playing enterchaungeden her rings Of which I can not telien no scripture.” When espousals took place at church, rings were also interchanged. According to the ritual of the Greek church, the priest first placed the rings on the fingers of the parties who afterwards exchanged them. Sometimes the man only gavearing. * * * Il. The kiss that was mutually given. When this ceremony took place at church, the lady of course with- drew the veil which was usually worn on the occasion ; when in private, the drinking of healths generally followed. III. The joining of hands. This is often alluded to by Shakspeare himself. IV. The testimony of witnesses. That of the priest alone was generally sufficient, though we often find many other persons attending the ceremony. The words ‘there before him,’ and ‘he shall conceal it,’ in Olivia’s speech, sufficiently demonstrate that betrothing and not marriage is intended; for in the latter the presence of the priest alone would not have sufficed. In later times, espousals in the church were often prohibited in France, because instances frequently occurred where the parties, relying on the testimony of the priest, scrupled not to live together as man and wife; which gave rise to much scandal and disorder.”—Doucr’s Illustrations of Shak- speare, I. 109—118. (3) SonnE I.— When that I was and a little tiny boy.) It is to be regretted, perhaps, that this ‘‘ nonsensical ditty,” as Steevens terms it, has not been long since degraded to the foot-notes. It was evidently one of those jigs, with which it was the rude custom of the Clown to gratify the ground- lings upon the conclusion of a play. These absurd com- positions, intended only as a vehicle for buffoonery, were usually improvisations of the singer, tagged to some popular ballad-burden—or the first lines of various songs strung together in ludicrous juxtaposition, at the end of each of which, the performer indulged in hideous grimace, and a grotesque sort of ‘‘Jump Jim Crow” dance. Of these ‘‘ nonsense songs,’”’ we had formerly preserved three or four specimens, but they have unfortunately got mislaid, 281 CRITICAL OPINIONS ON TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. “The Twelfth Night, or What you Will, unites the entertainment of an intrigue, contrived with great ingenuity, to a rich fund of comic characters and situations, and the beauteous colours of an ethereal poetry. In most of his plays, Shakspeare treats love more as an affair of the imagination than the heart ; but here he has taken particular care to remind us that, in his language, the same word, Janey, signified both fancy and love. The love of the music-enraptured Duke for Olivia is not merely a fancy, but an imagination ; Viola appears at first to fall arbitrarily in love with the Duke, whom she serves as a page, although she afterwards touches the tenderest strings of feeling ; the proud Olivia is captivated by the modest and insinuating messenger of the Duke, in whom she is far from suspecting a disguised rival, and at last, by a second deception, takes the brother for the sister. To these, which I might call ideal follies, a contrast is formed by the naked absurdities to which the entertaining tricks of the ludicrous persons of the piece give rise, under the pretext also of love: the silly and profligate knight’s awkward courtship of Olivia, and her declaration of love to Viola; the imagination of the pedantic steward, Malvolio, that his mistress is secretly in love with him, which carries him so far that he is at last shut up as a lunatic, and visited by the clown in the dress of a priest. These scenes are admirably conceived, and as significant as they are laughable. If this were really, as is asserted, Shakspeare’s latest work, he must have enjoyed to the last the same youthful elasticity of mind, and have carried with him to the grave the undiminished fulness of his talents.’—ScHLEGED. “ The serious and the humorous scenes are alike excellent ; the former ————_——‘ give a very echo to the seat Where love is thron’d,’ and are tinted with those romantic hues, which impart to passion the fascinations of fancy, and which stamp the poetry of Shakespeare with a character so transcendently his own, so sweetly wild, so tenderly imaginative. Of this description are the loves of Viola and Orsino, which, though involving a few improbabilities of incident, are told in a manner so true to nature, and in a strain of such melancholy enthusiasm, as instantly put to flight all petty objections, and leave the mind wrapt ina dream of the most delicious sadness. The fourth scene of the second act more particularly breathes the blended emotions of love, of hope, and of despair, opening with a highly interesting description of — __ the soothing effects of music in allaying the pangs of unrequited affection, and in which the attachment of Shakespeare to the simple melodies of the olden time is strongly and beautifully expressed. “From the same source which has given birth to this delightful portion of the drama, appears to spring a large share of that rich and frolic humour which distinguishes its gayer incidents. The delusion of Malvolio, in supposing himself the object of Olivia’s desires, and the ludicrous pretension of Sir Andrew Aguecheek to the same lady, fostered as they are by the comic manceuvres of the convivial Sir Toby and the keen-witted Maria, furnish, together with the professional drollery of Feste the jester, an ever-varying fund of pleasantry and mirth; scenes in which wit and raillery are finely blended with touches of original character, and strokes of poignant satire.’—DRAKE. 282 | hy, i Dy Wa) Ah pa Ie wan 4 WW) fil | h 4 i}! ij) | hi AVL i awrinva 4 f ! ' Ai Steal,—] The folio has, send. Mason suggested, what is obvious enough, that steal was the poet’s word; and Mr. Collier’s anno- tator has made the same correction. 289 VoL, mI. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE II. | Since they, sc few, watch such a multitude. Exr. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry SWOrn ; Kither to quell the Dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. [leave, Brp. I do remember it; and here take my To go about my preparation. [ Hart. Guo. I’ll to the Tower with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition ; And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [ Lait. Exz. To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain’d his special governor ; And for his safety there I’ll best devise. [Zwit. Win. Each hath his place and function to attend : T am left out ; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office ; The king from Eltham I intend to steal,” And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [ Lait. SCENE II.—France. Before Orleans. Flourish. Enter Cuaries, with his Forces; Axrmngon, RerentEr, and others. Cuan. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens, So in the earth, to this day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side, Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment but we have ? At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans ; Otherwhiles, the famish’d English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. AEN. They want their porridge, and their fat bull-beeves : Hither they must be dieted like mules, And have their provender tied to their mouths, Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. Ree. Let’s raise the siege; why live we idly here ? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : Remaineth none but mad-brain’d Salisbury, And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war. Cuar. Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them. Now for the honour of the forlorn French ! *— ¢ The forlorn French!] The sense of forlorn in this place, does not appear to have been understood, and Mr. Collier’s annotator proposes to read forborne, instead. But the old word, meaning fore-/ost, needs no change; the Dauphin apostrophises the honour of those French who had previously fallen. U AcT I.) Him I forgive my death, that killeth me, When he sees me go back one foot or fly. [ Laxeunt. Alarums ; Excursions; the French are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter Cuarues, ALENGON, REIGNIER, and others. Crar. Who ever saw the like? what men have I !— Dogs! cowards! dastards !—I would ne’er have fled, But that they left me ’midst my enemies. Reta. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. Aten. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,* During the time Edward the third did reign. More truly now may this be verified ; For none but Samsons and Goliasses, Tt sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean raw-bon’d rascals! who would e’er suppose They had such courage and audacity ? Cuar. Let’s leave this town; for they are hair-brain’d slaves, And hunger will enforce them to* be more eager : Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they’li tear down, than forsake the slege. Rere. I think, by some odd gimmers or device, Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ; Else ne’er could they hold out so as they do. By my consent, we’ll e’en let them alone. AuEN. Be it so. Enter the Bastard of Orleans. Bast. Where’s the prince Dauphin? J have news for him. [us. Cuar. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall’d ; Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? Be not dismay’d, for succour is at hand: A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, (*) Old text, breed. ® To be more eager:] As Steevens suggested, the preposition ought to be omitted. The same redundancy is found in a subsequent line,— 290 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE It, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome ; What’s past, and what’s to come, she can desery, Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. Cuar. Go, call her in: [ Hit Bastard.] but, first, to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern ;— By this means shall we sound what skill she hath, [ Retires, Re-enter the Bastard of Orleans, with La PucEtys.(3) Rete. Fair maid, is’t thou wilt do these wondrous feats ? [me ?— Puc. Reignier, is’t thou that thinkest to beguile Where is the Dauphin?—Come, come from be- hind ; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amaz’d, there’s nothing hid from me: In private will I talk with thee apart.— Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. Rere. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd’s daughter, My wit untrain’d in any kind of art. Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas’d To shine on my contemptible estate : To! whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun’s parching heat display’d my cheeks, God’s mother deigned to appear to me ; And, in a vision full of majesty, Will’d me to leave my base vocation, And free my country from calamity. Her aid she promis’d, and assur’d success : In complete glory she reveal’d herself ; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infus’d on me, That beauty am I bless’d with, which you” see. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated : My courage try by combat, if thou dar’st, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve © on this ;—theu shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. Car. Thou hast astonish’d me with thy higl terms ; Only this proof I’ll of thy valour make,— In single combat thou shalt buckle with me ; And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true ; Otherwise, I renounce all confidence. ‘ Peel’d priest, dost thou command me fo be shut out?” b Which you see.] Thus the second folio; the first has supet fluously, ‘‘ which you may see.” ¢ Resolve on this ;] Be assured of it. Act I.] Puc. I am prepar’d: hereis my keen-edg’d sword, Deck’d with five* flower-de-luces on each side ; The which, at Touraine, in saint Katherine’s churchyard, Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. Cuar. Then come, 0’ God’s name, I fear no woman. [man. Puc. And, while I live, I’ll ne’er fly from a [They fight, and Ia PucEetxE overcomes. Cuar. Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an amazon, And fightest with the sword of Deborah. Puc. Christ’s mother helps me, else I were too weak. [help me : Cuar. Whoe’er helps thee, ’tis thou that must Impatiently I burn with thy desire ; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu’d. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be ; *Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love, For my profession’s sacred from above : When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense. Cuar. Mean time look gracious on thy pros- trate thrall. Rete. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. Axen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock, Else ne’er could he so long protract his speech. Rer¢. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean ? [do know : Atzn. He may mean more than we poor men These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. [you on? Rere. My lord, where are you? what devise Shall we give over Orleans, or no? Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants ! Fight till the last gasp, I will be your guard. Cuar. What she says, I’ll confirm ; we’ll fight it out. Puc. Assign’d am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I’Il raise: Expect saint Martin’s summer,* halcyon} days, ‘Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought. With Henry’s death the English circle ends ; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship, Which Cesar and his fortune bare at once.(4) (*) Old copy, fine. (+) Old text, haleyons. ® Saint Martin’s summer,—] “That is, expect prosperity after misfortune, like fair weather at Martlemas, after winter has begun.”—Jounson. Conveyance. } Deception, fraudulence,—perhaps connivance. ¢ 'Tis Gloster that calls.] See note (»), p. 293. 291 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE III. Cuan. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ? (5) Thou with an eagle art inspired, then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor yet saint Philip’s daughters, were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall’n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough ? Arn. Leave of delays, and let us raise the siege. [honours ; Rete. Woman, do what thou canst to save our Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz’d. Cuar. Presently we’ll try :—come, let’s away about it ; No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. . | [ Haxeunt. SCENE III.—London. Tower Hill. Enter, at the Gates, the Duxn of GuoucEsTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats. Guo. I am come to survey the Tower this day ; Since Henry’s death, I fear, there is conveyance."— Where be these warders, that they wait not here ? Open the gates, ’tis Gloster that calls.° [Servants knock. 1 Warp. [ Wethin.| Who’s there that knocks so imperiously ? 1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. 2 Warp. [ Within.] Whoe’er he be, you may not be let in. [tector ? 1 Serv. Villains, answer you’so the lord pro- 1 Warp. [ Within. | The Lord protect him! so we answer him: We do not otherwise than we are will’d. Guo. Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine ? There’s none protector of the realm but I.— Break up* the gates, I’ll be your warrantize : Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms ? GLoucESTER’s men rush at the Tower gates: and WoopvittE, the Lieutenant, speaks within. Woop. [ Within.| What noise is this? what traitors have we here? Guo. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear ? Open the gates; here’s Gloster, that would enter. Woon. [ Within.] Have patience, noble duke ; _ I may not open ; The cardinal of Winchester forbids : From him I have express commandement,° That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. d Break up the gales,—] To break up, meant to break open. e Commandement,—] Commandement, here, as in ‘‘The Mer chant of Venice,” Act IV. Se. 1— ‘‘ Be valued ’gainst your wife’s commandement.”’ must be pronounced as a quadrisyllable. v2 SS SSS S SS Guo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him ’fore me? Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne’er could brook ? Thou art no friend to God or to the king : Open the gates, or I’ll shut thee out shortly. 1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord pro- tector ; [ quickly. Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not Enter Wrincuester, with his Serving-men in tawny coats.* Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey! * what means this ? (*) Old copies, Umpheir, and Umpire. & Tawny coats.) A tawny coat was the dress worn by persons employed in the ecclesiasticai courts, and by the retainers of a church dignitary. Thus, in Stow’s Chronicle, p. 822 :—‘‘ — and by the way the bishop of London met him, attended on by a goodly company of gentlemen in tawny-coats.” b Peel’d priest,—] In allusion to his shaven crown. ¢ Canvas—] That is, toss, as in a blanket. Thus, in ‘ The 292 Tat i Guo. Peel’d” priest, dost thou command me to be shut out ? Wun. I do, thou most usurping proditor, And not protector of the king or realm. Gio. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator ; Thou that contriv’dst to murder our dead lord ; Thou, that giv’st whores indulgences to sin : I’ll canvas ° thee in thy broad cardinal’s hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence. | Wu. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot ; This be Damascus,* be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. [back : Guo. I will not slay thee, but I’ll drive thee Thy scarlet robes, as a child’s bearing-cloth, I’ll use to carry thee out of this place. i Second Part of Henry IV.” Act II. Sc. 4, when Falstaff says:— *‘I will toss the rogue in a blanket,” Doll Tearsheet rejoins, “if thou dost, I’ll canvas thee between a pair of sheets.” d Damascus,—] Damascus was anciently believed to be the spot where Cain killed his brother:—‘‘ Damascus is as moche to saye as shedynge of blood. For there Chaym slowe Abell, and hidde hym in the sonde.”—Polychronicon, fol. xii. quoted by Ritson. AcT L.] Wry. Do what thou dar’st ; I beard thee to thy face. [face !— Gro. What! am I dar’d, and bearded to my Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard ; I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly : Under my feet I’ll stamp thy cardinal’s hat ;* In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I’ll drag thee up and down. Win. Gloster, thou’lt answer this before the pope. [rope !— Gro. Winchester goose! I cry, a rope! a Now beat them hence, why do you let them stay ?— Thee I’ll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep’s array.— Out, tawny-coats !—out, scarlet hypocrite ! Here Guovcestrr’s men beat out the Cardinal’s men. Jn the hurly-burly, enter the Mayor of London and his Officers. May. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace ! Gro. Peace, mayor! thou knowest little of my wrong’ : Here’s Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, Hath here distrain’d the Tower to his use. Wu. Here’s Gloster too, a foe to citizens ; One that still motions war, and never peace, O’ercharging your free purses with large fines ; That seeks to overthrow religion, Because he is protector of the realm ; And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king, and to suppress the prince. Gro. I will not answer thee with words, but blows. [Here they skirmish again. May. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife, But to make open proclamation :— Come, officer; as loud as ever thou canst cry. Orr. [Reads.] All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God’s peace and the king’s, we charge and command you, mn his highness’ name, to repair to your several dwell- ing-places ; and not to wear, handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. Gro. Cardinal, I’ll be no breaker of the law : But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. Wu. Gloster, we’ll meet; to thy dear® cost, be sure: ® Under my feet 1’ll stamp, &c.] So the second folio; the first reads, ‘‘ J stamp.” b Here’s Gloster too, a foe to citizens ;] So the second folio ; the first omits, oo. But query, whether here, and in the line:— a “ Open the gates ;.’tis Gloster that calls,” and— ‘* Gloster, we’ll meet; to thy cost, be sure,” we were not intended to read, Gloucester. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE Iv. Thy heart-blood I will have for this day’s work. May. I’ll call for clubs,* if you will not away :— This cardinal’s more haughty than the devil. Gio. Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what thou may’ st. Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head ; For I intend to have’t ere long. [ Lxeunt. May. See the coast clear’d, and then we will depart.— [ bear ! Good God!* these nobles should such stomachs I myself fight not once in forty’ year. [| Hxeunt. SCENE IV.—France. Before Orleans. Enter, on the walls, the Master-Gunner and his Son. M. Gon. Sirrah, thou know’st how Orleans is besieg’d ; And how the English have the suburbs won. Son. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at them, Howe’er, unfortunate, I miss’d my aim. M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. rul’d by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; Something I must do to procure me grace The prince’s espials have informed me, How the English, in the suburbs close intrench’d, Wont,* through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city ; And thence discover how with most advantage They may vex us with shot or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance ’gainst it I have plac’d ; And fully + even these three days have I watch’d, If I could see them. Now, boy,t do thou watch, For I can stay no longer. If thou spy’st any, run and bring me word ; And thou shalt find me at the governor’s. [Hait. Son. Father, I warrant you; take you no care, I’ll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Be thou Enter, in an upper chamber of a Tower, the Lorps Sarispury and Taxrpot, Sir WitLiaAM GianspatE, Sir Tuomas GarGRAvE, and others. San. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return’d ! How wert thou handled being prisoner ? (*) Old text, went. (+) First folio omits, fully. ({) First folio omits, doy. © To thy dear cost, be sure:] The reading of the second folio; in the first, dear is omitted. See the preceding note. a I’ll call for clubs,—] See note (>), p. 165. e€ Good God! these nobles, &c.] Here, that is understood,— “Good God! that these nobles,” &c. f Forty year.] That is, many years. See note (5), p. 150, Vol. I. 293 ACT I.] Or by what means got’st thou to be releas’d? Discourse, I pr’ythee, on this turret’s top. Tat. The duke* of Bedford had a prisoner, Calied the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles ; For him I was exchang’d and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far, Once, in contempt, they would have barter’d me : Which I, disdaining, scorn’d: and craved death Rather than I would be so vile?-esteem’d. In fine, redeem’d I was as I desir’d. But, O, the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart ! Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. Sau. Yet tell’st thou not how thou wert enter- tain’d. [ taunts. Tax. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious In open market-place produc’d they me, To be a public spectacle to all ; Here, said they, is the terror of the French, The scare-crow that affrights our children so. Then broke I from the officers that led me ; And with my nails digg’d stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame. My grisly countenance made others fly ; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem’d me not secure ; So great fear of my name ’mongst them was spread, That they suppos’d I could rend bars of steel, And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walk’d about me every minute-while ; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. [dur’d ; Sau. I grieve to hear what torments you en- But we will be reveng’d sufficiently. Now, it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through* this grate, I count each one, And view the Frenchmen how they fortify ; Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee.— Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions, Where is best place to make our battery next. Gar. I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. [ bridge. Guan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the Tau. For aught I see, this city must be famish’d, Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.” [Shot from the town. Satispury and Sir THo. GARGRAVE fall. Sat. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners ! (*) Old text, Earle. (+) Old text, Piel’d. a Here, through this grate, I count each one,—] This is the readii g of the first folio, although Steevens, in error, states it apy eile ; and Mr. Knight endorses his mistake by adopting at word. b Enfeebled.] Enfeebled, in this instance, must be read as a quadrisyllable. 294 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE Iv. Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! Tax. What chance is this, that suddenly hath cross’d us ?— Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak ; How far’st thou, mirror of all martial men? One of thy eyes and thy cheek’s side struck off!— Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand, That hath contriv’d this woeful tragedy ! In thirteen battles Salisbury o’ercame ; Henry the fifth he first train’d to the wars : Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne’er leave striking in the field.— Yet liv’st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail, One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.— Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands !— Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.— Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.— Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; Thou shalt not die whiles——. He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me, As who should say, When I am dead and gone, Remember to avenge me on the French.— Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,* _ Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Alarum: thunder and lightning. What stir is this? what tumult’s in the heavens ? Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have gather’d head ! The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join’d,— A holy prophetess, new risen up,— Is come with a great power to raise the siege. [Sauispury lifts himself wp and groans. Tau. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan ! It irks his heart he cannot be reveng’d.— Frenchmen, I’ll be a Salisbury to you :— Pucelle or puzzel,* dolphin or dogfish, Your hearts I’ll stamp out with my horse’s heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.— Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we’ll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.° [Hxeunt, bearing out the bodies. ¢ And like thee, Nero,—] The first folio omits, ‘“‘ Nero;” the second reads,— gs and, Nero like, will,” &c. ad Puzzel,—] A foul drab. e And then, &c.] Steevens proposed to restore the measure of this line by omitting and or these, or by reading,— “Then try we what these dastard Frenchmen dare.” AoT 1.) SCENE V.—The same. Before one of the Gates of Orleans. Alarum. Skirmishings. Enter Tarnor, pursuing the Dauphin ; he drives him in, and exit: then enter JOAN LA Pucetxe, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them. Then re-enter TALBOT. Tar. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force ? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ; A woman clad in armour chaseth them ! Here, here she comes: Enter La Pucttie. —_——T’]l have a bout with thee ; Devil, or devil’s dam, I’ll conjure thee : Blood will I draw on thee,*—thou art a witch,— And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv’st. Puc. Come, come, ’tis only I that must dis- grace thee. [They fight. Tat. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to pre- vail ? My breast 1”1l burst with strammg of my courage, _ And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, - But I will chdstise this high-minded strumpet. [They fight again. Puc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come : I must go victual Orleans forthwith. O’ertake me, if thou canst ; I scorn thy strength. Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved* men ; _ Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. [La Pucetix enters the town, with Soldiers. Tat. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel ; I know not where I am, nor what I do: A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,(6) Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists : So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench, Are from their hives and houses driven away. They call’d us, for our fierceness, English dogs ; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. [A short alarum. Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England’s coat ; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions’ stead : Sheep run not half so timorous” from the wolf, (*) Old copy, hungry-starved. ® Blood will I draw on thee,—] It was formerly believed that drawing blood from a witch rendered her malice impotent. 6 So timorous from the wolf,—] The old text has trecherous, which was corrected by Pope. © From the English:—} The second folio reads,—‘‘ English KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE V. Or horse or oxen from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarum. Another skirmish. It will not be.—Retire into your trenches : You all consented unto Salisbury’s death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.— Pucelle is enter’d into Orleans, In spite of us, or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. [Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Taxzor and his Forces, &e. Flourish. Enter, on the walls, Puckiie, CHARLES, Rerenrer, ALENGON, and Soldiers. Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls ; Reseu’d is Orleans from the English :—° Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform’d her word. Cuan. Divinest creature, bright Astrea’s daughter,* How shall I honour thee for this success ? Thy promises are like Adonis’ gardens, [next.— That one day bloom’d, and fruitful were the France, ¢riumph in thy glorious prophetess !— Recover’d is the town of Orleans: More blessed hap did ne’er befall our state. Rerg. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town ? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. Aten. All France will be replete with mirth and joy, [men. When they shall hear how we have play’d the Cuar. "Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won ; For which I will divide my crown with her: And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall in procession sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I’ll rear, Than Rhodope’s of* Memphis’,(7) ever was : In memory of her, when she is dead, Her ashes, in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel’d coffer of Darius,(8) Transported shall be at high festivals Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on saint Denis will we cry, But Joan la Pucelle shall be France’s saint. Come in; and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. (Flourish. Hxewnt. ‘ (*) Old text, or. wolves ;” but, remembering what Talbot had just before said,— ‘¢ They call us, for our fierceness, English dogs,” we should prefer adding dags. d Bright Astrza’s daughter,—] So the second folio; the first omits, bright. 295 7 eM Gd ARE. SCENE I.—Before Orleans. Enter to the Gates, a French Sergeant and two Sentinels. Sere. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant : If any noise or soldier you perceive, Near to the walls, by some apparent sign Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall.—{ Lait Sergeant. ] Thus are poor servitors (When others sleep upon their quiet beds,) Constrain’d to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. Enter Tarot, Beprorp, Bureunvy, and Forces, with scaling ladders ; their drums beating a dead march. Tat. Lord regent, and redoubted Bur- gundy,— By whose approach the regions of Artois, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us,— This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day carous’d and banqueted : Embrace we, then, this opportunity ; As fitting best to quittance their deceit, Contriv’d by art and baleful sorcery. 296 Brp. Coward of France!—how much he wrongs his fame,— Despairing of his own arm’s fortitude,— To join with witches and the help of hell. Bur. Traitors have never other company.— _ But what’s that Pucelle, whom they term so pure? Tau. A maid, they say. Brn. A maid! and be so martial! Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long ; If cndermaear pes standard of the French, She carry armour, as she hath’ begun. J Tat. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits : God is our fortress ; in whose conquering name Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. Brp. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. ? Tax. Not all together: better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways; That, if it chance the one of us do fail, i The other yet may rise against their force. 4 Brp. Agreed ; I’ll to yond corner. i Bur. And I to this, Tax. And here will Talbot mount, or make his graye.— 7 —— ; | | AoT It] Now, Salisbury ! for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. [The English scale the walls, erying St. George! a Talbot ! and all enter by the town. Sent. [ Within.] Arm, arm! the enemy doth make assault ! The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the Bastard, ORLEANS, Axrngon, Rerenter, half ready, and half unready. Aten. How now, my lords! what, all un- ready * so? Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we ’seap’d so well. Rerc. "T'was time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. Azzn. Of all exploits, since first I follow’d arms, Ne’er heard I of a warlike enterprize More venturous or desperate than this. Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. Rerc. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. Axren. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped. Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. Enter Cuarurs and La PucE.te. Cuan. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame ? Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much ? Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend ? At all times will you have my power alike ? Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me ?— Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall’n. Cuar. Duke of Alencon, this was your default, That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. Aten. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, As that Werect I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surpris’d. ® Unready—] Undressed. b Then how or which way—] In a note on a passage of “Richard the Second,” (see p. 464, Vol. I.) where this pleonasm occurs, we expressed a suspicion that ‘‘ or which way”? was an uncancelled interlineation of the poet. We have since discovered our error. ‘‘ How or which way,” \ike ‘Many a time and oft,” was evidently an admitted phrase of old. Thus, in “ All’s Well that Ends Well,” Act IV. Sc.3:—'‘I’ll take the sacrament on’t, KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE II. Bast. Mine was secure. Ree. And so was mine, my lord. Cuar. And, for myself, most part of all this night. Within her quarter and mine own precinct, I was employ’d in passing to and fro, About relieving of the sentinels : Then how or which way” should they first break in ? Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case, How or which way; ’tis sure they found some lace But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this,— To gather our soldiers, scatter’d and dispers’d, And lay new platforms ° to endamage them. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier crying, @ Talbot! a Talbot! They fly, leaving thew clothes behind. Soxp. I’ll be so bold to take what they have left. The ery of Talbot serves me for a sword ; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. [Bait SCENE JI.—Orleans. Wethin the Town. Enter Tatsot, Beprorp, Bureunpy, a Captain, and others. Bep. The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil’d the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. [ Retreat sounded. Tau. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town.— Now have I paid my vow unto his soul ; For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. And, that hereafter ages may behold What ruin happen’d in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I’ll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr’d: Upon the which, that every one may read, Shall be engrav’d the sack of Orleans, The treacherous manner of his mournful death, And what a terror he had been to France. But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse we met not with the Dauphin’s grace, how and which way you will.” Again, in a curious ballad of the sixteenth century, entitled ‘‘Of Evyll Tongues,” in the collection of Mr. George Daniel :— ‘“¢ Howe and which way together they agree, And what their talke and conference might be.” ¢ Platforms—] Plans, schemes. 297 ACT 11.) His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Are, Nor any of his false confederates. Bxp. ’Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight began, Rous’d on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did, amongst the troops of armed men, Leap o’er the walls for refuge in the field. Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern, For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,) Am sure I scar’d the Dauphin and his trull, When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follow them with all the power we have. Enter a Messenger. Mess. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France ? Tar. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him ? Mzss. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies ; That she may boast, she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. Bor. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see, our wars Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter’d with.— You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. Tau. Ne’er trust me then; for when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman’s kindness over-rul’d :— And therefore tell her I return great thanks, And in submission will attend on her.— Will not your honours bear me company ? Brp. No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said, unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. Tat. Well then, alone, since there’s no remedy, I mean to prove this lady’s courtesy.— Come hither, captain. [ Whispers. |—You perceive my mind. Capr. I do, my lord; and mean accordingly. [ Hxeunt. SCENE III.—Auvergne. Court of the Castle. Enter the Countess and her Porter. Count. Porter, remember what I give in charge ; And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 298 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE III. Port. Madam, I will. [ Lait. Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit, As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus’ death. Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account : Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and 'Tazor. Mxss. Madam, according as your ladyship desir’d, By message crav’d, so is lord Talbot come. Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man? Mess. Madam, it is. Count. Is this the scourge of France ? Ts this the Talbot, so much fear’d abroad, That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see report is fabulous and false : I thought I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspéct, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf: It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp Should strike such terror to his enemies. Tat. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, I’ll sort some other time to visit you. [ Gowng. Count. What means he now!—Go ask him whither he goes. Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves T’o know the cause of your abrupt departure. Tat. Marry, for that she’s in a wrong belief, I go to certify her, Talbot’s here. Re-enter Porter with keys. Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. Tau. Prisoner! to whom ? Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; And for that cause I train’d thee to my house. Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, For in my gallery thy picture hangs : But now the substance shall endure the like ; And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, That hast by tyranny, these many years, Wasted our country, slain our citizens, And sent our sons and husbands captivate. Tau. Ha, ha, ha! Count. Laughest thou, wretch ? thy mirth shall turn to moan. Tau. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond,* a Fond,—] That is, foolish. bal AOT I1.] To think that you have aught but Talbot’s shadow Whereon to practise your severity. Count. Why, art not thou the man? TAL. I am indeed. Count. Then have I substance too. Tar. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceiv’d, my substance is not here ; For what you see is but the smallest part And least proportion of humanity : I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. Counr. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce ; He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can these contrarieties agree ? Tax. That will I show you presently. [He winds a horn. Drums heard ; then a peal of ordnance. The gates being forced, enter Soldiers. How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, That Talbot is but shadow of himself? | These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, “With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, And in a moment makes them desolate. Cocnt. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: ‘I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited, And more than may be gather’d by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath, For I am sorry that with reverence I did not entertain thee as thou art. Tat. Be not dismay’d, fair lady; nor mis- construe The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done, hath not offended me: No other satisfaction do I crave, But only (with your patience) that we may ‘Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have ; For soldiers’ stomachs always serve them well. Count. With all my heart; and think me honoured To feast so great a warrior in my house. [ Hxeunt. | SCENEIV.—London. Zhe Temple Garden. Enter the Farts of Somerset, Surroix, and Warwick: Ricuarp PLaNTaGENET, VERNON, and a Lawyer. } ' Puan. Great lords and gentlemen, what means ) this silence ? Dare no man answer in a case of truth? __ Sur. Within the Temple-hall we were too loud ; _ The garden here is more convenient. | | | | | KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE IV. Puan. Then say at once, if I maintain’d the truth, Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error ? Sur. Faith, I have been a truant in the law, And never yet could frame my will to it ; And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be- tween us. War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch ; Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth ; Between two blades, which bears the better temper ; Between two horses, which doth bear him best ; Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye ;— I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment : But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. Prian. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: The truth appears so naked on my side, That any purblind eye may find it out. Som. And on my side it is so well apparell’d, So clear, so shining, and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man’s eye. Puan. Since you are tongue-tied, and so loth to speak, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : Let him that is a true-born gentleman, And stands upon the honour of his birth, If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, From off this briar pluck a white rose with me. Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. War. I love no colours ;* and, without all colour Of base insinuating flattery, I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. Sur. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset ; And say withal, I think he held the right. Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen ; and pluck no more, Till you conclude—that he, upon whose side The fewest roses are cropp’d from the tree, Shall yield the other in the right opinion. Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected ; If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. Puan. And I. Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off ; Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side so, against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, a Colours;—] The word is employed equivocally for artifices, specious glosses, &C. 299 And keep me on the side where still I am. Som. Well, well, come on: who else ? Law. Unless my study and my books be false, The argument you held was wrong in you; { Zo SoMERSET. In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. Puan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument ? Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that, Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. Prian. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses ; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth on our side. Som. No, Plantagenet, ’Tis not for fear, but anger,—that thy cheeks Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses ; And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Puan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ? Puan. Ay, sharp. and pic :cing, to maintain his truth ; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Som. Well, I’ll find friends to wear my bleed- ing roses, « I scorn thee and thy fashion,—] Theobald reads faction, we believe rightly; Plantagenet presently after says, — 300 That shall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. Pian. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, T scorn thee and thy fashion,* peevish boy. | Sur. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Puan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and thee. Sur. [ll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole! We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. War. Now, by God’s will, thou wrong’st him, Somerset ; His grandfather was Lionel duke of Clarence, Third son to the third Edward king of England: Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ? Puan. He bears him on the place’s privilege, Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. Som. By Him that made me, I’ll maintain my words On any plot of ground in Christendom : Was not thy father, Richard earl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late king’s days? And, by his treason, stand’st not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry ? ‘* ______ This pale and angry rose, —— Will I for ever, and my faction, wear.’ ~~ so i or Seabed ee AoT 1.] His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ; And, till thou be restor’d, thou art a yeoman. Pian. My father was attached, not attainted, Condemn’d to die for treason, but no traitor ; And that I’ll prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripen’d to my will. | For your partaker* Poole, and you yourself, T’ll note you in my book of memory, To scourge you for this apprehension :? Took to it well; and say you are well warn’d. Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still: And know us, by these colours, for thy foes ; For these, my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. Pian. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, As cognizance ° of my blood-drinking hate, Will I for ever, and my faction, wear, Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the height of my degree. [bition ! Sur. Go forward, and be chok’d with thy am- And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Hait. Som. Have with thee, Poole-—Farewell, ambi- tious Richard. [ Heit. Prax. How I am brav’d, and must perforce endure it! [house, War. This blot, that they object against your - Shall be wip’d * out in the next parliament, Call’d for the truce of Winchester and Gloster : And if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset and William Poole, Will I upon thy party wear this rose: And here I prophecy,—this brawl to-day _ Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden, Shall send, between the red rose and the white, A thousand souls to death and deadly night. Pian. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. Law. And so will I. Puan. Thanks, gentle sir. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say, This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Lxeunt. SOENE V.—The same. A Room in the Tower. Enter Morton, brought in a chair by Keepers. Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, _ Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.— (*) First folio, whipt. (+) First folio omits, sir. & Partaker—] Particeps; a partner, a factionary. > Apprehension :—] Conceit, sarcasm. He alludes to their calling him a yeoman. © Cognizance—] “A badge is called acognisance, a cognoscendo, KING HENRY THRE SIXTH. [SCENE V. Even like a man new haled from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment : And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, Nestor-like, aged in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. _[spent,— These eyes,—like lamps whose wasting oil is Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent : Weak shoulders, overborne with burd’ning grief ; And pithless arms, like to a wither’d vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground :— Yet are these feet whose strengthless stay is numb, Unable to support this lump of clay, Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, As witting I no other comfort have.— But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ? 1 Kuzp. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come : We sent unto the Temple, to* his chamber ; And answer was return’d, that he will come. Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.— Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, (Before whose glory I was great in arms,) This loathsome sequestration have I had; And even since then hath Richard been obseur’d, Depriv’d of honour and inheritance : But now, the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire of men’s miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence : I would his troubles likewise were expir’d, That so he might recover what was lost. Enter Ricuarp PLANTAGENET. 1 Kerr. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. [come ? Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he Pran. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us’d, Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp : O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.— And now declare, sweet stem from York’s great stock, Why didst thou say—of late thou wert despis’d ? Pian. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm ; And, in that ease, I’Il tell thee my disease. This day, in argument upon a case, (*) Old text, unto. because by it such persons as do wear it upon their sleeves, their shoulders, or in their hats, are manifestly known whose servants they are. In heraldry the cognisance is seated upon the most prominent part of the helmet,”—TouLvLet. 301 Some words there grew ’twixt Somerset and me : Among which terms he us’d his lavish tongue, And did upbraid me with my father’s death ; Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, Else with the like I had requited him : Therefore, good uncle,—for my father’s sake, In honour of a true Plantagenet, And for alliance’ sake,—declare the cause My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. [me, Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison’d And hath detain’d me all my flow’ring youth Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was cursed instrument of his decease. [ was, Puan. Discover more at large what cause that For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit, And death approach not ere my tale be done. Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, Depos’d his nephew * Richard,—Edward’s son, The first-begotten, and the lawful heir Of Edward king, the third of that descent: During whose reign, the Percies of the north, Finding his usurpation most unjust, Endeayour’d my advancement to the throne : The reason mov’d these warlike lords to this, “ Nephew—] Some editors read cousin. If mephew is the author s word, it must be used like the Latin nepos. Was—for that (young king* Richard thus remov’d, Leaving no heir begotten of his body,) I was the next by birth and parentage ; For by my mother I derived am From Lionel duke of Clarence, the} third son To king Edward the third, whereas he, From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, Being but fourth of that heroic line. But mark ; as, in this haughty” great attempt, They laboured to plant the rightful heir, I lost my liberty, and they their lives. Long after this, when Henry the fifth,— Succeeding his father Bolingbroke,—did reign, Thy father, earl of Cambridge,—then deriv’d From famous Mdmund Langley, duke of York,— Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, Again, in pity of my hard distress, Levied an army ; weening to redeem And have install’d me in the diadem : But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, In whom the title rested, were suppress’d. _[last. Puan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the Mor. True; and thou seest, that I no issue have, (*) First folio omits, king. (t+) First folio omits, the » Haughty—] High. ad ee ACT I1.] And that my tainting words do warrant death ; Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather : But yet be wary in thy studious care. [me : Puan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with But yet, methinks, my father’s execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic ; Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, And, like a mountain, not to be remov’d. But now thy uncle is removing hence ; As princes do their courts, when they are cloy’d With long continuance in a settled place. [years Pian. O, uncle, would some part of my young Might but redeem the passage of your age! Mor. Thou dost, then, wrong me,—as the slaught’rer doth, Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ; Only, give order for my funeral ; And so, farewell, and fair be all thy hopes! And prosperous be thy life in peace and war! [ Dies. f ———— ———— i Vi ae PES _Z= Nyt A \ So Saat ay << ee KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE V. Pran. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul ! In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, And like a hermit overpass’d thy days.— Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast ; And what I do imagine, let that rest.— Keepers, convey him hence ; and I myself Will see his burial better than his life.— [Lueunt Keepers, bearing out the body of Mortimer. Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Chok’d with ambition of the meaner sort :— And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer’d to my house,— I doubt not, but with honour to redress ; And therefore haste I to the parliament, Hither to be restored to my blood, Or make my ill* th’ advantage of my good. [Hzit. 4 Or make my ill—] The old text is, ‘‘ make my will,” &c.; for the restoration of the intended antithesis, we are indebted to Theobald. { SL? Sa a DF Gee AGT ITF. ; SCENE I.—London. Flourish. Enter Kine Henry, Exrter, Guov- CESTER, WARWICK, SoMERSET, and Sur- FOLK; the Brsuor of W1ncHESTER, RIcHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill ; WincHEsSTER snatches at, and tears tt. Win. Com’st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devis’d ? Humphrey of Gloster, if thou canst accuse, Or aught intend’st to lay unto my charge, 304 The . Parliament-House. Do it without invention, suddenly ; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Gro. Presumptuous priest! this place com- mands my patience, Or thou should’st find thou hast dishonour’d me. Think not, although in writing I preferr’d The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, That therefore I have forg’d, or am not able Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen: No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness, Way ACT IL} Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, As yery infants prattle of thy pride. Thou art a most pernicious usurer ; Froward by nature, enemy to peace ; Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems A man of thy profession and degree ; And for thy treachery, what’s more manifest,— Tn that thou laid’st a trap to take my life, As well at London bridge, as at the Tower ? Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt From envious malice of thy swelling heart. [safe Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.—Lords, vouch- To give me hearing what [ shall reply. If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, As he will haye me, how am I so poor? Or how haps it, I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ? And for dissension, who preferreth peace More than I do, except I be provok’d ? No, my good lords, it is not that offends ; It is not that, that hath incens’d the duke: It is, because no one should sway but he ; No one but he should be about the king ; And that engenders thunder in his breast, And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know I am as good— — Gro. Thou bastard of my grandfather !— Ww. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another’s throne ? Gro. Am I not protector, saucy priest ? Win. And am not I a prelate of the church? Guo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, And useth it to patronage his theft. Wry. Unreverent Gloster! | “Geto. Thou art reverent Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. _ Why. Rome shall remedy this. War. Roam thither then. Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.* War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. | Som. Methinks my lord should be religious, And know the office that belongs to such. _ War. Methinks his lordship should be humbler ; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. _ Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch’d so near. _ War. State holy or unhallow’d, what of that? Ts not his grace protector to the king ? _ Puan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue; Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should ; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords ? Else would I haye a fling at Winchester. [Aside. As good! | | | | & Som. My lord, &c.] This distribution of the speeches was ‘made by Theobald. In the folio 1623, the dialogue runs :— | War, Roame thither then. _My Lord, it were your dutie to forbeare. | You. I 305 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE I. K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal ; I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as ye should jar ! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, Civil dissension is a viperous worm, That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.— [A noise without ; ‘ Down with the tawny [coats ! ”” What tumult’s this ? War. An uproar, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the bishop’s men. [A noise again; “ Stones! Stones!” Enter the Mayor a7 London, attended. May. O, my good lords,—and virtuous Henry ,— Pity the city of London, pity us ! The bishop and the duke of Gloster’s men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have fill’d their pockets full of pebble-stones ; And banding themselves in contrary parts, Do pelt so fast at one another’s pate, That many have their giddy brains knock’d out: Our windows are broke down in eyery street, And we, for fear, compell’d to shut our shops. Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of GuoucrsTER and WincnEstER, with bloody pates. K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to our- self, [ peace. To hold your slaught’ring hands, and keep the Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 1 Serv. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we’ll fall to it with our teeth. 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [Skirmish again. Guo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil, And set this unaccustom’d fight aside. [man 3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth, Inferior to none but to his majesty : And, ere that we will suffer such a prince, So kind a father of the commonweal, To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,” We, and our wives, and children, all will fight, And have our bodies slaughter’d by thy foes. Som. I, see the Bishop be not over-borne: Methinkes my Lord should be Religious,” &c. b Aninkhorn mate,—] Be, then, in blood;] See note (¢), p. 71, Vol. I. © Notrascal-like,—] Rascal has been before explained to be a KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE ITM. Mrss. They are return’d, my lord; and mye it out, That he is march’d to Bourdeaux with his power, To fight with Talbot. As he march’d along, By your espials were discovered Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led ; Which join’d with him, and made their march for Bourdeaux. York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, That thus delays my promised supply Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ! Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid ; And I am lowted “ by a traitor villain, And cannot help the noble chevalier : God comfort him in this necessity ! If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. Enter Sir Wriutam Lucy. Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength, Never so needful on the earth of France, Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ; Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, And hemm/’d about with grim destruction. To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, York ! Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England’s honour. [ heart Yorr. O God! that Somerset—who in proud Doth stop my cornets—were in Talbot’s place ! So should we save a valiant gentleman, By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep, That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress’d lord ! [ word : York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike We mourn, France smiles ; we lose, they daily get; All ’long of this vile traitor Somerset. Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot’s soul ! And on his son young John ; who two hours since I met in travel toward his warlike father ! This seven years did not Talbot see his son ; And now they meet where both their lives are done. Yorx. Alas!. what joy shall noble Talbot have, To bid his young son welcome to his grave ? Away! vexation almost stops my breath, That sunder’d friends greet in the hour of death.— Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can, But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.— Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, ’Long all of Somerset and his delay ! [ Heit. term of the chase for a deer, lean and altogether out of condition, ad And I am lowted by a traitor villain,—] Malone interprets this :—‘'‘I am treated with contempt like a lowt, or low country fellow,” It means, more probably, I am left in the mire, land- lurch’d, by a traitor, &c, 317 ACT Iv.] Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, That ever-living man of memory, Henry the fifth :—whiles they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [ Exit. SCENE 1V.—Other Plains of Gascony. Enter Somerset, with his Forces ; an Officer of TatBor’s with hum. Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: This expedition was by York and Talbot Too rashly plotted ; all our general force Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure : York set him on to fight, and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. Orr. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o’er-match’d forces forth for aid. Enter Sir Wiiu1am Lucy. Som. How now, sir William? whither were you sent ? Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold * lord Talbot ; Who, ring’d about with bold adversity, Cries out for noble York and Somerset, To beat assailing death from his weak legions.* And whiles the honourable captain there Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, And, in advantage lingering,” looks for rescue, You, his false hopes, the trust of England’s honour, Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. Let not your private discord keep away The levied succours that should lend him aid, While he, renowned noble gentleman, Yields? up his life unto a world of odds: Orleans the Bastard, Charles, andt Burgundy, Alengon, Reignier, compass him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default. Som. York set him on, York should have sent him aid. [exclaims ; Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace (*) Old text, Regions. (t+) First folio, Yield. (t) First felio omits, and. a Bought and sold—] A proverbial phrase applied to any one entrapped or madea victim of by treachery or mismanagement ; it is found again in ‘‘The Comedy of Errors,” Act III. Sc. 1, in | ‘* King John,” Act V. Se. 4, and in “ Richard III.” Act V. Se. 3. b And, in advantage lingering,—] Perhaps originally,— ‘And, in disadvantage ling’ring,”’ &c. 318 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (soEm; | And as in the same play, Act IV. Se. 4:— Swearing, that you withhold his levied horse,* Collected for this expedition. Som. York lies; he might have sent and} the horse : I owe him little duty, and less love, And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force France, Hath now entrapp’d the noble-minded Talbot: Never to England shall he bear his life ; But dies, betray’d to fortune by your strife. Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsem straight : Within six hours they will be at his aid. , Lucy. Too late comes rescue; he is ta’en ¢ slain : | For fly he could not, if he would have fled; _ And fly would Talbot never, though he might. Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adie Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shat in you. [ Brew SCENE V.—The English Camp near Bourdea Enter Tarot and Joun his Son. Tat. O young John Talbot! I did send for th To tutor thee in stratagems of war ; That Talbot’s name might be in thee reviv’d, When sapless age and weak unable limbs, Should bring thy father to his drooping chair, But,—O malignant and ill-boding stars !— Now thou art come unto a feast of death, A terrible and unavoided® danger: Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest hor And I’ll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone. Joun. Is my name Talbot? and am I y son ? And shall I fly ? O, if you love my mother, Dishonour not her honourable name, To make a bastard and a slave of me! The world will say—he is not Talbot’s blood, | That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. Tau. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain Joun. He that flies so will ne’er return agai Tax. If we both stay, we both are sure to Joun. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly : | Your loss is great, so your regard should be; My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. ¢ His levied horse—] In the old text, hoast. The corre is Hanmer’s. if 5 d Unavoided—] Unavoidable, as in “ Richard III.” Ae e.1l:— ‘Whose unavoided eye is murderous.” ‘© All unavoided is the doom of destiny.” AcT Iv.] Upon my death the French can little boast ; In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. Flight cannot stain the honour you have won ; But mine it will, that no exploit have done: You fled for vantage, every one will swear ; But, if I bow,* they’ll say it was for fear. There is no hope that ever I will stay, If, the first hour, I shrink and run away. Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, Rather than life preserv’d with infamy. Tax. Shall all thy mother’s hopes lie in %ne tomb ? { womb, Joun. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother’s Tat. Upon my blessing, I command thee go. Joun. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. Tar. Part of thy father may be sav’d in thee. Joun. No part of him but will be shame in me. Tat. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. [abuse it ? Joun. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight Tat. Thy father’s charge shall clear thee from that stain. Joun. You cannot witness for me, being slain. If death be so apparent, then both fly. Tat. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die ? | My age was never tainted with such shame. Joun. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame ? _ No more can I be sever’d from your side, | Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; For live I will not, if my father die. Tau. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. Come, side by side together live and die ; | And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. [ Haeunt. SCENE VI.—A Field of Buttle. Alarum : excursions, wherein Tatsot’s Son is hemmed about, and Taupot rescues him. Tau. aa George and victory ! fight, soldiers, ht ! | The regent hath with Talbot broke his word, | And left us to the rage of France his sword. _ Where is John Talbot ?—pause, and take thy breath ; | I gave thee life, and rescu’d thee from death. ® Bow,—] Mr. Collier’s annotator substitutes fy, and Mr. Singer, flew ; but the bow of the old text, in the sense of give way, is no doubt the genuine word. Yet—] That is, now. © Like me—] Reduce me to the level of. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE VL Joun. O twice my father! twice am I thy son: The life thou gav’st me first was lost and done; Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, T'o my determin’d time thou gav’st new date. Tax. When from the Dauphin’s crest thy sword struck fire, It warm’d thy father’s heart with proud desire Of bold-fac’d victory. ‘Then leaden age, Quicken’d with youthful spleen and warlike rage, Beat down Alencon, Cleans, Burgundy, And from the pride of Gallia reseu’d thee. The ireful bastard Orleans—that drew blood From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood Of thy first fight—I soon encountered ; And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace, Bespoke him thus : Contaminated, base, And misbegotten blood, I spill of thine, Mean and right poor ; for that pure blood of mine, Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy :— Here purposing the Bastard to destroy, Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father’s care ,— Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare ? Wilt thou yet” leave the battle, boy, and fly, Now thou art seal’d the son of chivalry ? Fly to revenge my death when I am dead ; The help of one stands me in little stead. O, too much folly is it, well I wot, To hazard all our lives in one small boat ! If I to-day die not with Frenchmen’s rage, To-morrow I shall die with mickle age : By me they nothing gain an if I stay, ’Tis but the short’ning of my life one day: In thee thy mother dies, our household’s name, My death’s revenge, thy youth, and England’s fame : All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay ; All these are sav’d, if thou wilt fly away. Joun. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart; [heart : ° These words of yours draw life-blood from my On that advantage, bought with such a shame, (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse that bears me fall and die! And like * me to the peasant boys of France, To be shame’s scorn, and subject of mischance ! Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if I fly, I am not Talbot’s son : Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot ;* If son to Talbot die at Talbot’s foot. a Jt is no boot;] Bootis from the Anglo-Saxon botan, advantage, profit, &e. It is no boot, means, it is of no avail. So, in ‘‘ The Taming of the Shrew,” Act V. Sc. 2:— ‘* Then vail your stomachs, for if is no boot.” 319 Tax. Then follow thou thy desp’rate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet : If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side, And, commendable prov’d, let’s die in pride. [ Lxeunt. SCENE VII.—A nother part of the same. Alarum : excursions. Enter TatBot wounded, supported by a Servant. Tat. Where is my other life?—mine own is gone ;— O, where’s young Talbot? where is valiant John ?— Triumphant death, smear’d with captivity, Young Talbot’s valour makes me smile at thee 1. When he perceiv’d me shrink and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish’d over me, And, like a hungry lion, did commence Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience ; a The lither sky,—} This is always explained to signify the yielding sky; it may mean, however, the lazy, idle sky. Lither is still used in this sense in many parts of England. So in Holinshed :—‘‘ Howbeit she hath not shewed hir self so bonn- 320 But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tend’ring my ruin, and assail’d of none, Dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heart, Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clust’ring battle of the French: : And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His overmounting spirit ; and there died My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. Serv. O my dear lord! lo, where your son is borne ! Enter Soldiers, bearing the body of JcCHN Tatpor.(3) Tax. Thou antic death, which laugh’st us here to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots winged, through the lither * sky, In thy despite, shall ’scape mortality.— tifull a mother in pouring forth such riches as she proveth hirself an envious stepdame, in that she instilleth in the inhabitants 4 drousie lythernesse to withdraw them from the ensearching of hir hourded and hidden jewelles.” AOT IVv.] O thou whose wounds become* hard-favour’d death, Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath ! Brave death by speaking, whether ® he will or no; Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.— Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say— [day. Had death been French, then death had died to- Come, come, and lay him in his father’s arms ; My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Soldiers, adieu! [ have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbot’s grave. [ Dies. Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the two bodies.- Hnter CHARLES, ALENGON, Bureunpy, the Bastard, La Pucrenue, and Forces. Cuar. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this. Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot’s, raging- | wood,° | Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood ! Puc. Once I encounter’d him, and thus I said, Thou maiden youth, be vanquish’d by a maid: But, with a proud majestical high scorn, He answer’d thus; Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglot* wench: So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. [knight :— Bur. Doubtless he would have made a noble _ See, where he lies inhersed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms ! ° Bast. Hew them to pieces! hack their bones asunder ! Whose life was England’s glory, Gallia’s wonder. | CHAR. ee no ; forbear ! for that which we have ed ) During the life, let us not wrong it dead. | Enter Sir Wrir1am Lucy, attended ; a French Herald preceding. __ Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin’s tent, _ To know who hath obtain’d the glory of the day. _ Cuar. On what submissive message art thou sent ? [word ; _ Livey. Submission, Dauphin! ’tis a mere French ® Become hard-favour’d death,—] That is, adorn, beautify, _ hard-favour’d death. Sce note (@), p. 151. > Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;) Whether, in the old copies, when required to be pronounced as a monosyl?able, 1S Sometimes, but not always, contracted to where. Inthe present | case it should be pronounced, if not printed, whe’r, or whér. © Raging-wood,—] That is, raging-mad. 4 A giglot wench:] A wanton wench. . © The most bloody nurser of his harms!) | harms.” | f But tell me whom thou seek’st.] From this imperfect line, _ and Lucy’s abrupt inquiry, something, probably to the effect that VOL. It. 321 Query ‘of our KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE Vit. We English warriors wot not what it means. I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta’en, And to survey the bodies of the dead. Cuar. For prisoners ask’st thou? hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou seek’st.‘ {field, Lucy. But where’s the great Alcides of the Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury ? Created, for his rare success in arms, Great earl of Washford,® Waterford, and Valence ; Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Sheffield, The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge, Knight of the noble order of saint George, Worthy saint Michael, and the golden flecce ; Great mareshal to Henry the sixth, Of all his wars within the realm of France? Puc. Here is a silly stately style, indeed ! The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this.— Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles, Stinking and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. Lucy. Is Talbot slain,—the Frenchmen’s only scourge, Your kmgdom’s terror and black Nemesis ? O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn’d, That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces ! O, that I could but call these dead to life ! It were enough to fright the realm of France: Were but his picture left amongst you here, It would amaze the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence, And give them burial as beseems their worth. Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot’s ghost, He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. For God’s sake, let him have ’em;* to keep them here, They would but stink, and putrefy the air. Cuar. Go, take their bodies hence. Lucy. I’ll bear them hence : But from their ashes shall be rear’d" A pheenix that shall make all France afeard. Cuar. So we be rid of them, do with ’em* what thou wilt. And now to Paris, in this conquering vein. All will be ours, now bloody Talbot’s slain. [ Lxeunt. (*) First folio, him. the chief prisoners spared were present, appears to hare been omitted by the transcriber or compositor. g Washford,—] and Washford. . h But from their ashes shall be rear’d—] The deficiency ir this line Pope supplied by reading,— ‘* But from their ashes, Dauphin,” &c. Mr. Collier’s annotator gives,— ‘But from their very ashes,” &c. Wexford was anciently called both Weysford ACL SY. SCENE I.—London. Enter Kina Henry, Giuoucesrer, and Exeter. K. Hen. Have you perus’d the letters from the pope, The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac? Guo. Lhave, my lord; and their intent is this,— They humbly sue unto your excellence, To have a godly peace concluded of, Between the realms of England and of France. K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their motion ? Gio. Weil, my good lord; and as the only means To stop effusion of our Christian blood, And stablish quietness on every side. ; K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought, ® Immanity—] Cruelty, ferocity. > Near kin to Charles,—] The old text has “near knit to 322 A Room in the Palace. It was both impious and unnatural, That such immanity* and bloody strife Should reign among professors of one faith. Guo. Beside, my lord,—the sooner to effect And surer bind this knot of amity,— The earl of Armagnac—near kin” to Charles, A man of great authority in France,— Proffers his only daughter to your grace In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. K. Hen. Marriage, uncle! alas, my years are young ! And fitter is my study and my books, Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. Yet, call the ambassadors ; and, as you please, So let them. have their answers every one: Charles.” “Kin” is Pope’s suggestion, and it is the alteration made by Mr. Collier’s annotator., WKY HAA y = = — .. o\ = = a SSSR = ~~ aap aied f — Tek — = I shall be well content with any choice, Tends to God’s glory and my country’s weal. Enter a Legate and two Ambassadors, with Win- CHESTER, now CARDINAL BEAUFORT, in @ Cardinal’s habit. Exe. [Aside.] What! is my lord of Winchester install’d, And call’d unto a cardinal’s degree ? Then I perceive that will be verified, Henry the fifth did sometime prophecy,— Tf once he come to be a cardinal, He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown. K. Hin. My lords ambassadors, your several suits Have been consider’d and debated on. Your purpose is both good and reasonable ; And, therefore, are we certainly resolv’d To draw conditions of a-friendly peace ; Which by my lord of Winchester we mean Shall be transported presently to France. Gio. And for the proffer of my lord your master,— T have inform’d his highness so at large, 323 As—liking of the lady’s virtuous gifts, Her beauty, and the value of her dower,—- He doth intend she shall be England’s queen. K. Hen. In argument and proof of which contract, Bear her this jewel, [ Z'o the Amb.] pledge of my | affection. And so, my lord protector, see them guarded, And safely brought to Dover ; where, inshipp’d, Commit them to the fortune of the sea. [Zxeunt Kine Henry and Train ; Guovucrs- TER, ExeTer, and Ambassadors. Car. Stay, my lord legate; you shall first receivé The sum of money which I promised Should be deliver’d to his holiness For clothing me in these grave ornaments, Le. I will attend upon your lordship’s leisure. [ Lait. Car. Now Winchester will not submit, I trow, Or be inferior to the proudest peer. Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive, That, neither in birth, or for authority, The bishop will be overborne by thee: I’ll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, Or sack this country with a mutiny, [Leit. y¥2 acT ¥.} SCENE II.—France. Enter Cuartes, Buraunpy, ALENgoN, LA Pucetxe, and Forces, marching. Plains in Anjou. Cuan. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping spirits : ’T is said the stout Parisians do revolt, And turn again unto the warlike French. Aten. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, And keep not back your powers in dalliance. Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us. Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! Enter a Scout. Scour. Success unto our valiant general, And happiness to his accomplices ! Cuar. What tidings send our scouts? I pr’ythee, speak. Scour. The English army, that divided was Into two parts,* is now conjoin’d in one, And means to give you battle presently. Cur. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is ; But we will presently provide for them. Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there ; Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most ac- curs’d :— Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine, Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. Cuar. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate ! [ Hxeunt. SCENE ITI.—The same. Alarums : Excursions. Before Angiers. Enter La Pucriye. Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts ; * And ye choice spirits that admonish me, And give me signs of future accidents— [ Thunder. You speedy helpers, that are substitutes Under the lordly monarch of the north,(1) Appear, and aid me in this enterprize! Ente Fiends. This speedy and quick appearance argues proof Of your accustom’d diligence to me. Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull’d (*) Old text, parties. ® Charming spells, and periapts;] Periapts or amulets were charms worn on the person to avert disease or danger. 324 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE ITI. Out of the powerful legions * under earth, Help me this once, that France may get the field. [They walk, and speak not. O, hold me not with silence over-long ! Where” I was wont to feed you with my blood, I’ll lop a member off, and give it you, In earnest of a further benefit ; So you do condescend to help me now.— [ They hang their heads, No hope to have redress ?—My body shall Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. [Zhey shake their heads, Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice, Entreat you to your wonted furtherance ? Then take my soul,—my body, soul, and all, Before that England give the French the foil. [ They depart. See! they forsake me. Now the time is come, That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England’s lap. My ancient incantations are too weak, And hell too strong for me to buckle with :— Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [ Hart. Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting. La Pucetxety and Yorx fight hand to hand. La Puce xe vs taken.(2) The French fly. York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast : Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, And try if they can gain your liberty. — A goodly prize, fit for the devil’s grace ! See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, As if, with Circe, she would change my shape ! Puc. Chang’d to a worser shape thou canst not be. Yorx. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man; No shape but his can please your dainty eye. Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee ! And may ye both be suddenly surpriz’d By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds! Yorx. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue ! Puc. I pr’ythee, give me leave to curse a while. York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake. [ Lxeunt. Alarums. Enter Surroux, leading in Lapy ManrGarptT. Sur. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisonet. [Gazes on her. (*) Old text, regions. (+) Old text, Burgundie. b Where—] That is, whereas. O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly ! For I will touch thee but with reverent hands : I kiss these fingers* for eternal peace, And lay them gently on thy tender side. Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, The king of Naples,—whosoe’er thou art. Sur. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call’d. * I kiss these fingers—] In the modern editions, a stage direction [Kissing her hand] is given here, which may mislead. From the ensuing line :— “‘And lay them gently on thy tender side,” it would seem that Suffolk is speaking of his own hand, which he kisses in attestation of homage, and then replaces gently round the lady's waist. This view of the action is strengthened NA Ai SN NIN Wh Ss INS WS NAN EN WS ANS AN \ \\ aN y ia \\y Sh y iN y TPE WES a *y Bate Be not offended, nature’s miracle, Thou art allotted to be ta’en by me: So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Keeping them prisoner underneath her* wings. Yet, if this servile usage once offend, Go, and be free avain as Suffolk’s friend. [She turns away as going. O, stay !—I have no power to let her pass ; My hand would free her, but my heart says—no. (*) First folio, his. by the stage direction of the old copies:—‘‘ Enter Suffolke with Margaret in his hand,’’ and by what he presently says :— ‘«So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings,” and obviates the necessity of any transposition in the lines 325 ACT V.] As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, Twinkling another counterfeited beam, So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak : I’ll call for pen and ink, and write my mind: Fie, De la Poole! disable* not thyself; Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner? Wilt thou be daunted at a woman’s sight ? Ay; beauty’s princely majesty is such, [rough.° Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk,—if thy name be so,— What ransom must I pay before I pass ? For I perceive I am thy prisoner. Sur. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit, Before thou make a trial of her love ? [ Aside. Mar. Why speak’st thou not? what ransom must I pay? Sur. She’s beautiful, and therefore to be woo’d: She is a woman, therefore to be won. [ Aside. Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom—yea, or no? Sur. Fond man! remember that thou hast a wife ; Then how can Margaret be thy paramour ? [Astde. Mar. I were best to leave him, for he will not hear. Sur. There all is marr’d; there lies a cooling card. [ Aside. Mar. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad. Sur. And yet a dispensation may be had. [ Aside. Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me. Sur. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom? Why, for my king: tush ! that’s a wooden* thing. [ Aside. Mar. He talks of wood: it is some carpenter. Sur. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, And peace established between these realms. But there remains a scruple in that, too: For though her father be the king of Naples, Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, | And our nobility will scorn the match. [ Aside. Mar. Hear ye, captain,—are you not at leisure? Sur. It shall be so, disdain they ne’er so much : Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.—{ Aside. Madam, I have a secret to reveal. Mar. What though I be enthrall’d, he seems a knight, And will not any way dishonour me. [ Asede. a Disable—] That is, disparage. See note (¢), p. 168. bTIs she not here thy prisoner?] The last two words of this line are omitted in the first folio. ¢ Ay; beauty’s princely majesty is such, Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough.) This isa troublesome passage. Hanmer, for rough, reads crouch. Mr. Collier’s annotator, for ‘‘ makes the senses rough,” proposes ‘mocks the sense of touch;” and Mr. Singer's corrector, “ wakes the sense’s touch,” : @ Wooden—] As we now say blockish. Soin Lily’s Galathea, 326 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 4 YW [SCENE ITT, Sur. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. Man. Perhaps I shall be reseu’d by the French; And then I need not crave his courtesy. [ Aside. Sur. Sweet madam, give me hearmg in a cause— Mar. Tush! women have been captivate ere now. [ Aside, Sur. Lady, wherefore talk you so? ° Man. I cry you mercy, ’tis but guid for quo.‘ Sur. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile, Than is a slave in base servility ; For princes should be free. SUF. And so shall you, If happy England’s royal king be free. [me ? AR. Why, what concerns his freedom unto Sur. I’ll undertake to make thee Henry’s queen ; To put a golden sceptre in thy hand, And set a precious crown upon thy head, If thou wilt condescend to be my— Mar. What ? Sur. His love, Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry’s wife. : Sur. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, And have no portion in the choice myself. How say you, madam; are ye so content? Mar. An if my father please, I am content. — Sur. Then call our captains and our colours forth !— And, madam, at your father’s castle-walls We’ll crave a parley, to confer with him. [Troops come forward. ) A Parley sounded. Enter Rutanrer, on the walls. . Sur. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner! Rete. To whom? ‘ Sur. To me. Rec. Suffolk, what remedy ? T am a soldier, and unapt to weep, Or to exclaim on fortune’s fickleness. Sur. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord: Consent, (and, for thy honour, give consent,) Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king ; 1592 :—‘* Would I were out of these woods, for I shall have but wooden luck;” and in Sidney’s Astrophel and Stella (both quoted by Steevens) :— ‘ “Or, seeing, have so woodden wits as not that worth to know.” _© Lady, wherefore talk you so?] Mr. Collier's annotator reme- dies the imperfection of this line by inserting “ pray tell me.” f 'Tis but quid for quo.] Falstaff, it will be recollected, adopts the same effective course to reprove the Chief Justice for his pete of not listening,” in the “Second Part of Henry IV. Cy eisCia. C ACT V.] Whom I with pain have woo’d and won thereto ; And this her easy-held imprisonment Hath gain’d thy daughter princely liberty. Ruie. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks ? Sur. Fair Margaret knows, That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. ' Rere. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend, To give thee answer of thy just demand. [ Haxit from the walls. Sur. And here I will expect thy coming. Trumpets sounded. Enter Rutentenr, below. Rere. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories ; Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. Sur. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, Fit to be made companion with a king: What answer makes your grace unto my suit? Rrra. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth, To be the princely bride of such a lord ; Upon condition I may quietly Enjoy mine own, the county* Maine and Anjou, - Free from oppression or the stroke of war, My daughter shall be Henry’s, if he please. Sur. That is her ransom,—lI deliver her ; And those two counties I will undertake, Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. Reie. And I again,—in Henry’s royal name, As deputy unto that gracious king,— ' Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. Sur. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, Because this is in traffic of a king :— And yet, methinks, I could be well content To be mine own attorney in this case.— I’ll over then to England with this news, And make this marriage to be solemniz’d : So, farewell, Reignier: set this diamond safe In golden palaces, as it becomes. Reta. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. Mar. Farewell, my lord: good wishes, praise, and prayers, Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. Sur. Farewell, sweet madam! But hark you, | Margaret ;— No princely commendations to my king? _ Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, _ A virgin, and his servant, say to him. _[directed. Sur. Words sweetly plac’d and modestlyt [ Aside. / (*) Old text, country. (+) First folio, modestie. &® Peevish—] Childish, foolish. h And natural graces—] The first folio has ‘mad natural | graces ;”’ and is the emendation of Capell. Mr. Collier, on the f faith of his annotator, reads ‘‘ Mid,” which he pronounces in- _ contestable. We must take leave to differ with him, believing KING HENRY THE SIXTH. ee Se {SCENE IV. But, madam, 1 must trouble you again,— No loving token to his majesty ? [ heart, Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted Never yet taint with love, I send the king. Sur. And this withal. [ Kisses her Mar. That for thyself;—I will not so presume To send such peevish* tokens to a king. | Hxeunt Reranrer and MarGarer. Sur. O, wert thou for myself !—But, Suffolk, stay ; Thou may’st not wander in that labyrinth ; There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk. Solicit Henry with her wond’rous praise : Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount ; And? natural graces that extinguish art ; Repeat their semblance often on the seas, That, when thou com’st to kneel at Henry’s feet, Thou may’st bereave him of his wits with wonder. [ Hatt. SCENE IV.—Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. Enter Yorx, Warwick, and others. Yorx. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn’d to burn. Enter La Pucetie, guarded, and a Shepherd. Suep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father’s heart outright ! Have I sought every country far and near, And, now it is my chance to find thee out, Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? _[thee! Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I’ll die with Puc. Decrepit miser!° base ignoble wretch ! I am descended of a gentler blood ; Thou art no father nor no friend of mine. SuEp. Out, out !—My lords, an please you, ’tis not so; I did beget her, all the parish knows: Her mother liveth yet, can testify She was the first-iruit of my bachelorship. War. Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage? Yorx. This argues what her kind of life hath been ;— Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. Surp. Fie, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle !* God knows thou art a collop of my flesh, And for thy sake have I shed many a tear: Deny me not, I pr’ythee, gentle Joan. either And, or “‘ Her,” another substitution of the commentators, much better suited to the context. ¢ Decrepit miser!] Miser here does not imply avarice; bet means a miserable caitiff; a sense it so commonly bore forinerly that examples are needless. ‘d So obstacle!] An old vulgar corruption of obstinate. 327 Puc. Peasant, avaunt !—You have suborn’d this man, Of purpose to obseure my noble birth. Surp. "Tis true ; I gave a noble to the priest, The morn that I was wedded to her mother.— Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time Of thy nativity! I would the milk [ breast, Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck’dst her 328 Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee! Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? QO, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good. [ ait. Yorx. Take her away; for she hath liv’d too lone, To fill the aed with vicious qualities. Act v.]. Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn’d : Not one* begotten of a shepherd swain, But issu’d from the progeny of kings ; Virtuous, and holy ; chosen from above, By inspiration of celestial grace, To work exceeding miracles on earth. I never had to do with wicked spirits : But you,—that are polluted with your lusts, Stain’d with the guiltless blood of innocents, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,— Because you want the grace that others have, You judge it straight a thing impossible To compass wonders but by help of devils. No, misconceived!* Joan of Arc hath been A virgin from her tender infancy, Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus’d, Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. York. Ay, ay ;—away with her to execution ! War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, Spare for no faggots, let there be enow: Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, That so her torture may be shortened. [hearts?— Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.— T am with child, ye bloody homicides : Murder not, then, the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death. Yor. Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with child ? [wrought ! War. The greatest miracle that e’er ye Is all your strict preciseness come to this ? Yorx. She and the Dauphin have been juggling : I did imagine what would be her refuge. _[live; War. Well, go to; we will have no bastards Especially, since Charles must father it. Puc. You are deceiv’d; my child is none of his; It was Alencon that enjoy’d my love. Yorx. Alencon! that notorious Machiavel ! It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you ; *T was neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam’d, But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail’d. War. A married man! that’s most intolerable. Yorx. Why, here’s a girl! I think, she knows not well, There were so many, whom she may accuse. War. It’s sign she hath been liberal and free. Yorx. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.— (*) Old text, me. ® No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been—] Steevens in- terprets this,—‘* No, ye misconceivers, ye who mistake me and my qualities.” If this be the meaning, the author probably wrote :— ‘* Know, misconceived,” &c. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE TY. Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee: Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. [my curse ; Puc. Then lead me hence ;—with whom I leave May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode ! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you; till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves. [ Lait, guarded. Yorx. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes, Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! Enter Carpinau Breavurort, attended. Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence With letters of commission from the king. For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, Mov’d with remorse of these outrageous broils, Have earnestly implor’d a general peace Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ; And here at hand the Dauphin, and his train, Approacheth, to confer about some matter. York. Is all our travail turn’d to this effect ? After the slaughter of so many peers, So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, That in this quarrel have been overthrown, And sold their bodies for their country’s benefit, Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace ? Have we not lost most part of all the towns, By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, Our great progenitors had conquered ?— O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief The utter loss of all the realm of France. War. Be patient, York; if we conclude a peace, It shall be with such strict and severe covenants, As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. Enter Cuaruss, attended ; Atengon, the Bas- TARD, Reranier, and others. Cuar. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed, That peaceful truce shall be proclaim’d in France, We come to be informed by yourselves What the conditions of that league must be. York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes The hollow passage of my prison’d” voice, By sight of these our baleful enemies. Car. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:—- That, in regard king Henry gives consent, But, perhaps, the punctuation adopted by Mr. Collier gives the true solution :— ‘* No; misconceived Joan of Arc hath been,” &c, b Prison’d voice,—] In the old text, ‘‘ poyson’d voice.” Theo- bald first substituted prison’d. 329 ACT vV.} Of mere compassion and of lenity, To ease your country of distressful war, And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,— You shall become true liegemen to his crown : And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, Thou shalt be plac’d as viceroy under him, And still enjoy thy regal dignity. Aen. Must he be then as shadow of himself ? Adorn his temples with a coronet, And yet, in substance and authority, Retain but privilege of a private man? This proffer is absurd and reasonless. Cuar. “Tis known already that I am possess’d With more than half the Gallian territories, And therein reverene’d for their lawful king : Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish’d, Detract so much from that prerogative, As to be call’d but viceroy of the whole ? No, lord ambassador; I’ll rather keep That which I have, than, coveting for more, Be cast from possibility of all. [means Yorx. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret Us’d intercession to obtain a league, And, now the matter grows to compromise, Stand’st thou aloof upon comparison ? Kither accept the title thou usurp’st, Of benefit * proceeding from our king, And not of any challenge of desert, Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. Rera. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy To cavil in the course of this contract: If once it be neglected, ten to one, We shall not find like opportunity. [ Asede to CHARLES. Arn. To say the truth, it is your policy, To save your subjects from such massacre And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen By our proceeding in hostility : And therefore take this compact of a truce, Although you break it when your pleasure serves. [ Aside to CuaRLzs. War. How say’st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand ? Cuar. It shall: Only reserv’d, you claim no interest In any of our towns of garrison. Yorx. Then swear allegiance to his majesty ; As thou art knight, never to disobey, Nor be rebellious to the crown of England ; Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.— [CHares and the rest give tokens of fealty. So, now dismiss your army when ye please ; Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Hxewnt. &® Of benefit proceeding from our king,—] ‘‘ Benefit is here a fee of law. Be content to live as the beneficiary of our king.” —JOHNSON. 330 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE Y, SCENE V.—London. A Room in the Palace, Enter Kina Henry, in conference with SurrorxK ; GroucrstErR and Exeter following. K. Hen. Your’ wond’rous noble earl, Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish’d me: Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love’s settled passions in my heart: And, like as rigour of tempestuous gusts, Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide ; So am I driven, by breath of her renown, Hither to suffer shipwreck, or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love. Sur. Tush, my good lord! this superficial tale Is but a preface of her worthy praise : The chief perfections of that lovely dame, (Had I sufficient skill to utter them,) Would make a volume of enticing lines, Able to ravish any dull conceit. And, which is more, she is not so divine, So full replete with choice of all delights, But, with as humble lowliness of mind, She is content to be at your command ; Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, To love and honour Henry as her lord. _[sume. K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne’er pre- Therefore, my lord protector, give consent, That Margaret may be England’s royal queen. Gio. So should I give consent to flatter sin. You know, my lord, your highness is betroth’d Unto another lady of esteem ; How shall we, then, dispense with that contract And not deface your honour with reproach ? Sur. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ; Or one that, at a triumph having vow’d To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists By reason of his adversary’s udds : A poor earl’s daughter is unequal odds, And therefore may be broke without offence. Guo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that ? Her father is no better than an earl, Although in glorious titles he excel. Sur. Yes, my good* lord, her father is a king; The king of Naples and Jerusalem ; And of such great authority in France, As his alliance will confirm our peace, And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. Gro. And so the earl of Armagnac may do, — Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. [dower; Exr. Beside, his wealth doth warrantt liberal Where Reignier sooner will receive, than give. rare description, (*) First folio omits, goed, (+) First folio inserts, 2. \ AcT V.] Sur. A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king, That he should be so abject, base, and poor, T'o choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. Henry is able to enrich his queen, And not to seek a queen to make him rich: So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. Marriage is a matter of more worth, Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, Must be companion of his nuptial bed: And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, It* most of all these reasons bindeth us, In our opinions she should be preferr’d. For what is wedlock forced but a hell, An age of discord and continual strife ? Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,” And is a pattern of celestial peace. Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, But Margaret, that is daughter to a king ? Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, Approves her fit for none but for a king: Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, (More than in women commonly is seen,) Will answer our hope in issue of a king ; _ For Henry, son unto a conqueror, Is likely to beget more conquerors, If with a lady of so high resolve, _ As is fair Margaret, he be link’d in love. Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me, That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. K. Hen. Whether it be through force of your report, @ It most of ali, &c.] It is an addition of Rowe’s; the old text exhibiting the line, “Most of all these reasons bindeth us.” We should prefer reading, ‘‘ And most of all,” &c. conceiving KING HENRY THE SIXTH [SCENE Y. My noble lord of Suffolk, or for that My tender youth was never yet attaint With any passion of inflaming love, I cannot tell; but this I am assur’d, I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, As I am sick with working of my thoughis. Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France ; Agree to any covenants ; and procure That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come To cross the seas to England, and be crown’d King Henry’s faithful and anointed queen : For your expenses and sufficient charge, Among the people gather up a tenth. Be gone, I say ; for. till you do return, T rest perplexed with a thousand cares.— And you, good uncle, banish all offence: If you do censure me by what you were, Not what you are, I know it will excuse This sudden execution of my will. And so conduct me, where from company, I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [ Heit. Guo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. [Hxeunt GLOUCESTER and Exeter. Sur. Thus Suffolk hath prevail’d: and thus he goes, As did the youthful Paris once to Greece ; With hope to find the like event in love, But prosper better than the Trojan did. Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king ; But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. [ Lait. Suffolk’s meaning to be—since he loves her best, and we ourselves in the choice of a wife are most bound by considerations of affec- tion, she should be preferred. b Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,—] Contrary must here be read as a quadrisyllable. ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACT I (1) ScenE I.—Hung be the heavens with black.| In our early theatres, before the introduction of movable scenery, it appears that the back and sides of the stage were usually adorned with tapestry or arras, while the internal roof, or ceiling, technically called the ‘‘ Heavens,” by means of blue hangings, similar perhaps to those still in use, was made to represent the actual sky. When the performance was of a tragic nature, however, the furniture of the stage partook in some degree of the sombre character of the piece, and the walls and interior covering were always hung with black. To this change in the aspect of the stage when tragedy was played, the passage in the text is one of many allusions which may be instanced from Elizabethan writers. Thus Shakespeare again, in his “Rape of Lucrece:”— ‘* Black stage for tragedies, and murthers fell.” So, in the Induction to a tragedy called ‘A Warning for Fair Women,” 1599 :— “¢ Historie. Look, Comedie, I mark’d it not till now, The stage is hung with blacke, and I perceive The auditors prepar’d for tragedie.” So, also, in Marston’s ‘‘Insatiate Countess,” Act IV. :—- ‘“«The stage of heav’n is hung with solemne black, A time best fitting to act tragedies.” And so Sidney, in his “ Arcadia,” p. 125, ed. 1598 :— “ — ‘apie ive i } 1 AYIA AY NAN NS Hit DASHA SS i SS NINS \\ WN ANN N t| Ni WHA a WY ! a (/ / \\ \ AN NR \e “ NS: | thi I MA | Wa tH MW) WY iy Ze i ii ZS -} 49) “| AGT SCENE I.—London. Mourish of Trumpets: then Hautboys. Enter, on one side, Kina Henry, Dux of GLOUCESTER, SaLispury, Warwick, and CarDINAL Brav- Fort; on the other, QUEEN MARGARET, led in by SuFFoLK ; YorK, SomEersET, Buckine- HAM, and others following. _ Sur. As by your high imperial majesty . had in charge at my depart for France, A Room of State im the Palace. As procurator to your excellence, To marry princess Margaret for your grace ; So, in the famous ancient city Tours,— In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigns, and Alencon, | bishops, Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend I have perform’d my task, and was espous’d ; And humbly now upon my bended knee, 341° ACT I.] In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent ; The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, The fairest queen that ever king receiv’d. | K. Hen. Suffolk, arise. — Welcome, queen Margaret: I can express no kinder sign of love, Than this kind kiss—O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gra- cious lord ;— The mutual conference that my mind hath had, By day, by night; waking, and in my dreams, In courtly company, or at my beads,—* With you mine alder-liefest ” sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my king With ruder terms, such as my wit affords And oyer-joy of heart doth minister. (speech, K. Hen. Her sight did ravish ; but her grace in Her words y-clad with wisdom’s majesty, Makes me, from wondering, fall to weeping, joys ; Such is the fulness of my heart’s content.— Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. Att. Long live queen Margaret, England’s happiness ! Q. Mar. We thank you all. (Flourish. Sur. My lord protector, so it please your grace, Here are the articles of contracted peace, Between our sovereignand the French king Charles, For eighteen months, concluded by consent. Guo. [ Reads.| Imprimis, It 1s agreed between the French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry king of England,— that the said Henry shall espouse the lady Margaret, daughter unto Rewg- ner king of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusalem ; and crown her queen of England, ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing.—-Item,—That the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be re- leased and delivered to the king her father K. Hen. Uncle, how now! Guo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, And dimm’d mine eyes, that I can read no further. K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. Car. [feads.| Item,—It is further agreed between them,— that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the ® Or at my beads,—] See note (Cc), p. 3, Vol. I. b Alder-liefest—] All-dearest ; dearest of all; a Saxon com- pound found in many of our early writers, from Chaucer to Shakespeare. 342 TILE SECOND PART OF (SCENE I king her father ; and she sent over of the king oy England’s own proper cost and charges, withou having any dowry. K. Hen. They please us well.— Lord marques, kneel down ; We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, And girt thee with the sword.—Cousin of York, We here discharge your grace from being regent I’ the parts of France, till term of eighteen months Be full expir’d.—Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick ; We thank you all for this great favour done, In entertainment to my princely queen. Come, let us in; and with all speed provide To see her coronation be perform’d. [ Lxeunt Kine, QurEn, and SuFForx. Guo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, To you duke Humphrey inust unload his grief,— Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter’s cold and summer’s parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance ? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, - To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, | Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Receiv’d deep scars in France and Normandy ? Or hath mine uncle Beaufort, and myself, With all the learned council of the realm, Studied so long, sat in the council-house Karly and late, debating to and fro How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe? And hath his highness in his infancy Been* crown’d in Paris, in despite of foes? And shall these labours and these honours die? Shall Henry’s conquest, Bedford’s vigilance, Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die? O, peers of England, shameful is this league ! Fatal this marriage! cancelling your fame, Blotting your names from books of memory, Razing the characters of your renown, Defacing monuments of conquer’d France, Undoing all, as all had never been ! Car. Nephew, what means this passionate dis- course, This peroration with such circumstance ? For France, ’tis ours; and we will keep it still. Guo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; But now it is impossible we should: Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, _ © Been crown’d in Paris,—] The old text reads “Crowned in Paris,” &c. Capell added ‘‘ Been,” as did also Mr. Collier's annotator. : = ——— = = — <—-— ee ee ————— | Before ACT L.] Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. Sar. Now, by the death of Him that died for all, ‘These counties were the keys of Normandy !— But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son ? Wan. For grief that they are past recovery ; For, were there hope to conquer them again, Mysword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both ; Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: And are the cities, that I got with wounds, Deliver’d up again with peaceful words ? Mort Dieu ! York. For Suffolk’s duke, may he be suffocate, That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart, Before I would have yielded to this league. , I never read but England’s kings have had Large sums of gold, and dowries with their wives ; And our king Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages. Gro. A proper jest, and never heard before, That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth |For costs and charges in transporting her ! She should have stay’d in France, and starv’d in France, Car. My lord of Gloster, now ye grow too hot ; It was the pleasure of my lord the king. Guo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind; ’Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But ’tis my presence that doth trouble ye. Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face I see thy fury: if I longer stay, We shall begin our ancient bickerings.— Lordings, farewell ; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied—France will be lost ere long. [ Hat. Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. ’Tis known to you he is mine enemy ; Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, _ And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, And heir-apparent to the English crown ; Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, There’s reason he should he displeas’d at it. Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. What though the common people favour him, | ter ; Calling hin—Humphrey, the good duke of Glos- Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice— Jesu maintain your royal excellence | With—God preserve the good duke Humphrey ! I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, He will be found a dangerous protector. —_[reign, Bucx. Why should he, then, protect our sove- He being of age to govern of himself ?— KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE I. Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together, with the duke of Suffolk, We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. Car. This weighty business will not brook delay ; I’ll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. [ Heit. Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Hum- phrey’s pride And greatness of his place be grief to us, Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal ; His insolence is more intolerable Than all the princes in the land beside: If Gloster be displac’d, he’ll be protector. Bucx. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be pro- tector,* Despite duke Humphrey or the cardinal. [Hxeunt BucxineHam and SoMERSET. Sau. Pride went before, ambition follows him. While these do labour for their own preferment, Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster Did bear him like a noble gentleman. Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal— More like a soldier than a man o’ the church, As stout and proud as he were lord of all— Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.— Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age! Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good duke Humphrey :— And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline ; Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign ; Havemadetheefear’dand honour’d of the people: — Join we together, for the public good, In what we can to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, With Somerset’s and Buckingham’s ambition ; And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey’s deeds, While they do tend the profit of the land. [land, War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the And common profit of his country ! [ cause. Yorx. And so says York, for he hath greatest Sat. Then let’s make haste away, and look unto the main. War. Unto the main / O, father, Maine is lost,— That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept so long as breath did last ! Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,— Which I will win from France, or else be slain. [Lxeunt Warwick and SavisBurRY. York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French ; Paris is lost; the state of Normandy (*) First folio, protectors. 343 ACT I.] Stands on a tickle* point, now they are gone : Suffolk concluded on the articles ; The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas’d To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter. T cannot blame them all; what is’t to them? ’Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Piratesmay make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone ; Whileas the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands, And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, While all is shar’d, and all is borne away, Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own: So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain’d for and sold. Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ire- land, Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood, As did the fatal brand Althea burn’d, Unto the prince’s heart of Calydon.” Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French! Cold news for me; for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England’s soil. A day will come when York shall claim his own ; And therefore I will take the Nevils’ parts, [phrey, And make a show of love to proud duke Hum- And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that’s the golden mark I seek to hit : Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold the seeptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fit* not for a crown. Then, York, be still awhile, till time do Serve: Watch thou and wake, when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state ; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, [queen, With his new bride and England’s dear-bought And Humphrey with the peers be fall’n at jars: Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum’d ; And in my standard bear the arms of York, To grapple with the house of Lancaster ; [crown, And, force perforce, I’ll make him yield the Whose bookish rule hath pull’d fair England down. [ Lait. SCENE II.—The same. A Room in the Duke of Gloucester’s House. Enter GLoucEstER and the DucHEss. Ducn. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen’d corn, (*) Old text, jits. &® Ona tickle point,—] Tickle was commoniy used by the old writers for ticklish. b Unto the prince’s heart of Calydon.] This fable is alluded to also in the ‘Second Part of Henry IV.” Act II. Sc.2. See note b), p. 586, Vol. I. 344 THE SECOND PART OF Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load ? Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world ? Why are thine eyes fix’d to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What seest thou there? king Henry’s diadem, Enchas’d with all the honours of the world ? If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. f Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold :— What, is’t too short ? I’ll lengthen it with mine ; And, having both together heav’d it up, We’ll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low, As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. [SCENR m1, i} 4 Gro. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts! And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! My troublous dream * this night doth make me sad. Ducu. What dream’d my lord? tell me, and I’ll requite it With sweet rehearsal of my morning’s dream. Guo. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; And on the pieces of the broken wand Were plac’d the heads of Edmund duke of Somerset, And William de la Poole, first duke of Suffolk. — This was my dream; what it doth bode, God knows. Dvucu. Tut, this was nothing but an argument That he that breaks a stick of Gloster’s grove Shall lose his head for his presumption. But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought I sat in seat of majesty, In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are® crown’d ; Where* Henry and dame Margaret kneel’d to me, And on my head did set the diadem. Gio. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: Presumptuous dame! ill-nurtur’d Eleanor ! Art thou not second woman in the realm ; And the protector’s wife, belov’d of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, (*) Old text, dreames. © Where kings and queens are crown’d;] The old text, has ‘wer ;’’ an obvious misprint for are; witness ‘‘ ‘he Contention, which reads— “Where Kings and Queenes are crownde.” d Where—] Another probable misprint for There. act 1.} To tumble down thy husband and thyself From top of honour to disgrace’s feet ? Away from me, and let me hear no more! Ducu. What, what, my lord! are you so choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream ? Next time I’ll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be check’d. Guo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas’d again. | Enter a Messenger. pleasure, You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban’s, Whereas * the king and queen do mean to hawk. us ? _ Ducu. Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. Follow I must; I cannot go before, While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, _I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks, _ And smooth my way upon their headless necks : \ And, being a woman, I will not be slack | To play my part in Fortune’s pageant. Where are you there, sir John?” nay, fear not, | * man, | We are alone; here’s none but thee and I. Enter Hume. Hume. Jesus preserve your royal majesty ! | grace. | Home. But, by the grace of God, and Hume’s | advice, \ Your grace’s title shall be multiplied. yet conferr’d With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch ; (1) With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer ? _ And will they undertake to do me good ? _— ~ your highness, A spirit rais’d from depth of under ground, That shall make answer to such questions, As by your grace shall be propounded him. questions : | When from Saint Alban’s we do make return, _ We’Il see these things effected to the full. ® Whereas—] Where and whereas, like when and whenas, while and whileas, were convertible. churchmen. Mess. My lord protector, *tis his highness’ Guo. I go.—Come, Nell,—thou wilt ride with [ Lxewnt GuioucEsTER and Messenger. * Ducu. What say’st thou? majesty / I am but Duca. What say’st thou, man? hast thou as Humes. This they have promised to show Dvucu. It is enough; I’ll think upon the > Sir John?] The title Sir, a translation of Dominus, it has _ already been explained, was one commonly applied to certain ; KING HENRY THE SIXTH. ace ee eee Sais marae oePEaETITCISEEETIES IRENE SEGRE A RS ET TS STENT LS SN ARR SR aN ae [SCENE ILL. Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, With thy confederates in this weighty cause. [ Zant. Humr. Hume must make merry with the duchess’ gold ? Marry, and shall. But, how now, sir John Hume! Seal up your lips, and give no words but—mum ; The business asketh silent secrecy. Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch : Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. Yet have I gold flies from another coast ; I dare not say, from the rich cardinal, And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk ; Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain, They, knowing dame Eleanor’s aspiring humour, Have hired me to undermine the duchess, And buz these conjurations in her brain. They say,—a crafty knave does need no broker ; ° Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal’s broker. Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. Well, so it stands ; and thus I fear, at last, Hume’s knavery will be the duchess’ wreck, And her attainture will be Humphrey’s fall : Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Hait. SCENE III.—TZhe same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Peter, and others, with petitions. 1 Per. My masters, let’s stand close; my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill.* 2 Prr. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he’s a good man! Jesu bless him! 1 Per. Here a’ comes, methinks, and the queen with him: I’ll be the first, sure. Enter Surrotx and QurEN MarGaRetT. 2 Per. Come back, fool! this is the duke of Suff¥ik, and not my lord protector. Sur. How now, fellow! wouldst any thing with me ? 1 Per. I pray, my lord, pardon me! I took ye for my lord protector. Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.] To my lord protector ! Are your supplications to his lordship ? Let me see them :—what is thine ? e A crafty knave does need no broker;] This was proverbial. d In the quill.] Mr. Dyce and Mr. Singer would read in the coil, or quoil, that is, the stir; while Mr. Collier’s annotator sub- stitutes ‘in sequel.” Of the two, we prefer the former, but have not sufficient confidence in either to advance it to the text. 345 1 Per. Mine is, an’t please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal’s man, for keep- ing my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. Sur. Thy wife, too! that’s some wrong, in- deed.—What’s yours ?—What’s here! [ Reads. ] Against the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of JMelford.—How now, sir knave ? 2 Per. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. Peter. [Presenting his petition.| Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying, that the duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. Q. Mar. What say’st thou? did the duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown ? Peter. That my master* was? no, forsooth : my master said, that he was; and that the king was an usurper. Sur. Who is there? [#nter Servants. |—Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pur- suivant presently :—we’ll hear more of your matter before the king. [Hxeunt Servants with Prrzr. Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be pro- tected Under the wings of our protector’s grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [Z'ears the petition. Away, base cullions !—Suffolk, let them go. Aut. Come, let’s be gone. [{Hxeunt Petitioners. (*) Old text, Mistresse. 346 Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the ulse, Is this the fashion* in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain’s isle, And this the royalty of Albion’s king ? What, shall king Henry be a pupil still, Under the surly Gloster’s governance ? Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke ? I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours Thou ran’st a tilt in honour of my love, And stol’st away the ladies’ hearts of France ; I thought king Henry had resembled thee Tn courage, courtship, and proportion : But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads : His champions are, the prophets and apostles ; His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ ; His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canoniz’d saints, I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head ;— That were a state fit for his holiness. Sur. Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace’s full content. Q. Mar. Beside the haught + protector, have we Beaufort, (*) Old text. Fashions. (+) First folio, haughtie. ACT I.] The imperious churchman ; Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York: and not the least of these But can do more in England than the king. Sur. And he of these, that can do most of all, Cannot do more in England than the Nevils : Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector’s wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than duke Humphrey’s wife. Strangers in court do take her for the queen : She bears a duke’s revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty. Shall I not live to be aveng’d on her ? Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, She vaunted ’mongst her minions t’other day, The very train of her worst wearing-gown Was better worth than all my father’s lands, Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. Sur. Madam, myself have lim’d a bush for her, And plac’d a quire of such enticing birds, That she will light to listen to the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. So let her rest: and, madam, list to me; For I am bold to counsel you in this. | Although we fancy not the cardinal, Yet must we join with him and with the lords, Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the duke of York,—this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit : So, one by one, we’ll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Enter King Henry, Yorx and Somerset ; — Dvuxe and Ducuess of GioucrstER, Car- DINAL Bravurort, BucKINGHAM, SALISBURY, and Warwick. K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which ; Or Somerset or York, all’s one to me. Yorx. If York have ill demean’d himself in France, Then let him be denay’d* the regentship. Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent; I will yield to him. War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no, Dispute not that York is the worthier. Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. ® Denay’d—] Denay was the old form of deny, So in ‘‘ Twelfth Night,” Act II. Se. 4:— KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE III. War. The cardinal’s not my better in the field. Bucx. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. Sau. Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferr’d in this. Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it SO. Guo. Madam, the king is old enough himself To give his censure: these are no women’s matters. Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your erace To be protector of his excellence ? Gio. Madam, I am protector of the realm ; And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. Sur. Resign it, then, and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou? The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck: The Dauphin hath prevail’d beyond the seas ; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. Car. The commons hast thou rack’d; the clergy’s bags Are lank and Jean with thy extortions. Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife’s attire, Have cost a mass of public treasury. Buck. Thy cruelty, in execution Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, And left thee to the mercy of the law. Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices and towns in France,— If they were known, as the suspect is great,— Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. [#ait GrovcestEeR. T'he QuEEN drops her fan. Give me my fan: what, minion! can you not? [Gives the Ducusss a box on the ear. I cry you mercy, madam ; was it you? Ducu. Was’t I! yea, I it was, proud French- woman ; Could I come near your beauty with my nails I’d* set my ten commandments in your face. K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet; ’twas against her will. Ducu. Against her will! good king, look to’t in time ; She’ll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby. Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng’d. [ Lait. Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : (*) Old text, I could. ‘« My love can give no place, bide no denay.” 347 Act f.] She’s tickled now; her fume can need* no spurs, She’ll gallop fast * enough to her destruction. — [ Lait. Re-enter GLOUCESTER. Gio. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown, With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. As for your spiteful false objections, Prove them, and I lie open to the Jaw : But God in mercy so deal with my soul, As I in duty love my king and country ! But, to the matter that we have in hand :— I say, my sovercign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France. Sur. Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. Yorx. I’ll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet. First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride ; Next, if I be appointed for the place, My lord of Somerset will keep me here, Without discharge, money, or furniture, Till France be won into the Dauphin’s hands. Last time, I dane’d attendance on his will Till Paris was besieg’d, famish’d, and lost. War. That I can witness; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit. Sur. Peace, head-strong Warwick ! War. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace ? Enter Servants of Survein, bringing in HornER and Puter. Sur. Because here is a man accus’d of treason; Pray God the duke of York excuse himself ! Yorx. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor ? K. Hen. What mean’st thou, Suffolk ? tell me, what are these ? Sur. Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason : — His words were these;—that Richard, duke of | York, Was rightful heir unto the English crown ; And that your majesty was an usurper. K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words ? Hor. An’t shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am faisely accused by the villain. (*) First folio, fume needs. ® She’ll gallop fast enough—] In the old text, we have “‘ farre enough.” Corrected by Pope; and by Mr. Collier’s annotator. b By theseten bones,—] Anold and avery common adjuration : eis in the Mystery of ‘‘Candlemas-Day,” 1512, quoted by eevens :— ‘But by their bonys ten, thei be to you untrue.” Again in Fletcher’s ‘‘ Monsieur Thomas,” Act IV. Se. 2:— 348 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 2 : [SCENE Iy, Prr. By these ten bones,” my lords [holding up his hands], he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my lord of York’s armour. Yorx. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, I’ll have thy head for this thy traitor’s speech :— I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigour of the law. Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my prentice ; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me: I have good witness of this; therefore, I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain’s accusation. K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law ? Guo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge. Let Somerset be regent o’er the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion ; And let these have a day appointed them For single combat in convenient place ; For he hath witness of his servant’s malice : This is the law, and this duke Humphrey’s doom. K. Hen. Then be it so— My lord of Somerset, We make your grace regent over the French.° Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. Hon. And I accept the combat willingly. Per. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight! for God’s sake, pity my case! the spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow: O Lord, my heart ! hanged. [day K. Hen. Away with them to prison; and the Of combat shall be the last of the next month.— Come, Somerset, we’ll see thee sent away. [ Haxeunt. SCENE IV.—The same. The Duke of Gloucester’s Garden. Hnter Marncrery JourpAIn, Humr, SouTHWwELL, and BoLtinGBROKR, Humx. Come, my masters; the duchess, I tel! you, expects performance of your promises. Borne. Master Hume, we are therefore pro- “« By these ten bones, sir, if these eyes and ears Can hear and see —— ”’ c Then be it so.—My lord of Somerset, We make your grace regent over the French.] These lines,—which are essential, since without them Somerset returns thanks for the regency before he is appointed,;— were restored by Theobald from ‘The First Part of the Con- tention. Gio. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be — ———- eee vided: will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms ? * Hume. Ay; what else? fear you not her courage. Botine. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be con- venient, master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below ; and so, I pray you, go in God’s name, and leave us. [ Hait Hume.]| Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, and grovel on the earth :—John Southwell, read you ;—and let us to our work. Enter Ducusss, above. Ducu. Well said,” my masters; and welcome all. To this gear, the sooner the better. Borina. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: Deep night, dark night, the silent® of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire ; The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl, graves,— And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their a Exorcisms ?] Mason was mistaken in asserting that Shakes- peare’s acceptation of exorcise, to raise spirits, not to lay them, was peculiar to him; it was the ordinary meaning of the word. See Minsheu, Dict. 1617, in voce ‘‘Conjuration,” and Florio’s World of Words,” 1611, under ‘‘ Esorcisma.” > Well said,—] That is, well done. See note (»), p. 601, Vol. I. © The silent of the night,—] So reads the folio 1623; but That time best fits the work we have in hand. Madam, sit you, and fear not; whom we raise, We will make fast within a hallow’d verge. [Here they perform the ceremonies appertaining, and make the circle; BotInGBROKE 07 SouTHwELL reads, Conjuro te, &e. Jt thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit viseth. Sprr. Adsum. M. Jourp. Asmath! By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. Sprr. Ask what thou wilt :—that I had said and done !¢ Borie. Lirst, of the king : what shall of hum become ? [Reading out of a paper. Sprr. The duke yet lives that Henry shall de- ose 5 But him antes and die a violent death. [As the Spirit speaks, Sovrnwkiu writes the answer. Bouine. What fates await the duke of Suffolk ¢ Sprr. By water shall he die, and take his end. Steevens and Mason, as well as Mr. Collier’s annotator, prefer the lection of the earlier version of the play,— ‘«____ the silence of the night.” d That I had said and done!] This impatience of Asmath is conformable to the ancient belief that spirits called to earth by spells and incantations were intolerant of question and eager to be dismissed. 349 | i, 4 hi . pu i if! Ss a i) ti ‘ SS SS > = — £ = 1 it i ! ies , 4 ! = <= Ie SSS —S ZN ttt is 2 Botine. What shall befal the duke of Somer- set ? Spr. Let him shun castles ; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, Than where castles mounted stand.— Have done, for more I hardly can endure. Bourne. Descend to darkness and the burning lake : False fiend, avoid ! [Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends, 350 Enter Yorx and Bucxinenam hastily, with ther Guards, and others. Yorx. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.— Beldame, I think we watch’d you at an inch.— What, madam, are you there? The king and commonweal : Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains ; ACT I.) My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon’d for these good deserts. Ducu. Not half so bad as thine to Mngland’s king, Injurious duke, that threatest where’s no cause. _ Buck. True, madam, none at all: what call you this ? [Showing her the papers. | Away with them! let them be clapp’d up close, _ And kept asunder.— You, madam, shall with us : — Stafford, take her to thee. We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming ;— All, away ! (2) (Zeit Ducusss, from above. Hxeunt Guards, with Humr, SourHwet., Borinesroxer, de. York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch’d her well : A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! Now, pray, my lord, let’s see the devil’s writ. What have we here ? [ Reads. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ; But him outlive, and die a violent death. Why, this is just Ao te, Hacida, Romanos vincere posse. Well, to the rest: Tell me what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ? By water shall he die, and take his end, — af’) ui i N KA] : | WY: ) KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE t7, What shall betide the duke of Somerset ? Let him shun castles ; Safer shall he be upon the sandy pluins, Than where castles mounted stand. Come, come, my lords : These oracles are hardily * attain’d, And hardly understood. The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban’s, With him the husband of this lovely lady : Thither goes these news, as fast as horse ean carry them ; A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. Bucx. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. York. At your pleasure, my good lord.— Who’s within there, ho ! Enter a Servant. Invite my lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me to-morrow night.—Away ! [ Lxeunt a Are hardily attain’d,—] Hardily is an emendation of Theo- bald; the old text has hardly both in this and the next line. ACT IL. SCENE I.—Saint Alban’s. Enter Kine Henry, Queen Marearer, Giov- cesTER, CaRDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers hollaing. Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,(1) I saw not better sport these seven years’ day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your fal- con made, And what a pitch she flew above the rest !— To see how God in all his creatures works ! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. Sur. No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector’s hawks do tower so well ; They know their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon’s pitch. Guo. My lord, ’tis but a base ignoble mind F a Beat on a crown,—] Thus in ‘‘ The Tempest,” Act V. c. Li— ‘‘ Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business.” And in *‘ Hamlet,” Act III. Sc. 1 :— ‘«‘ Whereon his brains still beating.” 352 That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. Car. I thought as much; he’d be above th clouds. [that Gio. Ay, my lord cardinal,—how think you by Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven ? K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy ! Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes an thoughts Beat on* a crown, the treasure of thy heart ; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth’st it so with king and commonweal ! Gio. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grow peremptory ? Tanteene animis coelestibus wee ? Churehmen so hot! good uncle, hide such malice: With such holiness can you dote? ? Sur. No malice, sir; no more than well be comes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. b With such holiness can you dote?] ‘Can you do it,’ ist) lection of the old copies of the amended play, from which seems impossible to extract any sense. Our reading, dote, is th of ‘‘The Contention,” &c. 4to, 1594; and this word, in its ancie medoing to rave, to speak madly, is peculiarly appropriate tot context. Reo. Act I1.] Gro. As who, my lord? | Sour. Why, as you, my lord ; An’t like your lordly lord-protectorship. Gro. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine in- solence. Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. K. Hen. I pr’ythee, peace, Good queen, and whet not on these furious peers, For blessed are the peace-makers on earth. Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! Gro. ’ Faith, holy uncle, ’ would ’twere come to | that ! [ Aside to the CARDINAL. Car. Marry, when thou dar’st. [Aside to Gro. _ Gro. Make up no factious numbers for the matter ; | } In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside to Car. _ Car. Ay, where thou dar’st not peep: an if thou dar’st, This evening on the east side of the grove. | [ Aside to Gro. _ K. Hey. How now, my lords! | Can. Believe me, cousin Gloster, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport.—Come with thy two- hand sword. [Aside to Guo. Guo. True, uncle. Car. Are ye advis’d?—the east side of the grove ?* [Aside to Gro. Gro. Cardinal, I am with you. [ Aside to Car. | K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ! — Gro. ‘eur of hawking; nothing else, my | orad.— Now, by God’s mother, priest, I’ll shave your ; crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. » Car. Medice teipsum ; Protector, see to’t well, protect yourself. | [ Aside to Guo. K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your | stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! : When such strings jar, what hope of harmony ? | I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. [ Aside to Car. Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Alban’s, crying, “A Miracle !” | / Gro. What means this noise? _ Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? Inuas. A miracle! a miracle! Sur. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle. (shrine, _ Inuas. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban’s | ® Are ye advis’d?—the east side of the grove?] In the old copies, this is made to form part of Gloucester’s speech. Theo- bald properly assigned it to the Cardinal. | VOL, 1. 353 | | | KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE I. Within this half-hour hath receiy’d his sight ; A man that ne’er saw in his life before. K. Hen. Now, God be prais’d ! that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! Enter the Mayor of St. Alban’s and his Brethren ; and Stuecox, borne between two persons in a chair; his Wife and a great multitude following. Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. Guo. faa by, my masters, bring him near the ing ; His highness’ pleasure is to talk with him. K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the cireum- stance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor’d ? Smmp. Born blind, an’t please your grace. Wire. Ay, indeed, was he. Sur. What woman is this ? Wire. His wife, an’t like your worship. Gro. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told. K. Hen. Where wert thou born? Simp. At Berwick, in the north, an’t like your grace. K. Hen. Poor soul! God’s goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow’d pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam’st thou here by chance, Or of ‘devotion to this holy shrine ? Sure. God knows, of pure devotion : being call’d A hundred times and oft’ner, in my sleep By good Saint Alban ; who said,— Stmpcox,* come; Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee. Wire. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. Car. What, art thou lame? Srp. Ay, God Almighty help me! Sur. How cam’st thou so? Sime. A fall off of a tree. Wires. A plum-tree, master. GLo. How long hast thou been blind? Simp. O, born so, master. GLo. What, and wouldst climb a tree? (*) Old text, Symon. Srp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. (dear. Wire. Too true; and bought his climbing very Guo. Mass, thou lov’dst plums well, that wouldst venture so. [damsons, Stmp. Alas, good master, my wife desir’d some And made me climb, with danger of my life. Guo. A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.— {them :— Let me see thine eyes :—wink now; now open In my opinion, yet thou seest not well. Srp. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and Saint Alban. [cloak of ? Guo. Say’st thou me so? What colour is.this Srp. Red, master; red as blood. Guo. Why, that’s well said: what colour is my gown of? Stmp. Black, forsooth ; coal-black as jet. K. Hix. Why, then, thou know’st what colour jet is of? Sur. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. Gio. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. a Sit there,—] Capell reads—‘‘ sit thou there,” and Mr. Collier’s a@unotator restores the measure in the same way. 304 : yz = a Lip se at Af hy M thy ~ WVtyiss “44 Wisp fs Ari Wd jy Wire. Never, before this day, in all his life. Guo. Tell me, sirrah, what’s my name? Stmp. Alas, master, I know not. Gio. What’s his name ? Srp. I know not. Guo. Nor his? Srp. No, indeed, master. Gio. What’s thine own name ? Stump. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please yor master. [knay Guo. Then, Saunder, sit there,* the lyinges In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, Thou mightst as well have known all our name: as thus To name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours ; but suddenly To nominate them all, it is impossible-— My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; And would ye not think his* cunning to be greal That could restore this cripple to his legs again? Smup. O, master, that you could ! Gio. My masters of St. Alban’s, have you no beadles in your town, and things called whips? (*) Old text, it. _ May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. Gio. Then send for one presently.* May. Sirah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. [Hait an Attendant. _ Gto. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by.” [A stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. Sm. Alas, master, I am not able to stand | alone ; You go about to torture me in vain. Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle. | Gro. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. _ Baap. I will, my lord.—Come on, sirrah: off with your doublet quickly. | Sore. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. [After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over | the stool and runs away ; and the people fol- low, and cry, “ A Miracle!” K. Hen. O God, seest thou this, and bear’st so | long ? [run. Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain Gio. Follow the knave; and take this drab away. & Presently.] Immediately. b By and by.] Directly, instantly. 355 Wire. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. Guo. Let them be whipped through every mar- ket-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came.(2) [ Hxewnt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, dc. Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to- day. Sur. True; made the lame to leap and fly away. Guo. But you have done more miracles than I: You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter BuckINGHAM. K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Buck- ingham ? [fold : Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to un- A sort® of naughty persons, lewdly* bent,— Under the countenance and confederacy Of lady Eleanor, the protector’s wife, The ringleader and head of all this rout,— Have practis’d dangerously against your state, Dealing with witches and with conjurors, Whom we have apprehended in the fact, Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, Demanding of king Henry’s life and death, And other of your highness’ privy council, As more at large your grace shall understand. Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means Your lady is forthcoming yet® at London. ¢ Asort—] God and king Henry govern England’s helm!) In the old ‘ext,—'* England’s realme.”’ The correction is Johnson’s. © My staff!—here, noble Henry, is my staff:] At this point Mr. Collier's annotator interpolates a line of such sheer absurdity,— “To think I fain would keep it makes me laugh!” KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE III. Ducu. Welcome is banishment, welcome were my death. Gio. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee : I cannot justify whom the law condemns.— [Haeunt the Ducuxss, and the other prisoners, guarded. Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground !— I beseech your majesty give me leave to go; Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.* K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster: ere thou go, Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself Protector be: and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet; And go in peace, Humphrey ;—no less belov’d, Than when thou wert protector to thy king. Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child.— God and king Henry govern England’s helm!— Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. Gio. My staff!—here, noble Henry, is my staff :° As willingly do I the same resign, As ere thy father Henry made it mine ; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it, As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king ; when I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne! [/zit. Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Mar- garet queen ; And Humphrey duke of Gloster scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim ; two pulls at once,— His lady banish’d, and a limb lopp’d off ; This staff of honour raught,‘ there let it stand, Where it best fits to be—in Henry’s hand. Sur. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays ; Thus Eleanor’s pride dies in her youngest® days. York. Lords, let him go.—Please it your majesty, This is the day appointed for the combat ; And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. that it is hard to believe he was not attempting a joke. This miserable puerility, we are grieved to find, Mr. Collier not only approves, but actually inserts as Shakespeare’s, in his edition of the poet’s works just published. d Raught,—] That is, reft, riven. e Thus Eleanor’s pride dies in her youngest days.] For yourgess Mr. Collier’s annotator substitutes proudest; and a marginai note in Mr. Singer’s copy of the second folio proposes strongest. The genuine word, there can be little doubt, was haughticst or proudest. 357 AOT II.] K. Hen. O’ God’s name, see the lists and all things fit ; Here let them end it, and God defend the right! York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter, on one side, Horner, and his neighbours, the former bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it ;(3) a drum before him ; during the scene he drinks with so many that he becomes drunk: at the other side, PretTrr enters, with a similar staf’, and a drummer before him ; accompanied by Prentices drinking to him. 1 Nerau. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. 2 Nerau. And here, neighbour, here’s a cup of charneco.* 3 Nerau. And here’s a pot of good double- beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. Hor. Let it come, i’ faith, and I’ll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter ! 1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid. 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit of the prentices. Prrer. I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last draught in this world—Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron ; and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer :—and here, Tom, take all the money that I have.-—O Lord, bless me, I pray God ! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence already. Sat. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.—Sirrah, what’s thy name ? Prrer. Peter, forsooth. Sax. Peter! what more ? Pretrer. Thump. Sat. Thump !/ then see thou thump thy master well. Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man’s instigation, to prove him a knave, and myself an honest man: and touching the duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow. [to double. Yorx. Dispatch ;—this knave’s tongue begins Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants ! [Alarum. They fight, and Purr strikes down his master.(4) @ Charneco.] This is a wine often mentioned by the writers of Shakespeare’s time, and so named from a village near Lisbon, where it was made. > Uneath—] Hardly, painfully, scarcely. © With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,—] So, both in the 358 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE Iv. Hor. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. [ Dies. York. Take away his weapon :—Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master’s way. Peter. O God! have I overcome mine enemy* in this presence ? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right ! [sight ; K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our For by his death we do perceive his guilt : And God in justice hath reveal’d to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder’d wrong- fi Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. { Zxeunt. SCENE IV.—The same. A Street. Enter Guoucrstrr and Servants, in mourning cloaks. Gro. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud ; And after summer evermore succeeds Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.— Sirs, what’s o’clock ? SERV. Ten, my lord. Guo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me To watch the coming of my punish’d duchess ; Uneath” may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,° That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels, When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But, soft! I think she comes; and I’ll prepare My tear-stain’d eyes to see her miseries. Enter the Ducuess of GuioucrstER in a white sheet, with papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare, and a taper burning in her hand; Sur Joun StanteEy, the Sheriff, and Officers, Serv. So please your grace, we’ll take her from the sheriff. [by. Guo. No, stir not, for your lives! let her pass Ducu. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame ? aze! Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they See how the giddy multitude do point, (*) First folio, Enemies. folio 1623, and in the ‘Contention ;’ but the secend folio has,— ‘(With envious looks, stil/ laughing at thy shame.” LLL bee Vik, {FP wit 2! ! eh if h i i hy | f \ _ And nod their heads and throw their eyes on thee! _Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks ; ' And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, _ And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. _ Gro. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. _ Ducu. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself! For, whilst I think I am thy married wife, ' And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks I should not thus be led along, ' Mail’d up* in shame, with papers on my back, ' And follow’d with a rabble, that rejoice _To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet groans. _ The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet ; . And when I start, the envious people laugh, And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke ? _Trow’st thou that ere I’ll look upon the world, _ Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? No; dark shall be my light, and night my day ; > | ® Mail’d up—] Wrapped up, inclose.’. ‘‘ Mail a hawk is to wrap + her up in a handkerchief or other cloa_h, that she may not be able to stir her wings or struggle.’—R.Hoimy’s Acad. of Armory, 1688, b. ii. p. 239, quoted by Mr. Dyce. To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. Sometime I’ll say, I am duke Humphrey’s wife , And he a prince, and ruler of the land: Yet so he rul’d, and such a prince he was, As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame ; Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. For Suffolk,—he that can do all in all With her that hateth thee and hates us all,— And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all lim’d bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they’ll tangle thee: But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar’d, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. Gro. Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry; I must offend, before I be attainted : And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 359 ACT IT.] Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wip’d away, But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: X pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; These few days’ wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald. Her. I summon your grace to his majesty’s Parliament, holden at Bury the first of this next month. Gio. And my consent ne’er ask’d herein before! This is close dealing.—Well, I will be there. [ Zxit Herald. My Nell, I take my leave :—and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king’s commission. Suer. An’t please your grace, here my com- mission stays : And sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the isle of Man. Gro. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here ? Sran. So am I given in charge, may’t please your grace. Gro. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again :* And I may live to do you kindness, if You do it her. And go, sir John, farewell. Ducu. What! gone, my lord ; and bid me not farewell ! Gio. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Lxeunt GuoucrstER and Servants. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE Iy, Ducu. Art thou gone too? All comfort go witk thee ! For none abides with me: my joy is death,— Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish’d this world’s eternity.— Stanley, I pr’ythee, go, and take me hence ; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded. Sran. Why, madam, that is to the isle of Man; There to be us’d according to your state. Ducu. That’s bad enough, for I am but re- proach,— And shall I then be us’d reproachfully ? Sran. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's lady, According to that state you shall be us’d. Ducu. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, — Although thou hast been conduct” of my shame! Surr. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. Ducu. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is dis- charg’d— Come, Stanley, shall we go? Sran. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. Ducu. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet : No, it will hang upon my richest robes, And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. [ Hxeunt. a The world may laugh again :] Equivalent to, Fortune may smile again. b Conduct—] Conductor. Monk aa Ok SCENE I.—The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund’s, Sennet. Enter to the Parliament, Kina Henry, QuEEN MarGaret, CarpINAL BEAUFORT, SurroLtk, York, BuckineHam, and other's. K. Hen. I muse my lord of Gloster is not come ; ’Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate’er occasion keeps him from us now. Q. Mar. Can you not see? or will ye not observe The strangeness of his alter’d countenance ? With what a majesty he bears himself ; How insolent of late he is become, How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? We know the time since he was mild and affable ; And if we did but glance a far-off look, Immediately he was upon his knee, That all the court admir’d him for submission ; But meet him now, an be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded when they grin ; But great men tremble when the lion roars 3 And Humphrey is no little man in England. First, note, that he is near you in descent ; And should you fall, he is the next will mount. Me seemeth then, it is no policy,— Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears, And his advantage following your decease,— That he should come about your royal person, 361 ACT III.] Or be admitted to your highness’ council. By flattery hath he won the commons’ hearts: And, when he please to make commotion, Tis to be fear’d, they all will follow him. Now ’tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ; Suffer them now, and they’ll o’ergrow the garden, And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The:reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman’s fear ; Which fear, if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe, and say I wrong’d the duke. My lord of-Suffolk,—Buckingham,—and York ,— Reprove my allegation, if you can ; Or else conclude my words effectual. Sur. Well hath your highness seen into this duke ; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your grace’s tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practices ; Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing* of his high descent As, next the king, he was successive heir,— And such high vaunts of his nobility,— Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign’s fall. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep ; And in his simple show he harbours treason : The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? Yorx. And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm, For soldiers’ pay in France, and never sent it ? By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. Bucx. Tut! these are petty faults to faults un- known, Which time will bring to light in smooth duke Humphrey. K. Hen. My lords, at once :—the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, Is worthy praise ; but shall I speak my conscience? Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person, As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given To dream on evil, ‘or to work my downfall. Q. Mar. Ah, what’s more dangerous than this fond affiance ! Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but borrow’d, a Reputing—] Not, as it is invariably explained, valuing him- self, but presuming, boasting. See Florio’s ‘* World of Words,” *6§11, in voce, Riputatione. b Yet thou shalt not see me blush,—] Yet was added in the 362 THE SECOND PART OF (SCENR 1, For he’s disposed as the hateful raven. | Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him, Tor he’s inclin’d as is the ravenous wolf.* Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit ? Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter SoMERSET. Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign | | K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news — from France ? | Som. That all your interest in those territories _ Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. | K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset : but God’s | will be done ! | York. [Astde.] Cold news for me; for I had | hope of France, As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, ! And caterpillars eat my leaves away : | But I will remedy this gear ere long, | Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter GuovucestEr. 7» | Guo. All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have stay’d so long. Sur. Nay, Gloster, know, thet thou art come _ too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: | I do arrest thee of high treason here. | Guo. Well, Suffolk, yet” thou shalt not see me | blush, | Nor change my countenance for this arrest ; A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud, As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty ? | York. ’Tis thought, my lord, that you took — bribes of France, | And, being protector, stay’d the soldiers’ pay; By means whereof his highness hath lost France. Guo. Is it but thought so? What are they that | think it ? T never robb’d the soldiers of their pay, | Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch’d theemight,— ~ Ay, night py night,—in studying good for Eng-~ and ! That doit that eer I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, (*) Old text, Wolves. second folio. The parallel line in the ‘‘Contention” reads— I “Why, Suffolke’s Duke,” &c. \ ‘ | jac 1.) Be brought against me at my trial-day ! No; many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, ‘Have I dispursed to the garrisons, And never ask’d for restitution. Gar. It serves you well, my lord, to say so . much. Gro. I say no more than truth, so help me . God ! York. In your protectorship you did devise Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, ‘That England was defam’d by tyranny. Gio. Why, ’tis well known, that whiles I was ; protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me ; For I should melt at an offender’s tears, And lowly words were ransom for their fault. (Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleec’d poor passengers, I neyer gave them condign punishment : Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur’d Above the felon, or what trespass else. _ Sur. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly ) answer’d : But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness’ name ; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. _ K. Hen. My Lord of Gloster, ’tis my special hope, That you will clear yourself from all suspect ;* My conscience tells me you are innocent. Gio. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dan- gerous ! Virtue is chok’d with foul ambition, And charity chas’d hence by rancour’s hand ; Foul subornation is predominant, ‘And equity exil’d your highness’ land. 1 know their complot is to have my life ; And, if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness : But mine is made the prologue to their play ; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, ‘Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beanfort’s red sparkling eyes blab his heart’s | malice, And Suffolk’s cloudy brow his stormy hate ; Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart ; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck’d back, By false accuse doth level at my life :— And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, ‘Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, )_® From all suspect ;) So Capell and Mr. Collier’s annotator. The old copies have suspense. KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE If, And with your best endeavour have stirr’d up My liefest” liege to be mine enemy :— Ay, all of you have laid your heads together (Myself had notice of your conventicles) And all to make away my guiltless life. I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ; The ancient proverb will be well effected,— A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : If those that care to keep your royal person From treason’s secret knife, and traitors’ rage, Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, *T will make them cool in zeal unto your grace. Sur. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clerkly couch’d, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o’erthrow his state ? Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. Guo. Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, in- deed ;— Beshrew the winners, for they play’d me false ! And well such losers may have leave to speak. Bucx. He’ll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day :— . Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. Gio. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body ! Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. [Hat guarded. K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best, Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the parliament ? K. Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown’d with grief, Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes ; My body round engirt with misery,— For what’s more miserable than discontent ?— Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy face I see The map of honour, truth, and loyalty ! And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come, That e’er I prov’d thee false, or fear’d thy faith. What lowering star now envies thy estate, That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ? Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong; And as the butcher takes away the calf, b Liefest—] Dearest. 363 ACT IIL] And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ; Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence, And as the dam runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one went, And can do nought but wail her darling’s loss ; Even so myself bewails good Gloster’s case, With sad unhelpful tears ; and with dimm’d eyes Look after him, and cannot do him good,— So mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will weep ; and, ’twixt each groan, Say— Who's a traitor,* Gloster he is none. [ Hait. Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun’s hot beams : Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster’s show Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers ; Or as the snake, roll’d in a flowering bank, With shining checker’d slough, doth sting a child, That for the beauty thinks it excellent. Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I (And yet herein I judge mine own wit good), This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, To rid us from the fear we have of him. Car. That he should die is worthy policy ; But yet we want a colour for his death : ’Tis meet he be condemn’d by course of law. Sur. But, in my mind, that were no policy : The king will labour still to save his life ; The commons haply rise to save his life ; And we have yet but trivial argument, More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. York. So that, by this, you would not have him die. Sur. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I! Yorx. ’Tis York that hath more reason for his death.— But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suf- folk,— Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,— Wer’t not all one, an empty eagle were set To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, As place duke Humphrey for the king’s protector? Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. Sur. Madam, ’tis true: and wer’t not madness then, To make the fox surveyor of the fold? Who being accus’d a crafty murderer, His guilt should be but idly posted over, Because his purpose is not executed. No; let him die, in that he is a fox, By nature prov’d an enemy to the flock, ® Who’s a traitor,—] That is, Whoe’er’s a traitor. >» Mates—] This appears to be an allusion to the check-mate, or stale-mate, in the game of chess; but it may mean merely, con- founds or destroys. © It skills not—] It matters not, It ie not important. 364 We often THE SECOND PART OF [SCENE 1, Before his chaps be stain’d with crimson blood, As Humphrey, prov’d by reasons, to my liege, And do not stand on quillets how to slay him ; | Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, Sleeping or waking, ’tis no matter how, So he be dead ; for that is good deceit Which mates” him first that first intends deceit. Q. Mar. Thrice noble Suffolk, ’tis resolutely | spoke. | Sur. Not resolute, except so much were done ; | For things are often spoke, and seldom meant: But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,— Seeing the deed is meritorious, And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,— Say but the word, and I will be his priest. | Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of | Suffolk, Ere you can take due orders for a priest. Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, And ll provide his executioner,— I tender so the safety of my lege. ; Sur. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. , Q. Mar. And so say I. Yorx. And I: and now we three have spoke it — It skills* not greatly who impugns our doom. | j Enter a Messenger. amain. To signify—that rebels there are up, And put the Englishmen unto the sword : Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, — Before the wound do grow uncurable ; For, being green, there is great hope of help. Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient — stop ! | Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come | | { What counsel give you in this weighty cause? York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither; — ’Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ’d ; Witness the fortune he hath had in France. Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy, ) Had been the regent there instead of me, | He never would have stay’d in France so long. Yorx. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done: I rather would have lost my life betimes, Than bring a burden of dishonour home, By staying there so long, till all were lost. Show me one scar character’d on thy skin: Men’s flesh preserv’d so whole do seldom win. | Q. Mar. Nay, then, this spark will prove 4 | raging fire, If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with :— find to force bearing the same signification: —“ Our enemies beare the poore people in hand that theirs is the old religion, and oures is an yesterdaies bird: but sooner or later called, # | skilleth not, old or new, if true, it forceth not.” —PRIME, On Galathians, p. 44. ACT III] No more, good York ;—sweet Somerset, be still;— Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, Might happily have been far worse than his. Yorx. What, worse than naught ? nay, then a shame take all! Som. And in the number, thee, that wishest shame ! Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms, And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : To Ireland will you lead a band of men, Collected choicely, from each county some, And try your hap against the Irishmen ? ‘York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. Sur. Why, our authority is his consent ; And what we do establish he confirms : Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. Yorx. lam content: provide me soldiers, lords, Whiles I take orders for mine own affairs. Sur. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform’d. But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him, That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. And so break off; the day is almost spent: Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland. Sur. I’ll see it truly done, my lord of York. [Hxeunt all except Yorx. Yorx. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution : Be that thou hop’st to be; or what thou art _ Resign to death—it is not worth the enjoying: _ Let pale-fac’d fear keep with the mean-born man, _ And find no harbour in a royal heart. _ Faster than spring time showers comes thought on ; thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity. My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men: I fear me, you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts. _ Twas men I lack’d, and you will give them me: ; | | i | / ) I take it kindly ; yet, be well assur’d, You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will stir up in England some black storm, Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell : And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage Until the golden cireuit on my head, Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams, KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE II. Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.* And, for a minister of my intent, I have sedue’d a head-strong Kentishman, John Cade of Ashford, To make commotion, as full well he can, Under the title of John Mortimer, In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade Oppose himself against a troop of kerns ; And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts Were almost like a sharp-quill’d porcupine : And, in the end being rescu’d, I have seen him Caper upright like a wild Moérisco,(1) Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. Full often, like a shag-hair’d crafty kern, Hath he conversed with the enemy ; And, undiscover’d, come to me again, And given me notice of their villanies. This devil here shall be my substitute ; For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble: By this I shall perceive the commons’ mind, How they affect the house and claim of York. Say, he be taken, rack’d, and tortured, I know no pain they can inflict upon him, Will make him say I mov’d him to those arms, Say, that he thrive (as ’tis great like he will), Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, And reap the harvest which that rascal sow’d: For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put apart, the next for me. [ Haxit. SCENE II.—Bury. A Room in the Palace. Enter certain Murderers, hastily.(2) 1 Mor. Run to my lord of Suffolk ; let him know We have despatch’d the duke, as he commanded. 2 Mor. O, that it were to do!—What have we done! Didst ever hear a man so penitent? 1 Mur. Here comes my lord. Enter Surroux. Sur. Now, sirs, have you despatch’d this thing? 1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he’s dead. Sur. Why, that’s well said. Go, get you to my house ; I will reward you for this venturous deed. The king and all the peers are here at hand :— Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well, According as I gave directions ? & Mad-bred flaw.) Flaw here means a violent gust of wind, as in ‘‘ Hamlet,” Act V. Se. 1:— ‘Should patch a wall to expel the winter’s faw!” 365 ; ba EL RRS hig | it Ny HAN LYN . 8 \\ ANAS AAAS Voaily aN XN iN y XY) \ SANS iN ‘yy AQAA \ SAN Wi Ween \ ANY ONIN \\N ih ; RAN Nes A \\ N . VNB by SRY Ty rh _\ ny Hi: je : N ZZ TBE, CoA ead —— a Sh 1 Moun. *Tis, my good lord. Sur. Away! be gone. [ Hxeunt Murderers. Trumpets sounded. Enter Kine Henry, QUEEN Marcaret, Carpinat Braurort, SoMER- seT, Lords, and other's. K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight ; Say we intend to try his grace to-day, If he be guilty, as “tis published. Sur. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [ Lait. K. Hen. Lords, take your places;—and, I pray you all, Proceed no straiter ’gainst our uncle Gloster, Than from true evidence, of good esteem, He be approv’d in practice culpable. Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion ! K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret ;* these words content me much.— Re-enter SuFFOLK. How now! why look’st thou pale? why tremblest thou ? Where is our uncle? what’s the matter, Suffolk ? (*) Old text, Neli. 366 Sur. Dead in his bed, my lord! Gloster is dead! Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend ! Car. God’s secret judgment !—I did dream to- night, The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word, [The Kine swoons, Q. Mar. How fares my lord ?—Help, lords! the king is dead. Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the nose. Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help!—O Henry, ope thine eyes ! [ patient. Sur. He doth revive again ;—madam, be K. Hen. O heavenly God! Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord? Sur. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort ! [fort me? K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk com- Came he right now to sing a raven’s note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers ; And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceived sound? Hide not thy poison with such sugar’d words. Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say ; Their touch affrights me, as a serpent’s sting. Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! Upon thy eyeballs murderous tyranny Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding = Yet do not go away :—come, basilisk, And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight: —— a AOT III.] For in the shade of death I shall find joy,— In life but double death, now Gloster’s dead. Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus ? Although the duke was enemy to him, Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death: And for myself,—foe as he was to me,— Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life, I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, And all to have the noble duke alive. What know I how the world may deem of me ? For it is known we were but hollow friends ; It may be judg’d I made the duke away : So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded, And princes’ courts be fill’d with my reproach, This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy! To be a queen, and crown’d with infamy ! K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man ! Q. Mar. Be woe for me more wretched than he is. What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face ? I am no loathsome leper,—look on me. What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf ? Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. Ts all thy comfort shut in Gloster’s tomb ? Why, then dame Margaret* was ne’er thy joy: Erect his statuat and worship it, And make my image but an alehouse sign. Was I for this nigh wreck’d upon the sea, And twice by awkward* wind from England’s bank Drove back again unto my native clime ? _ What boded this but well-forewarning wind Did seem to say,—Seek not a scorpion’s nest, Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ! | What did I then, but curs’d the gentle” gusts, And he that loos’d them from their brazen caves ; _ And bid them blow towards England’s blessed shore, - Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ? Yet Molus would not be a murderer, But left that hateful office unto thee : The pretty vaulting sea refus’d to drown me ; Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown’d on shore, With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness: The splitting rocks cower’d in the sinking sands, And would not dash me with their ragged sides ; Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret.* As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, (*) Old text, Elianor. (+) Old text, statue. _ _ & Awkward wind—] That is, contrary wind. So in Marlowe’s ' “King Edward Il.” Act IV. Sc. 6 :— “With avkward winds, and with sore tempests driven To fall on shore.” | KING HENRY THE SIXTH. » The gentle gusts,—] The gusts that kindly would have kept \ [SCENE Il. When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, I stood upon the hatches in the storm : And when the dusky sky began to rob My earnest-gaping sight of thy land’s view I took a costly jewel from my neck,— A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,— And threw it towards thy land;—the sea receiy’d it; And so I wish’d thy body might my heart : And even with this I lost fair England’s view, And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart ; And call’d them blind and dusky spectacles, For losing ken of Albion’s wished coast. How often have I tempted Suffolk’s tongue (The agent of thy foul inconstancy), To sit and witch* me, as Ascanius did, When he to madding Dido would unfold His father’s acts, commene’d in burning Troy! Am [ not witch’d like her? or thou not false like him ? Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret ! + For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long. J Noise without. Enter Warwick and Sauispury The Commons press to the door. War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder’d By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort’s means. The commons, like an angry hive of bees, That want their leader, scatter up and down, And care not who they sting in his revenge. Myself have calm’d their spleenful mutiny, Until they hear the order of his death. K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, ’tis too true ; But how he died, God knows, not Henry : Knter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death. [bury, War. That shall I do, my liege.—Stay, Salis- With the rude multitude till I return. [Warwick goes into an inner room, and SALISBURY retires. K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts ! My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul, Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey’s life! If my suspect be false, forgive me, God ; For judgment only doth belong to thee! Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain® Upon his face an ocean of salt tears ; To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, (*) Old text, watch. (t) Old text, Elinor. her from the English shore. Mr. Collier’s annotator, and the old corrector of Mr. Singer’s folio, however, both read ungentle, and they may be right. ¢ To drain—] Steevens and Mr. Collier’s annotator substitute rain, which is certainly a more becoming word. 367 And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling. But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; And to survey his dead and earthy image, What were it but to make my sorrow greater? The folding-doors of an inner chamber are thrown open, and GuoucEsTER is discovered dead in his bed : Warwick and others standing by it.® &@ Warwick and others standing by it.] The whole of this direction is modern. In the old copies we find only “ Bed put forth.” 358 War. Come hither, gracious scvereign, view this body. K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is) made ; hi For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, | For seeing him, I see my life in death. War. As surely as my soul intends to live | With that dread Kine, that took our state upon him To free us from his Father’s wrathful curse, I do believe that violent hands were laid | _ Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke ! ACT IIt.] Sur. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue ! What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow ? War. See, how the blood is settled in his face ! Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,* Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, _ Being all descended to the labouring heart ; Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aidance ’gainst the enemy ; _ Which with the heart there cools, andne’er returneth To blush and beautify the cheek again. But see, his face is black and full of blood ; His eye-balls further out than when he liy’d, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : His hair uprear’d, his nostrils stretch’d with struggling ; His hands abroad display’d, as one that grasp’d _ And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdu’d. Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking ; His well-proportion’d beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg’d. It cannot be but he was murder’d here ; ‘The least of all these signs were probable.(3) Sur. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death? Myself and Beaufort had him in protection ; ‘And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. War. But both of you were vow’d duke Hum- phrey’s foes ; And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : ‘Tis like you would not feast him like a friend ; And ’tis well seen he found an enemy. Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these no- blemen As guilty of duke Humphrey’s timeless death. | War. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh, And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect, ’t was he that made the slaughter? Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest, 3ut may imagine how the bird was dead, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ? dyen so suspicious is this tragedy. Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where’s your knife ? 8 Beaufort term’d a kite? where are his talons ? Sur. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men; rf here’s a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, | ‘hat shall be scoured in his rancorous heart ‘hat slanders me with murder’s crimson badge :— ‘ay, if thou dar’st, proud lord of Warwickshire, ‘hat I am faulty in duke Humphrey’s death. [Zxeunt Carprinat, Som. and others. * Atimely-parted ghost,—] Though timely is commonly used ‘our ancient writers to signify early, it appears here to import uly, in proper time, as opposed to timeless. Ghost means | @8ense in which, of old, it is found repeatedly: thus, in VOL, Ir. 369 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE IT. War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him ? * Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. War. Madam, be still,—with reverence may 7 say; For every word you speak in his behalf Is slander to your royal dignity. Sur. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour ! If ever lady wrong’d her lord so much, Thy mother took into her blameful bed Some stern untutor’d churl, and noble stock Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art, And never of the Nevils’ noble race. War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames ; And that my sovereign’s presence makes me mild, I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, And say it was thy mother that thou meant’st, That thou thyself wast born in bastardy : And, after all this fearful homage done, Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men ! Sur. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood, If from this presence thou dar’st go with me. War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence! Unworthy though thou art, I’ll cope with thee, And do some service to duke Humphrey’s ghost. | Lxeunt SurFoLtK and Warwick. K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted ! Thrice is he arm’d, that hath his quarrel ju.‘ ; And he but naked, though lock’d up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A nore without. Q. Mar. What noise is this ? Re-enter Surrotxk and Warwick, with their weapons drawn. K. Hen. Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn Here in our presence! dare you be so bold ?— Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? Sur. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury, Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. . [ Noise of a crowd without. ‘The Contention : ”— ‘QO! dismall sight, see where he breathlesse lies, All smeard and weltred in his luke-warme blood, Sweete father, to thy murthred ghoast 1 sweare.” BB ACT III.} Re-enter SALISBURY. Sax. [Zo these without.] Sirs, stand apart; the king shall know your mind.— Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, Unless false* Suffolk straight be done to death, Or banished fair England’s territories, They will by violence tear him from your palace, And torture him with grievous ling’ring death. They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died ; They say, in him they fear your highness’ death ; And mere instinct of love and loyalty,— Free from a stubborn opposite intent, As being thought to contradict your liking,— Makes them thus forward in his banishment. They say, in care of your most royal person, That, if your highness should intend to sleep, And charge—that no man should disturb your rest, In pain of your dislike, or pain of death ; Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, That slily glided towards your majesty, It were but necessary you were wak’d ; Lest, being suffer’d in that harmful slumber, The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal : And therefore do they ery, though you forbid, That they will guard you, whér you will or no, From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ; With whose envenomed and fatal sting, Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, They say, is shamefully bereft of life. Commons. [ Withouwt.] An answer from the king, my lord of Salisbury! [hinds, Sur. *Tis like, the commons, rude unpolish’d Could send such message to their sovereign : But you, my lord, were glad to be employ’d, To show how quaint an orator you are: But all the honour Salisbury hath won, Is, that he was the lord ambassador, Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. Commons. [ Without.] An answer from the king, or we will all break in! [me, K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from { thank them for their tender loving care ; And had I not been cited so by them, Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy Mischance unto my state by Suffolk’s means: And therefore—by His majesty I swear, Whose far unworthy deputy I am,— He shall not breathe infection in this air, But three days longer, on the pain of death. [ Lait SALISBURY. Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk ! & False Suffolk—] So ‘The Contention.” The folio 1623, owing, probably, to the compositor having caught the word, Lord, from she preceding line, has “‘ Lord Suffolke,” &c. 370 THE SECOND PART OF [SCENE If, K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk ! No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him, Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. Had I but said, I would have kept my word; But, when I swear, it is irrevocable :— If, after three days’ space, thou here be’st found On any ground that I am ruler of, The world shall not be ransom for thy life.— Come, Warwick,—come, good Warwick, go with me ; I have great matters to impart to thee. [Hxeunt K. Henry, Warwicr, Lords, ce. Q. Mar. Mischance and sorrow go along with ou! Heart’s taconeen and sour affliction, Be playfellows to keep you company ! There’s two of you; the devil make a third! And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! Sur. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch ! Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies ?* Sur. A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them ? Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake’s groan,” I would invent as bitter-searching terms, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Deliver’d strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-fac’d Envy in her loathsome cave: My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ; Mine hair be fix’d on end, as one distract ; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: And even now my burden’d heart would break, Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress-trees! _ Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks ! Their softest touch, as smart as lizard’s stings! — Their music, frightful as the serpent’s hiss ; And boding screech-owls make the concert full! All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell— [thyself_ Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou torment’st And these dread curses—like the sun ’gainst glass, Or like an overcharged gun,—recoil, And turn the force of them upon thyself. [leave? Sur. You bade me ban, and will you bid me Now, by the ground that I am banish’d from, Well could I curse away a winter’s night, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Where biting cold would never let grass grow And think it but a minute spent in sport. (*) Old text, enemy. b The mandrake’s groan,—] See note (5), p. 220, Vo. I. a ia ac? II1.] Q. Mar. O, let me entreat thee, cease ! me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, To wash away my woeful monuments. O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, [ Kisses his hand, That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, Through whom a thousand sighs are breath’d for thee ! So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief ; *T is but surmis’d whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfeits, thinking on a want. _ I will repeal thee, or, be well assur’d, Adventure to be banished myself: And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speak not to me :—even now be gone.— O, go not yet !—Even thus two friends condemn’d, Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, _ Lother a hundred times to part than die. - Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee ! Sur. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, _ Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. _ ’Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ;* _ A wilderness is populous enough, _ So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : ' For where thou art, there is the world itself, | With every several pleasure in the world ; And where thou art not, desolation. I can no more :—live thou to joy thy life ; _ Myself no* joy in nought but that thou liv’st. Enter Vavx. _ Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what | news, I pr’ythee ? __ Vaux. To signify unto his majesty, ' That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death: _ For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, _ That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, _Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth, Sometime he talks as if duke Humphrey’s ghost _ Were by his side ; sometime he calls the king, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his overcharged soul : And I am sent to tell his majesty, That even now he cries aloud fur him. _ Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. . [Hart Vaux. Ay me ! what is this world ! what news are these ? But wherefore grieve I at an howr’s poor loss, Omitting Suffolk’s exile, my soul’s treasure ? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the southern clouds contend in tears,— Theirs for the earth’s increase, mine for my | sorrows ? (*) First folio, thence ® Myself no joy in nought—] Mr. Collier’s annotator reads,— 371 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. Give [SCENE IIL. Now, get thee hence: the king, thou know’st, is coming ;— If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. Sur. If I depart from thee, I cannot live : And in thy sight to die, what were it else, But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, Dying with mother’s dug between its lips : Where,” from thy sight, I should be raging mad, And ery out for thee to close up mine eyes, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it liv’d in sweet Elysium. To die by thee, were but to die in jest ; From thee to die, were torture more than death: O, let me stay, befall what may befall! Q. Mar. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive, It is applied to a deathful wound. To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee ; For wheresoe’er thou art in this world’s globe, I’ll have an Iris that shall find thee out. Sur. I go. Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. Sur. A jewel, lock’d into the woeful’st cask That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we ; This way fall I to death. Q. Mar. This way for me. [ Lxeunt severally. SCENE III.—London. Carpryat Bravurort’s Bed-chamber. Enter Kine Henry, Sarispury, Warwicr, and others. The Carpinau in bed ; Attendants with him. K, Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort. to thy sovereign. [ treasure, Car. If thou be’st death, I’ll give thee England’s Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. K. Hzn. Ah, what a sign it is ot evil life, Where death’s approach is seen so terrible ! War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. Car. Bring me unto my trial, when you will. Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? Can I make men live, whér they will or no ?— O, torture me no more! I will confess.— Alive again! then show me where he is ; I’ll give a thousand pound to look upon him.— He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.— ‘* Mysclf to joy,” &c. b Where,—] For whereas. BB2 if HP i Ha | SS File NTN vil WN \) il) Hifi! ZS ZZ == - SS = ~ = = ——e ee ers ey -Dre_ Se ——SS SSS = Some Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright, Sax. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul !— K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God’s good Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary pleasure be! . & Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. Lord cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss, — K. Hen. O, thou eternal mover of the heavens, | Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope— | Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! He dies, and makes no sign: —O God, ‘orgive him! O, beat away the busy meddling fiend War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. That lays strong siege unto this wretch’s soul, K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners- And from his bosom purge this black despair ! all.— Wan. See how the pangs of death do make him | Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; grin! And let us all to meditation. (4) [ Lacunt. § 372 | SCENE I.—Kent. Firing heard at Sea. Then enter, from a boat, a Captain,* a Master,a Master’s Mate, WALTER Wuirmore, and others ; with them SuFFOLK, disguised, and other Gentlemen, prisoners. } _ Car. The gaudy, blabbing,” and remorseful* day Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades ‘That drag the tragic melancholy night ; Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings ‘Clip dead men’s graves, and from their misty jaws Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize ; | For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, } ee | ® Captain,—] So in ‘‘ The Contention.’”’ The folios have Licu- fenant, and prefix Liew. to all his speeches. Blabbing,—} ‘‘ The epithet b/abbing, applied to the day by a c about to commit murder, is exquisitely beautiful. Guilt is | ; | | LLL The Sea-shore near Dover. Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, Or with their blood stain this discolour’d shore.— Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ;— And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ;— The other [Pointing to Surrotx.], Walter Whit- more, is thy share. [ know. 1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me Masr. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. [ yours. Marr. And so much shall you give, or off goes Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns, And bear the name and port of gentlemen ?— Cut both the villains’ throats ;—for die you shall ;— afraid of light, considers darkness as a natural shelter, and makes night the confidante of those actions which cannot be trusted to the ¢ed/-tale day.’—JOHNSON. © Remorseful—] Pitiful. 373 Act Iv.] The lives of those which we have lost in fight Be counterpois’d with such a petty sum ? * 1 Gent. I’ll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. [ straight. 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it Waurr. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ; [Zo Sur. And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. Sur. Look on my George, I am a gentleman : Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. Wuir. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. [affright ? How now! why start’st thou? what, doth death Sur. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth, And told me—that by water I should die. Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded ; Thy name is G'ualtier, being rightly sounded. Wut. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I care not ; Ne’er yet did base dishonour blur our name, But with our sword we wip’d away the blot ; Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, Broke, be my sword, my arms torn and defac’d, And I proclaim’d a coward through the world ! [Lays hold on SurFoux. Sur. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a rince, The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. Wut. The duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags ! Sur. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke ; Jove sometime went disguis’d, and why not I?” Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. Sur. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry’s blood,° The honourable blood of Lancaster, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. Hast thou not kiss’d thy hand, and held my stirrup? Bare-headed, plodded by my foot-cloth mule, And thought thee happy when I shook my head ? How often hast thou waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneel’d down at the board, When I have feasted with queen Margaret ? Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall’n ; Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : How in our vyoiding-lobby hast thou stood, a The lives of those which we have lost in fight Be counterpois’d with such a petty sum?] something is evidently wrong here. Ruwe reads:— “* Nor can those lives,” &c. Capell— ‘* Cannot be pois’d,” &c. Mr. Collier’s annotator:— ““ Can lives of those,” &c. > Jove sometime went disguis’d, and why not 1?] A line found only in the earlier draft of this play—the “‘ First Part of the Con- ‘antion,” but which the context renders indispensable, 374 THE SECOND PART OF — Ce ee [SCENE L And duly waited for my coming forth ? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. Wauir. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain ? Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Sur. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art thou. [side Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat’s Strike off his head. SUF. Thou dar’st not for thy own ! Cap. Yes, Poole. Sur. Poole ? 4 Cap. Poole! Sir Poole! Lord! Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks, Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, For swallowing the treasure of the realm : Thy lips, that kiss’d the queen, shall sweep the round ; And thou, that smil’dst at good duke Humphrey’s death, Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain, Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again : And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, For daring to affy a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. By devilish policy art thou grown great, And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg’d With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding* heart. By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France ; The false revolting Normans, thorough thee, Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surpris’d our forts, And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,— Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,— As hating thee, aref rising up in arms: And now the house of York—thrust from the crown, By shameful murder of a guiltless king, And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,— Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours Advance our half-fac’d sun,° striving to shine, Under the which is writ—Jnvites nubibus. The commons here in Kent are up in arms; And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary Is crept into the palace of our king, And all by thee.—Away! convey him hence. (*) Old text, Mother-bleeding. (t) Old text, and. ¢ Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry’s blood,—] In the old text this line is inadvertently given to the Captain, and lowly18 misprinted lowsie. d Cav. Yes, Poole. Sur. Poole ?] These two speeches are only found in the “ First Part of the Con- tention.” They are obviously necessary to the dialogue. e whose hopeful colours Advance our half-fae’d sun,—] ‘* Edward III. bare for his device the rays of the sun dispersing themselves out of a cloud.’-—CAamMDEN’s Remaines. ; —— ee a Act Iv.] Sur. O, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges ! Small things make base men proud: this villain here, Being captain of a pinnace, threatens ‘more Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate.* Drones suck not eagles’ blood, but rob bee-hives. It is impossible that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage and not remorse in me ; I go of message from the queen to France ; I charge thee, waft me safely ’cross the channel. Cap. Walter,— (death. Wurr. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy Sur. Gelidus timor occupat artus :»— It is thee I fear. Warr. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. Sur. Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough, Us’d to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it we should honour such as these With humble suit: no, rather let my head Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, Save to the God of heaven and to my king ; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, Than stand uncover’d to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear :— More can I bear than you dare execute. Cap, Hale him away, and let him talk no more. Sur. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,° That this my death may never be forgot !— Great men oft die by vile Bezonians :* A Roman sworder and banditto slave Murder’d sweet Tully ; Brutus’ bastard hand Stabb’d Julius Cesar; savage islanders, Pompey the great: and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Zait Sur. with WHITMORE and others. Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, It is our pleasure one of them depart :— Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Huxewnt all but the first Gentleman. Re-enter Wurrmorn, with Surroix’s body. Wuur. There let his head and lifeless body lie, Until the queen his mistress bury it. [ Lott. a Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate.] This noted rob- ber, rightly Bardyllis, is mentioned in Cicero, De Of. Lib. ii. cap. zi. “ Bargulus \\lyrius latro, de quo est apud Theopompum,” &c. See note on the passage in the “Variorum.” The corre- sponding passage in ‘‘ The Contention ” has :— te then mightie Abradas, The great Masadonian pyrate.” b Gelidus timor occupat artus:—) In the first folio we have, Pine gelidus,” &c., which led Malone to read, ‘‘ Pene gelidus.’ KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE II. 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! His body will I bear unto the king: If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; So will the queen, that living held him dear.(1) [Lait with the body. SCENE II.—Blackheath. Enter Grorce Bevis and Jonn Horwanp. Gro. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have been up these two days. ‘ Joun. They have the more need to sleep now, then. Gro. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. Joun. So he had need, for ’tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up. Gro. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handy-crafts-men. Joun. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. Guo. Nay, more, the king’s council are no good workmen. Joun. True; and yet it is said,—labour in thy vocation: which is as much to say as,°—let the magistrates be labouring men; and therefore should we be magistrates. Gro. Thou hast hit it: for there’s no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand. Joun. I see them! I see them! There’s Best's son, the tanner of Wingham ;— Gro. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to make dog’s leather of. Joun. And Dick the butcher,— Gro. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity’s throat cut like a calf. Joun. And Smith the weaver. Gxo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. Joun. Come, come, let’s fall in with them Drum. Enter Jack Cavz, Dick the butcher, Sarria the weaver, and others in great number. Capr. We, John Cade, so termed of our sup- posed father,— The editor of the second folio struck out the first word, and his example has been generally followed. z ; ¢ Come, soldiers, &c.] A line wrongly assigned to the previous speaker in the old text. d Bezonians:] See note (¢), p. 621, Vol. I. © Which is as much to say as,—] Mr. Collier adopts the modern form of the phrase, upon the authority of his annotator, ‘‘ as,” he observes, “having been misplaced in the old editions ;” but, as we have before said (see note (>), p. 241), the construction found in the early copies was not unusual. - 15 ACT Iv.] Dicx. Or rather, of stealing a cade of her- rings. [ Aside. Cape. For our enemies shall fall before us*— inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes. —Command silence. Dicx. Silence! Capr. My father was a Mortimer,— Dicx. He was an honest man, and a good bricklayer. [ Aside, Capr. My mother a Plantagenet,— Dicx. I knew her well, she was a midwife. [ Aside. Cap. My wife descended of the Lacies,— Dicx. She was, indeed, a pedlar’s daughter, and sold many laces. [ Aside. Smiru. But, now of late, not able to travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. [ Aside. Capx. Therefore am I of an honourable house. Dicx. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable ; and there was he born, under a hedge,—for his father had never a house but the cage. _—[ Aside. Capz. Valiant I am. Smirn. ’A must needs; for beggary is valiant. [ Aside, Capr. I am able to endure much, Smrru. No question of that; for I have seen him whipped three market-days together. [ Aside, Capz. J fear neither sword nor fire. Ssats. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof. [ Aside. Dicx. But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being burnt 7 the hand for stealing of sheep. [ Aside. @apE. Be brave then; for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be in England seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny: the three- hooped pots shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony, to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And when I am king,— as king I will be— At. God save your majesty ! Capz. I thank you, good people—there shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. Dick. The first thing we do, let ’s kill all the lawyers. Capz. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment ? that parchment, being scribbled o’er, should undo aman? Some say, the bee stings ; but I say, ’tis the bee’s wax, _% Our enemies shall fall before us—] Alluding, though not con- sistently—for the truculent rebel was no scholar—to the supposed 376 THK SECOND PART OF [SCENE IE. for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! who’s there ? Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham, Smitu. The Clerk of Chatham: he can write and read, and cast account. CapE. O monstrous! SamitH. We took him setting of boys’ copies. Capvr. Here’s a villain ! Samrrn. H’as a book in his pocket with red letters in’t. Caps. Nay, then he is a conjurer. Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand. Capz. I am sorry for’t: the man is a proper man, of mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die-—Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name? CrerKk. Emanuel. Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters ;(2)—’twill go hard with you. Cap. Let me alone.—Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest plain-dealing man ? Crerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can write my name. | Au. He hath confessed: away with him! he’s a villain and a traitor. Capxr. Away with him, I say! hang him with — his pen-and-inkhorn about his neck.(#) [Laeunt some with the Clerk. Enter MicHAaru. Micu., Where’s our general ? Capr. Here I am, thou particular fellow. Micu. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are hard by, with the king’s forces. Capx. Stand, villain, stand, or I’ll fell thee — down. He shall be encountered with a man as — good as himself; he is but a knight, is ’a? Micu. No. . Capx. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently ; [Aneels.] rise up sir John Mor- timer. [2ises.] Now have at him! Enter Sir Humpprey Starrorp and Wrin1i1AM — his brother, with drum and Forces. Star. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, Mark’d for the gallows,—lay your weapons down, etymology of his name, Cade, from cado, to fall. The old copies have, ‘‘ faile before us.” ACT IV.] Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ;— The king is merciful, if you revolt. W. Star. But angry, wrathful, and inclin’d to blood, If you go forward: therefore, yield or die. [not ;* Cave. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass It is to you, good people, that I speak, O’er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ; For I am rightful heir unto the crown. Srar. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ; And thou thyself a shearman,—art thou not ? Cavz. And Adam was a gardener. W.Srar. And what of that ? Capr. Marry, this :—Edmund Mortimer, earl of March, [not? Married the duke of Clarence’ daughter—did he Star. Ay, sir. Canx. By her he had two children at one birth. W. Star. That’s false. [true : Capr. Ay, there’s the question ; but I say, ’tis The elder of them, being put to nurse, Was by a beggar-woman stol’n away ; And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, Became a bricklayer when he came to age: His son am I; deny it if you can. _ Dick. Nay, ’tis too true; therefore he shall be | king. » Srru. Sin he made a chimney in my father’s iouse, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify t; therefore deny it not. [ words, _ Srar. And will you credit this base drudge’s Chat speaks he knows not what ? _ Au. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone. W.Srar. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught you this. Cane. He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside. —Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that—for is father’s sake, Henry the fifth, in whose time oys went to span-counter for French crowns,— am content he shall reign; but Ill be protector ver him. ' Dick. And furthermore, we'll have the lord ay’s head for selling the dukedom of Maine. Capz. And good reason, for thereby is England iaimed,* and fain to go with a staff, but that my uissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you tat lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and sade it an eunuch; and, more than that, he can yeak French, and therefore he is a traitor. Star. O gross and miserable ignorance ! Capz. Nay, answer, if you can:—the French- ‘en are our enemies; go to, then, I ask but this, (*) Old text, main’d. ® T pass not ;] I care not, or, I regard not. 5 Thou shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking one a ek.) The last two words are restored from ‘‘ The Contention.” the reign of Elizabeth, butchers were prohibited from selling sh-meat in Lent; “not,” so the statute 5 Eliz. c.5, expresses it, for any superstition to be maintained in the choyce of meates,”’ | KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE III. can he that speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good counsellor or no? Aux. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. W. Srar. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, Assail them with the army of the king. Star. Herald, away: and throughout every town, Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade ; That those, which fly before the battle ends, May, even in their wives’ and children’s sight, Be hang’d up for example at their doors :— And you, that be the king’s friends, follow me. [Hxeunt the two Starrorps, and Forces. Cavr. And you, that love the commons, follow me,— Now show yourselves men ; ’tis for liberty. We will not leave one lord, one gentleman: Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon ; For they are thrifty honest men, and such As would (but that they dare not) take our parts. Dick. They are all in order, and march to- ward us. Cap. But then are we in order when we are most out of order, Come, march forward! [ Lxeunt. SCENE ITI.—A nother part of Blackheath. Alarum. The two parties enter and fight, and both the Srarrorns are slain. Cap. Where’s Dick, the butcher of Ashford ? Dick. Here, sir. Capx. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee,—the Lent shall be as long again as it is; and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking one a week.” Drcx. I desire no more. Capr. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This monument of the victory will I bear ; [Putting on part of Sir H. Srarrorp’s armour. ] and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse’ heels till I do come to London, where we will have the mayor’s sword borne before us. Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols, and Jet out the prisoners. Capr. Fear not that, I warrant thee.—Come, let?s march towards London. [ Haxeunt. but for the double purpose of diminishing the consumption of flesh-meat (already restricted to four days in the week through- out the year), and of encouraging the fisheries, and augmenting the number of seamen. Sick and infirm people, however, unable to abstain from animal food, were dispensed by a licence from their bishop or curate, and certain butchers were specially privi- leged to supply a limited number each week. 377 ACT Iv.] SCENE IV.—London. A Room in the Palace. Enter Kxine Henry, reading a supplication ; the Doxe of Bucxinenam and Lorp Say, with him: at a distance QuEEN MARGARET, mourning over SUFFOLK’S head. Q. Mar. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind, And makes it fearful and degenerate ; Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. But who can cease to weep, and look on this V4 Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast, But where’s the body that I should embrace vs Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebels’ supplication ? K. Hen. I’ll send some holy bishop to entreat; For God forbid, so many simple souls Should perish by the sword! And I myself, Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade their general.— But stay, I’ll read it over once again. Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face Rul’d, like a wandering planet, over me: And could it not enforce them to relent, That were unworthy to behold the same? K. Hey. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his. K. Hn. How now, madam! Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk’s death ?* I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, Thou wouldest not have mourn’d so much for me. Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee. Enter a Messenger. K. Hen. How now! what news? why com’st thou in such haste ? Muss. The rebels are in Southwark: fly, my lord ! Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, Descended from the duke of Clarence’ house ; And calls your grace usurper, openly, And vows to crown himself in Westminster. His army is a ragged multitude Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death Hath given them heart and courage to proceed ; All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, They call—false caterpillars, and intend their death. ® Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk’s death ?] Might we not read, « Still mourning and lamenting Suffolk’s death? Me 378 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. My > (SCENE Vv, K. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not what they do. Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenilworth, Until a power be rais’d to put them down. Q. Mar. Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas’d. K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitor* hateth thee ; Therefore, away with us to Kenilworth. Say. So might your grace’s person be in danger; The sight of me is odious in their eyes ; And therefore in this city will I stay, And live alone as secret as I may. Enter a second Messenger. 2 Muss. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge; The citizens fly and forsake their houses ; The rascal people, thirsting after prey, Join with the traitor; and they jomtly swear To spoil the city and your royal court. Bucx. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse. K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us. Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas’d. K. Hen. Farewell, my lord; [Zo Lorp Sar. trust not the Kentish rebels. Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you bet betray’d Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Aaeumnt SCENE V.—Zhe same. The Tower. Enter Lorp Scatxs, and others, on the walls Then enter certain Citizens, below. ScatEs. How, now! is Jack Cade slain ? 1 Crr. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain 5 fo they have won the bridge, killing all those tha withstand them. 'The lord mayor eraves aid ¢ your honour from the Tower, to defend the cit from the rebels. ; Scarus. Such aid as I can spare, you sha command ; . But I am troubled here with them myself; The rebels have assay’d to win the Tower. But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, ‘And thither I will send you Matthew Gough: Fight for your king, your country, and your lives And so, farewell, for I must hence again. [ Baceun (*) Old text, traitors. (+) First folio omits, be, oy SCENE V1.—The same. Enter Jack Cavz, and his Followers. He strikes his staff on London-stone. Cannon-street. Cavr. Now is Mortimer lord of this city! And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and eae that, of the city’s cost, the pissing- conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any that calls me other than lord Mortimer. | Enter a Soldier, running. | Sorp. Jack Cade! Jack Cade! Cavz. Knock him down there. [They kill him. Smarn. If this fellow be wise, he’ll never call you Jack Cade more ; I think he hath a very fair varning. | | | Is straightway calm’d,—] This reading is derived from the purth folio; the first has, ‘‘calme;” the second, ‘‘claimd;”’ the urd, “claim’d.” Mr. Collier adopts calm. | © I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him;] In the Vari- ‘um this was altered to,— | 66 go forth and meet him,” ; | : | KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE Ix And could command no more content than I ? No sooner was I crept out of my cradle, But I was made a king, at nine months old. Was never subject long’d to be a king As I do long and wish to be a subject. Enter Bucxtncuam and Currrorp. Buck. Health and glad tidings to your majesty ! K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor . Cade surpris’d ? Or is he but retir’d to make him strong ? Enter, below, a great number of Canr’s Fol- lowers, with halters about their necks. Cur. He’s fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield ; And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, Expect your highness’ doom, of life, or death. K, Huy. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, To entertain my vows of thanks and praise !— Soldiers, this day have you redeem’d your lives, And show’d how well you love your prince and country : Continue still in this so good a mind, And Henry, though he be infortunate, Assure yourselves, will never be unkind ; And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, I do dismiss you to your several countries. Aut. God save the king! God save the king! Enter a Messenger. Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised, The duke of York is newly come from Ireland : And with a puissant and a mighty power, Of gallowglasses, and stout kerns,(5) Is marching hitherward in proud array ; And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, His arms are only to remove from thee The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. K. Hen. Thus stands my state, ’twixt Cade and York, distress’d ; Like to a ship, that having ’scap’d a tempest, Is straightway calm’d,” and boarded with a pirate : But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers’d ; And now is York in arms to second him.— I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him ;° and,— ce - go and meet with him.” Mr. Dyce proposes,— Ke go thou and meet him;” and Mr, Collier’s annotator,— xe go then and meet him.” But the rhythm may he restored by the transposition of % word :— ‘* Go, I pray thee, Buckingham, and meet him,” 383 And ask him what’s the reason of these arms. Tell him I’ll send duke Edmund to the Tower ;— And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, Until his army be dismiss’d from him. Som. My lord, I’ll yield myself to prison willingly, Or unto death, to do my country good. K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms; For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language. Becx. I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal, As all things shall redound unto your good. K. Hen. Come, wife, let’s in, and learn to govern better ; For yet may England curse my wretched reign. [ Lxeunt. SCENE X.—Kent. Iden’s Garden. Enter Cave. Capr. Fie on ambition!* fie on myself; that have a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods, and durst (*) First folio, ambitions. & Sallet,—] This feeble quibble on sallet, a helmet, and salad must have been sufficiently hackneyed. It occurs as early as 1537 in “ A new Enterlude called Thersytes :”— ‘‘Tuersites. I say abyde good Mulciber, I pray ye make me a sallet. Murcizex. Why Thersites hast thou anye wytte in thy head, Woldest thou have a sallet nowe all the herbes are dead? * = * * * * 354 not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I so hungry, that if I might havea lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man’s stomach this hot weather. And, I think, this word sallet was born to do me good: for, many a time, but for a sallet,* my brain- pan had been cleft with a brown bill; and, many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely march- ing, it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and now the word sallet must serve me to feed on. Enter IpEN. Ipen, Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court, And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ! This small inheritance my father left me, Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. I seek not to wax great by others’ waning ;* (*) Old text, warning TueErsitEs. Goddes passion, Mulciber, where is thy wit and memory ? I wolde have a sallet made of stele. Muucrzer. Whye Syr, in youre stomacke longe you shall it fele, For stele is harde for to digest. TueERsites. Mans bones and sydes, hee is worse then a beast! 1 wolde have a sallet to were on my hed.” &c. &c. &e. ACT Iv.] Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy ; Sufficeth that I have maintains my state, And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. Cave. [Aside.| Here’s the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by carrying my head to him ! but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. Ipen. Why, rude companion, whatsoe’er thou I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee? Is’t not enough, to break into my garden, And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms ? Capr. Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass more. Ipen. Nay, it shall ne’er be said, while England stands, That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, ee ee Took odds to combat a poor famish’d man. _ Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ; Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ; Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon ; My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; And if mine arm be heaved in the air, Thy grave is digg’d already in the earth. As for words, whose greatness answers words, Let this my sword report what speech forbears. Cavz. By my valour, the most complete cham- KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SOENE xX pion that ever I heard.—Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God* on my knees, thou mayest be turned to hobnails. [They fight. Cavx falls.| O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I’d defy them all. Wither, garden ; and be henceforth a burying- place to all that do dwell in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. Ipen. Is’t Cade that I have slain, that mon-~ strous traitor ? Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, And hang thee o’er my tomb when I am dead: Ne’er shall this blood be wiped from thy point ; But thou shalt wear it as a herald’s coat, To emblaze the honour that thy master got. Capr. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be cowards,— for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour. [ Dies. Ipen. How much thou wrong’st me, heaven be my judge. Die, damned wretch, the cu.se of her that hare thee ! And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, And there cut off thy most ungracious head ; Which I will bear in triumph to the king, Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. (Exit Inen, dragging out the body. a I beseech God—] So “‘The Contention ;” but in the folios, Cade is made to swear by Jove. VOL. II. Lae Ver SCENE I.—TZhe same. The Krna’s Camp on one side. On the other, enter YorK attended, with drum and colours: his Forces at some distance. Yorx. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right, And pluck the crown from feeble Henry’s head ; Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright; To entertain great England’s lawful king ! Ah, sancta majestas ! who would not buy thee dear ? 386 Fields between Dartford and Blackheath. Let them obey, that know not how to rule ; This hand was made to handle nought but gold: I cannot give due action to my words, Except a sword or sceptre balance it. A sceptre shall it have,—have I a soul,— On which I’Il toss the flower-de-luce of France. Enter Buck1ncHamM. [ Aside.] Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me ? | AoT v.]} Buex. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well. Yorx. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy | greeting. Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ? _ Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread | liege, To know the reason of these arms in peace ; Or why, thou—being a subject as I am,— Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, Should raise so great a power without his leave, Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. York. Scarce can I speak, my choler | is sO great. | O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with | flint, Iam so angry at these abject terms ! And now, like Ajax Telamonius, On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury! Tam far better born than is the king ; More like a king, more kingly in my | thoughts : But I roust make fair weather yet a while, ‘Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong.— O* Buckingham, I pr’ythee pardon me, That I have given no answer all this while, My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. The cause why I have brought this army hither, Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, Seditious to his grace, and to the state. [part : _ Buck. That is too much presumption on thy But if thy arms be to no other end, The king hath yielded unto thy demand ; The duke of Somerset is in the Tower. _ Yorx. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner ? Bucx. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. _ Yorx. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my | powers.— Soldiers, I thank you all ; disperse yourselves : neet me to-morrow in Saint George’s Field, You shali have pay, and every thing you wish. And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, Yommand my eldest son,—nay, all my sons, As pledges of my fealty and love, ag send them all as willing as I live ; Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have 's his to use, so Somerset may die. _ Bucx. York, I commend this kind submission: We twain will go into his highness’ tent. | Enter Kine Henry, attended. K. Hey. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us, Aside, | (*) First folio omits, O, | 387 | KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE I. The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. { That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ? Yor«. In all submission and humility, York doth present himself unto your highness. K. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou dost bring ? Yorr. To heaye the traitor Somerset. from hence ; And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade, Who since I heard to be discomfited. Enter Ipren, with Cavr’s head. Tprn. If one so rude and of so mean condition, May pass into the presence of a king, Lo, I present your grace a traitor’s head, The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. K. Hen. The head of Cade !—Great God, how just art thou! O, let me view his visage being dead, That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.— Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him ? Iprn. I was, an’t like your majesty. K. Hen. How art thou call’d? and what is thy degree ? Iprn. Alexander Iden, that’s my name ; A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. Bucx. So please it you, my lord, ’twere not amiss He were created knight for his good service. K. Hen. Iden, kneel down. [ He kneels.] Rise up a knight. We give thee for reward a thousand marks ; And will that thou henceforth attend on us. Iprn. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, And never live but true unto his liege! —([ Rises. K. Hen. See, Buckingham ! Somerset comes with the queen ; Go, bid her hide him quickly from the “duke. Enter QuEEN Maraaret and SomERseET. Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, But boldly stand, and front him to his face. Yorx. How now! is Somerset at liberty ? Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison’d thoughts, And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ?— False king! why hast thou broken faith with me, Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ? King did I call thee ?—no, thou art not king ; Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, Which dar’st not,—no, nor canst not rule a traitor That head of thine doth not become a crown ; Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer’s staff, cco2 ACT v.] And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. That gold must round engirt these brows of mine ; Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles’ spear, Is able with the change to kill and cure. Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, And. with the same to act controlling laws. Give place ; by heaven thou shalt rule no more O’er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. Soar. O monstrous traitor!—I arrest thee, York, Of capital treason ’gainst the king and crown : Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these,* If they can brook I bow a knee to man.— Sirrah, call in my sons* to be my bail ; [Exit an Attendant. I know, ere they will have me go to ward, They’ll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, [ Hacet BuckINGHAM.” T'o say if that the bastard boys of York Shall be the surety for their traitor father. York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, Outcast of Naples, England’s bloody scourge ! The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, Shall be their father’s bail ; and bane to those That for my surety will refuse the boys ! See, where they come ; [’ll warrant they’ll make it good. Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. Enter Epwarp and Ricuarp PLANTAGENET, with Forces, at one side ; at the other, with Forces also, old Cuirrorp and his Son. Cum. Health and all happiness to my lord the king! [ Kneels. York. I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee ? Nay, do not fright us with an angry look : We are thy sovereign, Clifford,—kneel again ; For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. Cur. This is my king, York,—I do not mistake ; But thou mistak’st me much to think I do :— To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad? K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour Makes him oppose himself against his king. (*) First folio, sonne. (+) First folio, of. a First let me ask of these, &c.] The old text reads, ‘ of thee.” By these York is supposed to mean his sons, or his forces, b Exit BucKINGHAM.] The old copies have no stage direction here; but it is evident from what the King says presently— “ Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself” — that he must have left the stage at some period of the scene, The modern editors have been equally unmindful of his ewit, 388 THE SECOND PART OF (SCENE L Cr. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his. Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ; His sons, he says, shall give their words for him, Yorx. Will you not, sons? Epw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve, Ricu. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. Curr. Why, what a brood of traitors haye we here ! Yorx. Look in a glass, and call thy image s0 ; I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.— Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, That, with the very shaking of their chains, They may astonish these fell-lurking curs ; Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. Drums. Enter Warwick and Sarispury, with Forces. Curr. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death, And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, If thou dar’st bring them to the baiting-place. Ricu. Oft have I seen a hot o’erweening cur Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; Who, being suffer’d° with the bear’s fell paw, Hath clapp’d his tail between his legs and cried ; And such a piece of service will you do, If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. Cur. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. Curr. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves. K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow ? Old Salisbury,—shame to thy silver hair, Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! _ What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ?— O, where is faith ! O, where is loyalty ! If it be banish’d from the frosty head, Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ?— Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, And shame thine honourable age with blood? Why art thou old, and want’st experience ? Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? ¢ Who, being suffer’d—] That is, who being unrestrained, un checked. Soin Act III. Sc. 2:— ‘Lest, being suffer’d in that harmful slumber,” &¢- And in ‘‘ Henry VI.” Part I1f, Act IV. Sc. 8:— ‘¢ A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which being suffer’d, rivers cannot quenen.” Mr. Collier’s annotator, from ignorance of the idiom, substitute having for being; * and,” Mr. C. remarks, ‘‘ we may be confident gives us the poet's language.” AoT v.] For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me, That bows unto the grave with mickle age. Sau. My lord, I have consider’d with myself The title of this most renowned duke ; And in my conscience do repute his grace ‘The rightful heir to England’s royal seat. K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me ? Sax. I have. _ K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for | such an oath ? Sax. It is great sin to swear unto a sin; But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. ‘Who can be bound by any solemn vow ‘To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, To force a spotless virgin’s chastity, ‘To reaye the orphan of his patrimony, To wring the widow from her custom’d right ; And have no other reason for this wrong, But that he was bound by a solemn oath ? ' Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. K, Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. Yorx. Call Buckingham and all the friends | thou hast, {am resolv’d for death or* dignity. Cur, The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. [again, War. You were best to go to bed, and dream To keep thee from the tempest of the field. _ Cun. I am resolv’d to bear a greater storm, Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ; And that I’ll write upon thy burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy household* badge. _ War. Now, by my father’s badge, old Nevil’s | crest, The rampant bear chain’d to the ragged staff, this day I’ll wear aloft my burgonet, As on a mountain-top the cedar shows That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,) dven toy affright thee with the view thereof. | Cir. And from thy burgonet I’ll rend thy bear, And tread it under foot with all contempt, Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. _ Y. Curr. And so to arms, victorious father, o quell the rebels and their ’complices. _ Ricu. Fie! charity! for shame, speak not in spite, “or you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. _ Y. Curr. Foul stigmatic,” that’s more than thou | / canst tell. Ricu. If not in heaven, you’ll surely sup in | hell. [ Hxeunt severally. (*) Old text, and. (t) Old text, so. ® Household badge.] So “‘TheContention.” The first folio mis- tints household, housed. ‘he Foul stigmatic,—] A stigmatic originally signified any one | ) KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE It. SCENE II.—Saint Alban’s. Alarums;: Excursions. Enter Warwick. War. Clifford of Cumberland, ’tis Warwick calls ! And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now,—when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, And dead men’s cries do fill the empty air,— Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. Enter Yorx, How now, my noble lord! what all a-foot ? Yorx. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed, But match to match I have encounter’d him, And made a prey for carrion kites and crows Even of the bonny beast he lov’d so well. Enter CuirForp. War. Of one or both of us the time is come. York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase, For I myself must hunt this deer to death. Wan. Then, nobly, York; ’tis for a crown thou fight’st.— As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail’d. [ Lact. Curr. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause ? [ love, York. With thy brave bearing should I be in But that thou art so fast mine enemy. Cur. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem, But that ’tis shown ignobly and in treason. York. So let it help me now against thy sword, As I in justice and true right express it! Cur. My soul and body on the action both !— Yorx. A dreadful lay !—address thee instantly. [ They fight, and CuirForp falls. Curr. La fin couronne les wuvres. [ Dies. Yorx. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still. Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! [ Hart, marked, as acriminal punishment, with a hot iron. To appreciate the application of this term to Richard, we must call to mind the cruel belief once prevalent, that personal deformity was a brand or stigma set by Nature on a being, to indicate a vicious and malignant disposition. 389 Enter Young Cuirrorp. Y. Crrr. Shame and confusion! all is on the rout ; Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, Whom angry heavens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part Hot coals of vengeance !—Let no soldier fly : He that is truly dedicate to war Hath no self-love ; nor he that loves himself, Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, The name of valour.—O, let the vile world end, : [Seeing his dead father. And the premised flames of the last day Knit heaven and earth together ! Now let the general trumpet biow his blast, Particularities and petty sounds ‘To cease! Wast thou ordain’d, dear father, To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 390 | Meet I an infant of the house of York pes es ee a The silver livery of advised age ; 4 And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus To die in ruftian battle ?—Even at this sight — My heart is turn’d to stone: and, while ’tis mine, It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; No more will I their babes: tears virginal Shall be to me even as the dew to fire ; And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. Henceforth I will not have to do with pity: Pd Into as many gobbets will I cut it, As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: In cruelty will I seek out my fame.— Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford’s house ; [Laking up the body. As did Aineas old Anchises bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; But then Auneas bare a living load, Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Zait. Aor v.] Enter Ricuarp PLantacener and Somerser, jighting, and Somerser is killed. Ricu. So, lie thou there ;— For underneath an alehouse’ paltry sign, The Castle in-Saint Alban’s, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous in his death,— Sword, hold thy temper: heart, be wrathful still : Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [ Zait. Alarums: Hacursions. Enter Kina Henry, QurEn Marcanret, and others, retreating. Q. Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow: for shame, away ! K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? Margaret, stay. Q. Mar. What are you made of? you’ll nor fight nor fly : Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, To give the enemy way; and to secure us By what we can, which can no more but fly. | [Alarum afar off: If you be ta’en, we then should sce the bottom _ Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape (As well we may, if not through your neglect), | We shall to London get ; where you are loy’d, _ And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, May readily be stopp’d. Good Re-enter Young Cutrrorp. * Y. Cur. But that my heart’s on future mischief set, I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly ; But fly you must; uncurable discomfit Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. Away, for your relief! And we will live To see their day, and them our fortune give : Away, my lord, away! [ Haewnt. ® Of Salisbury,—] Mr. Collier's annotator, following the earlier rersion of the play, which reads, — ee ——— KING HaANRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE III. SCENE III.— Fields near Saint Alban’s. Alarum: Retreat. Flourish ; then enter Yorx, Ricuarp Puanracenrr, Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colours. York. Of* Salisbury, who can report of him,— That winter lion, who in rage forgets Aged contusions and all brush of time ; And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, Repairs him with occasion? This happy day Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, If Salisbury be lost. Ricu. My noble father, Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, Persuaded him from any further act : But still, where danger was, still there I met him ; And, like rich hangings in a homely house, So was his will in his old feeble body. But, noble as he is, look where he comes. Enter SALISBURY. Sat. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day ; By the mass, so did we all.—I thank you, Richard : God knows, how long it is I have to live ; And it hath pleas’d him, that three times to-day You have defended me from imminent death.— Well, lords, we have not got that which we have: "Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, Being opposites of such repairing nature. York. I know our safety is to follow them ; For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, To call a present court of parliament. Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth :— What says lord Warwick? shall we after them ? War. After them! Nay, before them, if we can. Now, by my hand, lords, ’twas a glorious day: Saint Alban’s battle, won by famous York, Shall be eterniz’d in all age to come.— Sound drum and trumpets :—and to London all: And more such days as these to us befal ! (1) | { Hxeunt. ‘‘ But did you see old Salisbury ?”— substitutes old for af. ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACT: (1) Sceng Il.—With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch.| From Ryder’s Padera we find that on the ninth of May, 1432 (the 10th of Henry VI.), Margery Jourde- mayn, John Vurley, clerk, and friar John Ashwell, who had been confined on a charge of sorcery in the castle of Windsor, were conveyed by the Constable of the castle, Walter Hungerford, to the Council at Westminster, and were there delivered into the custody of the Lord Chan- cellor, The same day, upon finding securities for their good behaviour, they were discharged. (2) Scent IV.—All, away !] Hall’s account of the arrest and trial of the Duchess and her confederates, is as follows :—‘‘Thys yere (1442-3), dame Elyanour Cobham, wyfe to the sayd duke, was accused of treason, for that she, by sorcery and enchauntment, entended to destroy the kyng, to thentent to advaunce and promote her husbande to the croune: upon thys she was examined in sainct Stephens chapell, before the bishop of Canterbury, and there by examinacion convict and judged to do open penaunce. in iii open places within the cytie of Lon«on, and after that adiudged to perpetuall prisone in the Isle of Man, under the kepyng of Sir Ihon Stanley, knyght. At the same season wer arrested as ayders and counsailers to the sayde duchesse, Thomas Southwel, prieste and chanon of saincte Stephens in Westmynster, Ihon Hum priest, Roger Bolyngbroke, a conyng nycromancier, and Margerie Tourdayne, surnamed the witche of Eye, to whose charge — it was laied, that thei, at the request of the duchesse, had devised an image of waxe representyng the kyng, whiche by their sorcery, a litle and litle consumed, entendyng therby in conclusion to waist and destroy the kynges person, and so to bryng hym to death; for the which treison, they wer adjudged to dye, and so Margery Jor- dayne was brent in smithfelde, and Roger Bolyngbroke was drawen and quartered at tiborne; takyng upon his death, that there was never no suche thyng by them yma- gined ; Ihon Hum had his pardon, and Southwel died — D] in the toure before execution.” ; ? AC Dae (1) Scene I.— for flying at the brook, T saw not better sport, these seven years’ day. | Thomas Nash, (not the satirical author of ‘‘ Pierce Penni- lesse his Supplication,”) in his ‘‘ Quaternio, or a Fourefold Way to a Happie Life,” 1683, p. 35, affords an animated picture of the sport of hawking at water-fowl :—‘‘ And to heare an Accipitrary relate againe, how he went forth in a cleare, calme, and Sun-shine Evening, about an houre before the Sunne did usually maske himselfe, unto the River, where finding of a Mallard, he whistled off his Faulcon, and how shee flew from him asif shee would never have turned head againe, yet presently upon a shoote came in, how then by degrees, by little and little, by flying about and about, she mounted so high, until she had lessened herselfe to the view of the beholder, to the shape of a Pigeon or Partridge, and had made the height of the Moone the place of her flight, how presently upon the landing of the fowle, shee came downe like a stone and enewed it, and suddenly got up againe, and suddenly upon a second landing came downe againe,and missing of it, in the downecome recovered it, beyond expectation, to the ad- miration of the beholder at a long flight,” (2) ScenzE I.—Let them be whipped through every market- town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came.] Shakespeare may have derived the incidents of the fore- going scene from a story related by Sir Thomas More as communicated to him by his father :—‘‘I remember me that I have hard my father tell of a begger that, in Kyng Henry his daies the sixt, cam with his wife to Saint Al- bonis. And there was walking about the towne begging a five or six dayes before the kinges commynge thither, saienge that he was borne blinde and never sawe in hys 392 lyfe. And was warned in hys dreame that he shoulde come out of Berwyke, where he said he had ever dwelled, to seke saynt Albon, and that he had ben at his shryne, and And therfore he woulde go seke ~ had not bene holpen. hym at some other place, for he had hard some say sins he came, that sainct Albonys body shold be at Colon, and indede such a contencion hath ther ben. But of troth, as I am surely informed, he lieth here at Saint Albonis, saving some reliques of him, which thei there shew shrined. But to tell you forth, whan the kyng was comen, and the towne full, sodainlye thys blind man at Saint Albonis shrine had his sight agayne, and a myracle solemply rongen, and te Deum songen, so that nothyng was talked of in al the towne but this myracle. 80 happened it than that Duke Humfry of Glocester, a great wyse man and very well lerned, having great joy to se such a myracle, called the pore man unto hym, And first shewing hymselfe joyouse of Goddes glory so shewed in the gettinge of his sight, and exortinge hym to meke- nes, and to none ascribing of any part the worship to himself, nor to be proued of the peoples prayse, which would call hym a good anda godly man therby. At last he loked well upon his eyen, and asked whyther he could never se nothing at al in al his life before. And whan as well his wyfe as himself affermed falsely no, than he loked advisedly upon his eien again, and said, I beleve you very wel, for me thinketh that ye cannot se well yet. Yes, sir, quoth he, I thanke God, and his holy marter, I can se nowe as wellas any man. Ye can, quoth the duke; what colour is my gowne? Than anone the beggar tolde him. What coloure, quoth he, is this mans gowne? He told him also, and so forth, without any sticking, he told him the names of al the colours that coulde bee shewed him. — And whan my lord saw that, he bad him walke faytoure, and made him be set openly in the stockes. For though E we Sati -Fice! - << ¥. a Se eee a eee — — - ended.” ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. he could have sene soudenly by miracle, the dyfference betwene divers colours, yet coulde he not by the syght so sodenly tell the names of all these colours, but if he had knowen them before, no more than the names of al the men that he should sodenly se.” (3) SCENE IlI.—Lnter, on one side, Horner, &c.| The stage direction of ‘The Contention” is amusing :—“ Enter at one doore the Armourer and his neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunken, and he enters with a drum before him, and his staffe with a sand-bag fastened to tt, and at the other doore, his Man with a drum and sand-bagge, and Prentises drinking to him.” $ (4) Scene III.—Peter strikes down his master.| In our illustration of the trial by battle between the Dukes of Hereford and Norfolk (‘‘ Richard the Second,” Act I. Se. 3), the combat represented in this play was especially referred to. In the former instance the duello takes place between noblemen of the first rank, in the present betwixt two persons of the lowest degree, but in both the parties are each other’s equals, and in both the combat springs from an accusation of treason, which, with the appeal of murder, was always submitted to be a valid cause for permitting the Wager of Battle. ‘The cases in question were thus far el, andeven in the ceremonial proper to each, though widely different in the scene of action, and the habits and weapons of the combatants, there was a marked degree of similarity. The event here introduced took place early in December, 1446, and was the second appeal of treason made in that year, for which the Trial by Battle was appointed. The Prior of Kilmaine had appeached the Earl of Ormond, and ‘‘for trial thereof,” says Fabian, “ the place of battaill was assigned in Smithfield, and the barriers for the same there readie pight. In which meane tyme a Doctour of Divinitie, named Master Gilbert - Worthington, Parsone of Saint Andrews in Holborne, and other good menne, made soche labour to the kynges - counsaill, that when the daie of battaill approched, the quarell was taken into the kynges hande and there The same author also records the Appeal of Treason represented in the present drama; and he, in all _ probability, as Mr. Douce conjectured, was Shakespeare’s authority for the incident. In his Chronicle there is a _ blank space left for the name of the armourer, which is supplied by Holinshed. ‘‘ The real names of these com- batants,” Mr. Douce observes, ‘‘ were John Daveys and William Catour, as appears from the original precept to the sheriffs, still remaining in the Exchequer, commanding them to prepare the barriers in Smithfield for combat. The names of the sheriffs were Godfrey Boloyne and - Robert Horne; and the latter, which occurs on the page of Fabian’s Chronicle that records the duel, might have suggested the name of Horner to Shakespeare.” The fol- lowing is Fabian’s narrative, by which it will be seen that the poet has historical authority for exhibiting the armourer as overcome by intoxication, though he appears to have deviated from it in making him ‘‘ confess treason :” —‘‘ In this yerean armurer named... . was appeched of treason by a servaunte of his owne: for triall whereof a daie to them was given to fight in Smithfield. At which daie of battaill the saied armurer was overcomen and slain, and that by the misguiding of himself: for upon the morowe when he should come to the fielde, his neigh- bours came to him, and gave unto him so moche wine and good ale, that he was therewithe distempered, that he reeled as he went, and so was slaine without gilt. But that false servaunt lived not longe unpunished, for he was after hanged for felony at Tiburne.” In the volume of ‘ Illus- trations of the Manners and Expences of Antient Times in England,” published by Nichols, will be found the Exchequer record of the items and charges for erecting the barriers and preparing the field for this duello, amounting to £10 18s. 9d. ‘These works occupied about a week; the barriers were brought in nine carts from Westminster, and the ground was cleared of snow, and strewed with rushes and 168 loads of sand and gravel. The account is closed with some items partly disallowed by the Barons of the Exchequer, showing that however innocent the vanquished armourer really might have been, his body was treated as that of a traitor :—‘‘Paid to Officeres for watching of y® ded man in Smythfelde, ye same daye and ye nyghte aftyr that the bataill was doon ; and for hors hyre for the Officeres at the execution doying; and for the hangmans labour,—lls. 6d. Also paid for ye cloth yat lay upon ye ded man in Smythfelde —8d. Also paid for 1 pole and nayllis and setting up of y® manny’s hed on London bridge—8d.” It is not so easy to ascertain the sowrce whence Shake- speare derived the costume of these combatants, as it was in the case of the important personages who fought in ‘‘ Richard the Second.” No one of the Chronicles notices the “staff with a sand-bag fastened to it,” with which Horner and Peter were to settle their differences. The weapons proper to civil persons under the rank of gentle- men, and in a case of felony, were batons of an ell in length, tipped with horn at each end, but without any iron ; and square targets covered with leather. The sand- bags appear to have been attached to the batons only when the combat was assigned on a Writ of Right ; which became, as Blackstone regards it, a species of cudgel- playing, the end of which was not the death of either party, but only a manifest superiority of skill. Any nice distinction as to the peculiar weapons appointed by the legal character of appeal was not to be expected in Shake- speare, especially as such disputes commonly related to questions of property, and not to criminal accusations. ACT III. (1) Scene I.—Caper upright like a wild Mérisco.| There can be little doubt that upon the first introduction of the Moorish dance, or as it soon became corrupted Morrts dance, the performers endeavoured, by the wildness of their gestures, by colouring their faces, and by assuming a costume which resembled that of Africa, to imitate as nearly as they could the actions and appearance of the native dancers. One peculiarity which has been already noticed (see Illustrative Comments to ‘ All’s Well that Ends Well,” p. 55), and which lasted in this country as long as the Morris dance itself, was that of the dancers sanging bells about their knees, and sometimes their arms also; hence the allusion in the text to the shaking his bells. From some passages in our old writers, it is evident also, that in imitation of the original dancers, they were once in the habit of bearing swords, which they shook and probably clashed with vehemence, as they became ex- cited by the motion, the noise they made, and by the plaudits of the spectators :—‘‘There are other actions of dancing used, as of those who are represented with weapons in their hands going round in a ring capering skilfully, shaking their weapons after the manner of the Morris, with divers actions of meeting.” —HAYDOCKE’S Translation of Lomazzo, on Painting, 1598. (2) Somnu Il.—Enter certain M urderers, hastily.| The stage direction in the folio 1623 is :—‘* Enter two or three, running over the stage, from the murder of Duke Hum- phrey ;” but from that in the earlier version of the play, ‘), p. 78, Vol. [.), and in Ben Jonson’s ‘‘ Every Man in His Humour,” Act IV. Sc. 4:—‘‘I was going along in the street, thinking nothing, when, of a sudden, a voice calls, Mr. Knowell's man! another cries, Soldier! and thus half a dozen of them, till they had call’d me within a house, where I no sooner came, but they seem’d men, and out flew all their rapiers at my bosom;” and it may possibly have once borne the meaning of demented, frenzied, and the like. EE2 AOT It.] K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter : Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forw: rard ; ; away! [ Hxeunt. SCENE VI.— ManrGaRET /vses. Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise. For this is he that moves both wind and tide. War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, I come,—in kindness and unfeigned love,— First, to do greetings to thy royal person, And, then, to crave a league of amity ; And lastly, to confirm that amity With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, To. England’s king in lawful marriage. Q. Mar. [Aside.] If that go forward, Henry’s hope is done. War. And, gracious madam, [ Z’o Bona.] in om king’s behalf, I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue To tell the passion of my sovereign’s heart ; 427 _ Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; It shall be eas’d, if France can yield relief. Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, Hath plac’d thy beauty’s image and thy virtue. Q. Mar. King Lewis,-—and lady Bona,—hear me speak, Before you answer Warwick. His demand Springs not from Edward’s well-meant honest love, But from deceit, bred by necessity : For how can tyrants safely govern home, Unless abroad they purchase great alliance ? To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice,— That Henry liveth still: but were he dead, Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry’s son. Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour : For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. War. Injurious Margaret ! PRINCE.. And why not queen ? War. Because thy father Henry did usurp, And thou no more art prince than she is queen. Oxy. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, 498 Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the fourth, Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; And, after that wise prince, Henry the fifth, Who by his prowess conquered all France: From these our Henry lineally descends. War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse, You told not how, Henry the sixth hath lost All that which Henry the fifth had gotten ? Methinks these peers of France should smile at that. But for the rest,—you tell a pedigree Of threescore and two years; a silly time To make prescription for a kingdom’s worth. Oxr. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy lege, Whom thou obeyed’st thirty and six years, And not bewray thy treason with a blush ? War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? For shame ! leave Henry, and call Edward king. Oxr. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom AcT 11] My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, Was done to death? and more than so, my father, Even in the downfall of his mellow’d years, When nature brought him to the door of death ? No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, This arm upholds the house of Laneaster. War. And I the house of York. [ Oxford, K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, While I use further conference with Warwick. Q. Mar. Heavens grant that Warwick’s words bewitch him not! [Retiring with the Prince and Oxrorp. K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience, Ts Edward your true king? for I were loth To link with him that were not lawful chosen. War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people’s eye? War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. K. Lew. Then further,—all dissembling set aside, Tell me for truth the measure of his love Unto our sister Bona. War. Such it seems, _ As may beseem a monarch like himself. Myself have often heard him say, and swear,— That this his love was an eternal* plant ; Whereof the root was fix’d in virtue’s ground, The leaves and fruit maintain’d with beauty’s sun ; Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. [resolve. K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine :— Yet I confess, [Zo War. ] that often ere this day, When I have heard your king’s desert recounted, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. K. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus,—our sister shall be Edward’s ; And now forthwith shall articles be drawn Touching the jointure that your king must make, Which with her dowry shall be counterpois’d :— Draw near, queen Margaret; and be a witness, That Bona shall be wife to the English king. Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy device By this alliance to make void my suit ; Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry’s friend. K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret: But if your title to the crown be weak,— As may appear by Edward’s good success,— Then ’tis but reason that I be releas’d From giving aid, which late I promised. @ An eternal plant;) Thus ‘*The True Tragedy ;” efernal in the folio 1623 is misprinted ‘‘ externall.” KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE IIt Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand, That your estate requires, and mine can yield. War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease, Where haying nothing, nothing can he lose. And as for you yourself, our guondam queen,— You have a father able to maintain you ; And better ’twere you troubled him.than France. Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless War- wick, peace ! Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings! I will not hence, till with my talk and tears, Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord’s false love ; For both of you are birds of self-same feather. [A horn sounded without. K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you, Sent from your brother, marquis Montague.— These from our king unto your majesty.— And, madam, [7'o Mare.] these for you; from whom, I know not. [All read their letters. Oxr. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were nettled : I hope all’s for the best. K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen ? Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop’d joys. War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart’s discontent. K. Lew. What! has your king married the lady Grey? And now, to soothe your forgery and his, Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ? Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner ? Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before: This proveth Edward’s love, and Warwick’s honesty. [of heaven, War. King Lewis, I here protest,—-in sight And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,— ‘hat I am clear from this misdeed of Edward’s ; No more my king! for he dishonours me, But most himself, if he could see his shame.— Did I forget, that by the house of York My father came untimely to his death ? Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece ? b Shameless Warwick, peace!] The second peace is not found in the folio 1623, but was supplied by that of 1632. 429 ACT III.] Did I impale him with the regal crown ? Did I put Henry from his native right, And am I guerdon’d at the last with shame? Shame on himself! for my desert is honour: And, to repair my honour lost for him, I here renounce him, and return to Henry.— My noble queen, let former grudges pass, And henceforth I am thy true servitor ; I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona, And replant Henry in his former state. Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn’d my hate to love ; And I forgive and quite forget old faults, And joy that thou becom’st king Henry’s friend. War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, That if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us With some few bands of chosen soldiers, I’ll undertake to land them on our coast, And force the tyrant from his seat by war. °T is not his new-made bride shall succour him : And as for Clarence,—as my letters tell me, He’s very likely now to fall from him, For matching more for wanton lust than honour, Or than for strength and safety of our country. Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona _ be reveng’d, ) But by thy help to this distressed queen ? Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live, Unless thou rescue him from foul despair ? Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. War. Andmine, fairlady Bona, joins with yours. K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and Margaret’s. Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv’d You shall have aid. Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. K. Lew. Then England’s messenger, return in 08st, And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,— That Lewis of France is sending over masquers, To revel it with him and his new bride: Thou seest what’s pass’d, go fear* thy king withal, a Go fear—] That is, go fright. This active sense of fear was very common, and has before been noticed. b A stale,—] That is, a stalking-horse, a decoy, a pretence. See KING HENRY WHE SIXTH. [SCENE Bona. Tell him, in hope he’ll prove a widoy shortly, I’ll* wear the willow garland for his sake. Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds 4 laid aside, And I am ready to put armour on. e: War. Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I’l] uncrown him, ere’t be long, — There’s thy reward ; be gone. [Lait Muss, K. Lew. But, Warwick, __ Thou and Oxford, with five sodand men, : Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle; | And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 4 And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. : Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt ;— What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? War. This shall assure my constant loyalty ; That if our queen and this young prince agree, I’l] join mine eldest daughter, and my joy, a To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. Q. Man. Yes, I agree, and thank you for you motion :— Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, \ Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, That only Waerides daughter shall be thine. [its Prince. Yes, I accept “her, for she well deserves And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. [Gives his hand to Warwic K. Lew. Why stay we now? ‘These solos shall be levied, And thou, lord Houvbunk our high-admiral, Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.— I long till Edward fall by war’s mischance, For mocking marriage with a dame of France. [Hxeunt all except Warwick, War. I came from Edward as ambassador,(3) But I return his sworn and mortal foe: Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, But dreadful war shall answer his demand. Had he none else to make a stale,” but me? Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. I was the chief that rais’d him to the cxown, And I'll be chief to bring him down again: Not that I pity Henry’s misery, But seek revenge on Edward’s mockery. [Bart (*) First folio, J. note (5), p. 742, Vol. I. pad Oe dk Vig Ree te ee giee SCENE I.—London. Enter CLarEncr, GLOUCESTER, SoMERSET, Mon- TAGUE, and others. Gto. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you Of this new marriage with the lady Grey? Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? _ Czar. Alas, you know, ‘tis far from hence to France ; How could he stay till Warwick made return? Som. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king. Guo. And his well-chosen bride. Crar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. Flourish. Enter Kine Epwarp, attended; Lavy Grey, as QurEN; Premproker, STAFFORD, Hastines, and others.* K. Epw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice, * Enter, §c.] The folio 1623 adds to the list of characters who ee direction, ‘‘fowre stand on one side, and foure on the | | JO RE A Rooman the Palace. That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? Crar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of Warwick ; Which are so weak of courage and in judgment, That they’ll take no offence at our abuse. K. Epw. Suppose they take offence without a cause, They are but Lewis and Warwick; I am Edward, Your king and Warwick’s, and must have my will. Guo. And shall have? your will, because our king: Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. K. Epw. Yea, brother Richard, offended too ? Guo. Not I: No; God forbid, that I should wish them sever’d Whom God hath join’d together; ay, and ’twere pity To sunder them that yoke so well together. are you b And shall have, &c.] Rowe improved the measure by reading —‘ And you shall have,” &e. “421 ACT Iv.] K. Epw. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, Tell me some reason why the lady Grey Should not become my wife, and England’s queen :— And you too, Somerset and Montague, Speak freely what you think. Crar. Then this is mine opinion,—that king Lewis Becomes your enemy, for mocking him About the marriage of the Lady Bony Guo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. K. Epw. What if both Lewis ANE Warwick be appeas’d, By such invention as I can devise ? Monr. Yet to have join’d with France in sueh alliance, Would more have strengthen’d this our common- wealth ’Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred mar- riage. Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself England is safe, if true within itself? Mont. Yes ;* but the safer when ’tis back’d with France. Hast. Tis better using France than trusting France: Let us be back’d with God, and with the seas Which he hath given for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves ; In them and in ourselves our safety lies. Crar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well deserves To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. K. Epw. Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant ; And for this once my will shall stand for law. Guo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done well, To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales Unto the brother of your loving bride ; She better would have fitted me, or Clarence : But in your bride you bury brotherhood. Cxar. Or else you would not have bestow’d the heir Of the lord Bonville on your new wife’s son, And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. K. Epw. Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. Crar. In choosing for yourself, you show’d your judgment : Which being shallow, you shall give me leave a Yes; &c.] So the seeond folio; the first omits ‘‘ Ye: b Thy supposed king,—] The folio 1623 has ‘the Aehicver st 432 THE THIRD PART OF 5 .- [SCENE I, To play the broker in mine own behalf; And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. K. Epw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, And not be tied unto his brothers’ will. Q. Ex1z. My lords, before it pleas’d his majesty To raise my state to title of a queen, Do me but right, and you must all confess That I was not ignoble of descent ; And meaner than myself have had like fortune. But as this title honours me and mine, So your dishkes, to whom I would be pleasing, Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. — K. Epw. My love, forbear to fawn upon. their frowns : What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, So long as Edward is thy constant friend, And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, Unless they seck for hatred at my hands ; Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. Guo. [ Aside.] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. 4, a Linter a Messenger. i K. Epw. Now, messenger, what letters, or wha news, From France ? Mzss. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words ; ¥ But such as I, without your special pardon, | Dare not relate. i K. Epw. Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief, A Tell me their Sine as near as thou canst guess them. What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters? Mess. At my depart, these were his very words ; : Go tell false Hdward, thy” supposed king, — Mi That Lewis of France is sending over masquers, To revel it with him and his new bride. : K. Epw. Is Lewis so brave? belike, he thinks me Henry. q But what said lady Bona to my marriage ? Mass. ‘These were her words, utter’d with mild disdain ; Tell him, in hope he’ll prove a widower shortly, I’ll wear the willow garland for his sake. 7 &c.; but “thy” is the reading of ‘‘ The True Tragedy ,” and in the previous scene Lewis says, ‘‘ thy supposed king.” : - _ Piso an | K. Evw. I blame not her, she could say little less ; ‘he had the wrong. But what said Henry’s | queen ? ‘or I have heard that she was there in place. | Mass. Zell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds } are done, nd I am ready to put armour on. K. Epw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. ut what said Warwick to these injuries ? Mass. He, more incens’d against your majesty han all the rest, discharg’d me with these words ; ‘ell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, nd therefore I’ll uncrown him, ere’t be long. K. Evw. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so z proud words ? Vell, I will arm me, being thus forewarn’d : he - shall have wars, and pay for their presump- } a tion. jut say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? Mass. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so ) link’d in friendship, {hat young prince Edward marries Warwick’s daughter. Cran. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the younger. ‘ow, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, Jor I will hence to Warwick’s other daughter ; ‘hat, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage may not prove inferior to yourself.— you, that love me and Warwick, follow me. [Hait CrarENncr, and Somerset follows. | Gro. Not I: fy thoughts aim at a further matter ; |stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown. | [ Aside, | K. Epw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to jo Warwick ! ‘et am I arm’d against the worst can happen ; \nd haste is needful in this desperate case.— embroke and Stafford, you in our behalf jo levy men, and make prepare for war ; jhey are already, or quickly will be landed : “yself in person will straight follow you. [Laeunt Pemsroxe and STAFFORD. jut, ere I go, Hastings and Montague, vesolve my doubt; you twain, of all the rest, \re near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance : ‘ell me if you love Warwick more than me? ‘it be so, then both depart to him ; yrather wish you foes than hollow friends ; ut if you mind to hold your true obedience, ‘ive me assurance with some friendly vow, hat I may never have you in suspect. Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves true ! |e Surprise him.—] That is, capture him: a sense of the word rprise, now obsolete. VOL, II. 433 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE Ir. Hast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward’s cause ! K. Epw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? Gio. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. K. Epw. Why so! then am I sure of victory. Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. [Haeunt. SCENE II.—A Plain in Warwickshire. Enter Warwick and Oxrorp, with French and other Forces. War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well ; The common people by numbers swarm to us. Enter CLARENCE and SoMERSET. But see where Somerset and Clarence come! Speak suddenly, my lords,—are we all friends ? Cuar. Fear not that, my lord. War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick ;— And welcome, Somerset :—I hold it cowardice, To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawn’d an open hand in sign of love ; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward’s brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : But welcome, sweet Clarence ; my daughter shall be thine. And now what rests but, in night’s coverture, Thy brother being carelessly encamp’d, His soldiers lurking in the towns* about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure ? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus’ tents, And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds : So we, well cover’d with the night’s black mantle, At unawares may beat down Edward’s guard, And seize himself ;—I say not, slaughter him, For I intend but only to surprise* him.— You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. [They all cry, ‘ Henry |” Why, then, let’s on our way in silent sort: For Warwick and his friends, God and saint George ! [ Haeunt. (*) Old text, Towne. My, a) 5) bu Ai 1 ty SCENE II].—KEdward’s Camp, near Warwick. 2 Warcr. What, will he not to bed ? 1 Warcu. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn “Mnter certain Watchmen, to guard the Krna’s vow tent. Never to lie and take his natural rest, Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress’d. 1 Warcn. Come on, my masters, each man take | 2 Warcu. To-morrow, then, belike, shall be his stand : | the day, The king, by this, is set him down to sleep. | If Warwick be so near as men report. 434 Warcn. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that, t with the king here resteth in his tent? pesrcr: ‘Tis the lord Hastings, the king’s _ chiefest friend. Waren. QO, is it so? But why commands the king That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, While he himself keeps in the cold field ? 2 Warcn. “Tis the more honour, because more _ dangerous. ‘Waren. Ay, but give me worship and quietness ; ke it better than a dangerous honour: ‘Tf Warwick knew in what estate he stands, s to be doubted, he would waken him. | Warcu. Unless our halberds did shut up his s~passage. 2 Warton. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent, | to defend his person from night-foes ? 1 Thi ater, im silence, WarwicxK, CLarEncy, OxForD, SoMERSET, and Forces. War. This is his tent; and see, where stand 2 his guard. Jourage, my masters! honour now, or never ! , follow me, and Edward shall be ours. | Warcn. Who goes there ? 2 Waren. Stay, or thou diest! ‘Warwick, and the rest, cry all—« Warwick ! Warwick!” and set upon the Guard; who Sly, erying—*< Arm! Arm!” Warwick, and the rest, following them. Lhe drum beating, and trumpet sounding, re- enter Warwi0K, and the rest, bringing the Kine out in his gown, sitting in a chair: Guovcnster and Hasrines fly. Som. What are they that fly there ? War. Richard and Hastings: let them go; _ __here is the duke. K. Epw. The duke! why, Warwick, when we ~ parted last,* hou call’dst me king ! . ae Ay, but the case is alter’d : When you disgrac’d me in my embassade, |Fhen I degraded you from being king, come now to create you duke of York. ! how should you govern any kingdom, Know not how to use ambassadors ; |Nor how to be contented with one wife ; or how to use your brothers brotherly ; Vhei we parted last,—] So reads ‘The True Tragedy; in folio 1623, last appears to have been accidentally omitted. 435 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [buss IV. Nor how to study for the people’s welfare ; Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ? K. Epw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too ? Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down.— Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, Kdward will always bear himsef as king : Though Fortune’s malice overthryw my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England’s king : [Takes of his crown. But Henry now shall wear the English crown, And be true king indeed ;—thou but the shadow.— My lord of Somerset, at my request, See that forthwith duke Edward be convey’d Unto my brother, archbishop of York. When I have fought with Pembroke and _ his fellows, T’ll follow you, and tell what answer Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him :— Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. K. Epw. What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide. [Hait, led owt ; Somerset with him. Oxr. What now remains, my lords, for us to do, But march to London with our soldiers ? [do; Wan. Ay, that’s the first thing that we have to To free king Henry from imprisonment, And see him seated in the regal throne. [ Haeunt. SCENE IV.—London. A Room in the Palace. Enter QuEEN ExizaBetu and Rivers. Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change ? Q. Ex1z. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn What late misfortune is befallen king Edward ? Riv. What, loss of some pitch’d battle against Warwick ? Q. Ex1z. No, but the loss of his own royal person. “¢ Riv. Then, is my sovereign slain ? Q. Eiiz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken risoner ; Hither betray’d by falsehood of his guard, Or by his foe surpris’d at unawares : And, as I further have to understand, Is new committed to the bishop of York, Fell Warwick’s brother, and by that our foe. Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief ; FF2 ACT Iv.} Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may: Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. Q. Exzz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life’s decay ; And I the rather wean me from despair, For love of Edward’s offspring in my womb: This is it that makes me bridle passion, And bear with mildness my misfortune’s cross ; Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear, And stop the rising of biood-sucking sighs, Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown King Edward’s fruit, true heir to the English crown. Rrv. But, madam, where is Warwick then become ? Q. Exiz. I am informed that he comes towards London, To set the crown once more on Henry’s head: Guess thou the rest; king Edward’s friends must down. But, to prevent the tyrant’s violence, (For trust not him that hath once broken faith,) I’ll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, To save at least the heir of Edward’s right ; There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly ; If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [ Lzeunt. SCENE V.—A Park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire. Enter Guovucester, Hastines, Sir Wiui11amM STANLEY, and others. Gio. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stanley, Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, Into this chiefest thicket of the park. Thus stands* the case: you know our king, my brother, Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands He hath good usage and great liberty; And often, but attended with weak guard, Comesf hunting this way to disport himself. Ihave advertis’d him by secret means, That ifabout this hour he make this way, Under the colour of his usual game, He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, To set him free from his captivity. Enter Kine Evwarp and a Huntsman. Hunt. This way, my lord, for this way lies the game. K. Epw. Nay, this way, man; see, where the huntsmen stand,— (*) First folio, stand. 436 (+) First folio, Come. THE THIRD PART OF Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, a rest, 7 Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop’s de Guo. Brother, the time and case requireth h Your horse stands ready at the park corner. K. Epw. But whither shall we then? Hast. To Lynn, my lord; and ship* thence to Flanders. "| Guo. Well guess’d, believe me; for that my meaning. 3 K. Epvw. Stanley, I willrequite thy forward Guo. But wherefore stay we? ’tis no tim talk. 4 K. Epw. Huntsman, what say’st thou? thou go along? 4 Hount. Better do so, than tarry and be ha Gro. Come then, away! let’s have no more K. Epw. Bishop, farewell: shield thee Warwick’s frown, And pray that I may repossess the crown. SCENE VI.—A Room in the Tower. Enter Kine Henry, Crarence, War Somerset, Young Ricumonp, OxF Montacue, Lieutenant of the Tower, Attendants. y K. Hey. Master lieutenant, now that Go¢ friends ; Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, And turn’d my captive state to liberty, My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys,— — At our enlargement what are thy due fees? Liev. Subjects may challenge nothing of sovereigns ; But if an humble prayer may prevail, I then crave pardon of your majesty. F K. Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well Nay, be thou sure, 1’ll well requite thy kind For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 4 Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts At last, by notes of household harmony, They quite forget their loss of liberty— _ But, Warwick, after God, thou sett’st me fre And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee He was the author, thou the instrument. — Therefore, that I may conquer fortune’s spit By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me And that the people of this blessed land May not be punish’d with my thwarting sta Warwick, although my head still wear the ¢ T here resign my government to thee, _ For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. (*) First folio, shipt. Your grace hath still been fam’d for virtuous ; | And now may seem as wise as virtuous, | By spying and avoiding fortune’s malice, | For few men rightly temper with the stars :* | Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, | For choosing me when Clarence is in place. Oran. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, /To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, Adjudg’d an olive branch and laurel crown, As likely to be blest in peace and war ; /And therefore I yield thee my free consent. War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. K. Hen. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands ; Now join your hands and with your hands your hearts, That no dissension hinder government : ‘I make you both protectors of this land, While I myself will lead a private life, ‘And in devotion spend my latter days, To sin’s rebuke, and my Creator’s praise. War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign’s will ? Cran. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent ; For on thy fortune I repose myself. | War. Why then, though loth, yet must I be content : We'll yoke together, like a double shadow To Henry’s body, and supply his place ; { mean, in bearing weight of government, While he enjoys the honour and his ease. And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful Forthwith that Edward be pronounc’d a traitor, And all his lands and goods be confiscate.” Crar. What else? and that succession be de- termin’d. - War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his We part. K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, _uet me entreat, (for I command no more,) “hat Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, 3e sent for, to return from France with speed : ‘Tor till I see them here, by doubtful fear ily joy of liberty is half eclips’d. _ Cuar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all | speed. K, ae My lord of Somerset, what youth is that, £ whom you seem to have so tender care ? | Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond.(1) ® For few men rightly temper with the stars:] This means, ; | ) pparently,—few men accept their destiny without complaint. — . And all his lands and goods be confiscate.) The first folio KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE VII. K. Hen. Come hither, England’s hope :—if secret powers [Lays his hand on his head. Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country’s bliss. His looks are full of peaceful majesty ; His head by nature fram’d to wear a crown, His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself Likely in time to bless a regal throne. Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he, Must help you more than you are hurt by me. Enter a Messenger. War. What news, my friend? [ brother, Mess. That Kdward is escaped from your And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. War. Unsavoury news! but how made he escape ? [ Gloster, Mess. He was convey’d by Richard duke of And the lord Hastings, who attended him In secret ambush on the forest side, And from the bishop’s huntsmen rescu’d him ; For hunting was his daily exercise. — [ charge.— War. My brother was too careless of his But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide A salve for any sore that may betide. [Hxeunt Kine Henry, War., Cuar., Lieut. and Attendants. Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward’s, For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, And we shall have more wars before’t be long. As Henry’s late presaging prophecy Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts What may befall him, to his harm and ours : Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, Forthwith we’ll send him hence to Brittany, Till storms be past of civil enmity. Oxr. Ay; for, if Edward repossess the crown, Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. Som. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. Come, therefore, let’s about it speedily. [Hxeunt. SCENE VII.—Before York. Enter Ktxng Epwarp, Guovucester, Hastines, and Forces. K. Epw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and the rest ; Yet, thus far, fortune maketh us amends, omits be, which was supplied by Malone; the second reads— s¢ ___- and Goods confiscated.” 437 Dan SS Se SS RSS =k ~ And says, that once more TI shall interchange My waned state for Henry’s regal crown. Well have we pass’d, and now repass’d the seas, And brought desired help from Burgundy : What then remains, we being thus arriv’d From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, But that we enter, as into our dukedom:? Guo. The gates made fast!—Brother, I hike not this ; For many men that stumble at the threshold, Are well foretold that danger lurks within. K. Epw. Tush, man! abodements must not now affright us: By fair or foul means we must enter in, For hither will our friends repair to us. Hast. My liege, I’ll knock once more to sum- mon them. Enter, on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and Aldermen. May. My lords, we were forewarned ot your coming, And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. __ [king, K. Epw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. May. True, my good lord; I know you for no less. K. Epw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom, zis being well content with that alone. Lo. But when the fox hath once got in his nose, 438 | Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv’d. He’ll soon find means to make the body follo Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand yon ii a doubt ? i Open the gates ; we are king Henry’s friends May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall the open’d. | Hxeunt from at Guo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded so Hast. The good old man would fain that al were well, ] So ’twere not ‘long of him: but, being enter’ I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade _ Both him and all his brothers unto reason. Enter the Mayor and Aldermen, below. K. Epw. So, master mayor: these gates musi not be shut, , But in the night, or in the time of war. 4 What! fear not, man, but yield me up the k [7 akes his h For Edward will defend the town, and thee, — And all those friends that deign to follow me. 5 Drum. Enter Montaommry, and "orces, marching. Guo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery -) a Persuaded soon!] The old text has—‘‘ soon persuade Pope made the transposition, which, as Steevens reié requires no apology. al , ( & _K. Epw. Welcome, sir John! out why come a ou in arms? Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm, As every loyal subject ought to do. —_ [now forget _ XK. Epw. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we Our title to the crown, and only claim Jur dukedom, till God please to send the rest. Monr. Then fare you well, for I will hence again; I came to serve a king, and not a duke,— Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. [A march begun. _K. Epw. Nay, stay, sir John, awhile; and we’ll debate, By what safe means the crown may be recovered. Mont. What talk you of debating? in few words, If you’ll not here proclaim yourself our king, & Why shall we fight,—] Malone prints this, ‘‘ Why should we ht,” &c., whereupon Mr. Collier very properly asks, ‘‘ Why vary at all from the text?” a question, which, in all courtesy, we Might take the liberty of retorting upon Mr. Collier himself, sinee, in addition to the manifold variations he has thought proper to introduce into this play on the authority of his anno- tator, he has several times departed from the old text without a syllable of explanation; for instance, in Act I. Se. 1, the folio 1623 reads :— “‘ Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.” Mr. Collier has— a dy to thrust you out by force.” In Act II. Se. 1, in the folio 1623 we have— : “* Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure.” I’ll leave you to your fortune, and be gone To keep them back that come to succour you: Why shall we fight,” if you pretend no title? Guo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points ? | K. Epw. When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim : Till then, ’tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule. Guo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand; The bruit thereof will. bring you many friends. K. Epw. Then be it as you will; for ’tis my right, And Henry but usurps the diadem. In Mr. Collier’s edition, ‘‘ — can procure.” In Act II. Sc. 5, in the folio 1623 it is— ‘6 Was ever father so bemoaned his son iat In Mr. Collier, ‘‘— ason?”’ In Act II. Se. 6, the folio 1623 has— ““ Which, whiles it lasted,” &c Mr. Collier reads, ‘‘— while it lasted.” In Act IV. Se. 8, the folio 1623 has— “ Shalt stir up,’’ ‘‘ shalt find,” and “ shalt muster.” While Mr. Collier reads,— “‘ Shall stir up,” “ shall find,” and ‘ shatd muster.” These deviations are not, certainly, of great importance, though of quite as much as Malone’s change of shall to should, 439 ACT Iv.] Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself ; And now will I be Edward’s champion. Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim’d :— Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. Gives him a paper. Flourish. Sorp. [Reads.] Edward the fourth, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ireland, &e. Mont. And whosoe’er gainsays king Edward’s right, By this I challenge him to single fight. [Throws down his gauntlet. Attu. Long live Edward the fourth ! K. Enw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ;—and thanks unto you all: If fortune serve me, I’! requite this kindness. Now, for this night, let’s harbour here in York, And when the morning sun shall raise his car Above the border of this horizon, We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates ; For well I wot that Henry is no soldier.— Ah, froward Clarence !—how evil it beseems thee, To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother ! Yet, as we may, we’ll meet both thee and War- wick.— Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day, And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. [| Hxeunt. SCENE VIII.—London. A Room in the Palace. Enter Kine Henry, Warwicr, CLarence, Mon- TAGUE, Exeter, and Ox¥Forp.® War. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, | Hath pass’d in safety through the narrow seas, And with his troops doth march amain to London ; And many giddy people flock to him. Oxr. Let’s levy men, and beat him back again.” Cuan. A little fire is quickly trodden out, Which being suffer’d, rivers cannot quench. War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, s Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war ; Those will I muster up :—and thou, son Clarence, Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, ® Exeter, and Oxford.] The folio 1623, for Exeter, has mis- takenly Somerset. b Let’s levy men, and beat him back again.] In the folio 1623, this line is given tothe King; but the modern editors, who assigned it to a more warlike character, were probably right. It is not con- sonant with Henry’s pacific nature, nor indeed becoming to one who has just before abdicated his sovereignty in everything but the 440 THE THIRD PART OF name, that he might— {SCENE Vitr, The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:— _ Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, | Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find - Men well inclin’d to hear what thou command’st;— And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov’d, In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends— __ My sovereign, with the loving citizens— = Like to his island, girt in with the ocean, Or modest Dian, circled with her nymphs,— Shall rest in London, till we come to him.— Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply.- Farewell, my sovereign. K. Hey. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy’s true hope. | Cran. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness’ hand. 2 K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou for- tunate ! ; Monr. Comfort, my lord ;—and so I take my | leave. ; Oxr. And thus [Kissing Henry’s hand.] I seal my truth, and bid adieu. _¥ K. Hun. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Mon- tague, 4 And all at once,° once more a happy farewell. __ War. Farewell, sweet lords: let’s meet at Coventry. [Haeunt War., Crar., Oxr., and Mont. | K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? | Methinks the power that Edward hath in field, Should not be able to encounter mine. a Exr. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest. q K. Hun. That’s not my fear; my meed® hath | got me fame: > = I have not stopp’d mine ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay’d their swelling griefs, | My mercy dried their water-flowing tears ; | T have not been desirous of their wealth, . | Nor much oppress’d them with great subsidies,(2 Nor forward of revenge, though they much e Then why should they love Edward more than | me? No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace; And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, _ The lamb will never cease to follow him. a [Shout without, « A Lancaster! A Lancaster!” Ex. Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these ? + S lead a private life, And in devotion spend [his] latter days.” e¢ And all at once,—] See note (4), p. 65. Mt da My meed—] My merit, asin a former passage, Act I1. Sc. ti ‘* Each one already blazing by our meeds.” 4 acer tv.) Enter Kine Evwarp, Grovcester, and Soldiers. K. Epw. Seize on the shame-fac’d Henry, bear him hence, And once again proclaim us king of England !— You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow ; Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them ry, And swell so much the higher by their ebb.— a ona co Ss | HAW | KING HENRY THE SIXTH. A Aer yA MN | % ee Ue WA [SCENE VIII. Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. [Haxeunt some with Kina Henry. And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, Where peremptory Warwick now remains : The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hop’d-for hay. Gio. Away betimes, before his forces join, And take the great-grown traitor unawares : Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. [ Lxeunt. EX an : SS SRY - SR MA NS ACT V. SCENE I.—Coventry. Enter, upon the Walls, Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers, and others. War. Where is the post, that came from valiant Oxford ? . How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow ? 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hither- ward. Wan. How far offsis our brother Montague ?— Where is the post that came from Montague ? 2 Muss. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. Enter Sir Jonn SomprvrixeE. War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, And do expect him here some two hours hence. [Drum heard. War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. 442 Som. It is not his, my lord; here South lies : q The drum your honour hears, marcheth f Warwick. War. Who should that be? belike, unlook for friends. Som. They are at hand, and you shall q know. - March. Enter Kixge Epwarp, GLovcesTsi and Forces. K. Epw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sot a parle. [ Plou Guo. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall Wan. O, unbid spite ! is sportful Edward come! Where slept our scouts, or how are they sedue’d, That we could hear no news of his repair ? { K. Epw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope tx city gates, Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy kne | Edward king, and at his hands beg mercy ? d he shall pardon thee these outrages. War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces , hence, ynfess who set thee up and pluck’d thee down, Gall Warwick patron, and be penitent ? And thou shalt still remain the duke of York. Gro. I thought, at least, he would have said— the king ; r did he make the jest against his will ? War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? Gio. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give: ll do thee service for so good a gift. War. “T'was J, that gave the kingdom to thy brother. K. Evw. Why, then ’tis mine, if but by War- wick’s gift. Wan. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight: _ And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; _ And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. K. Evw. But Warwick’s king is Edward’s prisoner : And gallant Warwick, do but answer this,— What is the body when the head is off? Gro. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, _ The king was slily finger’d from the deck !° You left poor Henry at the bishop’s palace, nd, ten to one, you’ll meet him in the Tower. K. Epw. ’Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. 0. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel | down, kneel down : Nay, when?” strike now, or else the iron cools. . War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, _ And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. K. Epw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and eS tide thy friend ; This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, Shall, whiles thy head is warm, and new cut off, _ Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,— | Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. Enter Oxrorn, with Forces, drum, and colours. War. O cheerful, colours! see, where Oxford comes ! Oxr. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! [He and his Forces enter the city. i ' The king was slily finger’d from the deck!] A pack of cards as formerly termed a deck of cards ; thus, in ‘‘ Selimus, Emperor the Turks,” 1594, quoted by Steevens :— Well, if I chance but once to get the deck To deal about and shufile as I would.” Nay, when?] This expression of impatience occurs again in ichard the Second,” and in ‘‘The Taming of the Shrew.” See A"); . 449, Vol. 1 Paking the red rose out of his hat.) The folio has no stage direc- KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE I. Guo. The gates are open, let us enter too. K. Epw. So other foes may set upon our backs. Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt, Will issue out again and bid us battle: If not, the city being but of small defence, Well quickly rouse the traitors in the same. War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. Enter Monracunr, with Forces, drum, and colours. Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! [He and his Forces enter the city. Gio. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. K. Epw. The harder match’d, the greater vic- tory : My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. Enter Somerset, with Forces, drum, and colours. Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! [He and his Forces enter the city. Guo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, Have sold their lives unto the house of York; And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. Enter Cuarencr, with Forces, drum, and colours. War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; With whom an* upright zeal to right prevails, More than the nature of a brother’s love :— Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call. Crar. Father of Warwick, know you what this means ? [Taking the red rose out of his hat.° Look, here I throw my infamy at thee! I will not ruinate my father’s house, Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why trow’st thou, War- wick, That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt,’ unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war (*) First folio, iz. tion here, and but for ‘‘ The True Tragedy,” which reads, ‘‘ Sound a Partie, and Richard and Clarence whispers togither, and then Clarence takes his red Rose out of his hat and throwes it at Warwicke,” it would have been difficult to guess what Clarence did on saying,— “« Look, here I throw my infamy at thee!” a4 Blunt,—] That is, dull, insensible, 443 act V.] Against his brother and his lawful king ? Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath: To keep that oath, were more impiety Than Jephtha’s,* when he sacrific’d his daughter. T am so sorry for my trespass made, That, to deserve well at my brother’s hands, IT here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ; With resolution, wheresoe’er I meet thee, (As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,) To plague thee for thy foul eee me. And so proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.— Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends ;— And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. K. Epw. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov’d, Than if thou never hadst deserv’d our hate. Gro. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brother- like. War. O passing® traitor, perjur’d, and unjust ! K. Epw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town, and fight ? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ? War. Alas, I am not coop’d here for defence ! [ will away towards Barnet presently, And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar’st. K. Epw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way :— Lords, to the field! saint George, and victory ! (March. Haeunt. SCENE II.—A Sield of Battle near Barnet. Alarums and Excursions. Enter Kina Epwarp, bringing in Warwick wounded. K. Epw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear ; For Warwick was a bug, that fear’d us all.?— Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, That Warwick’s bones may keep thine company. [ Lait. War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick ? Why ask I that ? my mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. (*) Old text, Zephak. & Passing—] Surpassing, exceeding, egregious, wondrous. note (¢), p. 644, Vol. I. b Warwick was a bug, that fear’d us all.—] Meaning, Warwick wasa bugbear, a goblin, a bogie that appalled us all. So in ‘‘ The 444 See THE THIRD PART OF [Scu EL Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, — Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, | Whose top-branch overpeer’d Jove’s spreading tree, ¥ And kept low shrubs from winter’s powerful wind, These eyes, that now are dimm’d with death’s | black veil, : Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, To search the secret treasons of the world: __ The wrinkles in my brows, now fill’d with blood, Were liken’d oft to kingly sepulchres ; ‘ For who liv’d king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile when Warwick bent his | brow ? q Lo, now my glory smear’d in dust and blood ! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Even now forsake me ; and of all my lands, Is nothing left me, but my body’s length ! Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust ? : And, live we how we can, yet die we must. Enter Oxrorp and SoMERSET. Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as_ we are, 2 | We might recover all our loss again ! , | The queen from France hath brought a puissant | power ; | Even now we heard the news: ah, couldst thou fly ! a | War. Why, then I would not fily—Ah, Mon- tague, Lf If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile! _ Thou lov’st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, — Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, | That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. | Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. a Som. Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breath’d his last ; | And to the latest gasp, cried ovg for Warwick, | And said—Commend me to my valiant brother. | And more he would have: said; and more he: spoke, ; | Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, i That mought* not be distinguish’d; but, at last, | I well might hear, deliver’d with a groan— O, farewell, Warwick | | War. Sweet rest his soul!—Fly, lords, and say yourselves ; Taming of the Shrew,” Act I. Sc. 2,—“ Tush! tush! fear boy | with bugs.” a ¢ That mought not be distinguish’d ;] This ancient use of the preterite tense of might, has been overlooked by all the editors. oT V.| heaven. [ Dies. Oxr. Away, away, to meet the queen’s great power ! | Hxeunt, bearing off Warwicx’s body. SCENE III.—Another part of the Field. ‘Flourish. Enter Kine Epwarp in triumph ; with CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, and the rest. K. Evw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are grac’d with wreaths of victory. Butin the midst of this bright-shining day, | Ispy a black, suspicious, threat’ning cloud, That will encounter with our glorious sun, + Ere he attain his easeful western bed : I mean, my lords,—those powers, that the queen Hath rais’d in Gallia, have arriv’d our coast, And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. Crar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud, _ And Blow it to the source from whence it came: Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, For every cloud engenders not a storm. Guo. The queen is valu’d thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her: If she have time to breathe, be well assur’d, Her faction will be full as strong as ours. K.Epw. We are advértis’d by our loving friends, We, having now the best at Barnet field, / Will thither straight, for willingness rids way ; And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along.— | Strike up the drum! cry—Courage! and away. ! [ Laewnt. SCENE IV.—Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter Qurnn Marcaret, Prince Evwarp, Somerset, Oxrorp, and Soldiers. Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown over-board, ‘The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood ? Yet lives our pilot still: is’t meet that he Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, | With tearful eyes add water to the sea, KING HENRY THE SIXTH. | For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in | And give more strength to that which hath too That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury: . [SCENE IV much ; Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have sav’d? Ah, what'a shame! ah, what a fault were this ! Say, Warwick was our anchor; what of that ? And Montague our top-mast; what of him ? Our slaughter’d friends the tackles; what of these ? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? . The friends of France our shrouds and’ tacklings ? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow’d the skilful pilot’s charge ? We will not from the helm to sit and weep ; But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair. And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? And Richard but a ragged fatal rock ? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say, you can swim; alas, ’tis but awhile: Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink: Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish,—that’s a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there’s no hop’d-for mercy with the brothers, More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided, ?T were childish weakness to lament, or fear. Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity, And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. I speak not this, as doubting any here, For did I but suspect a fearful man, He should have leave to go away betimes, Lest, in our need, he might infect another, And make him of like spirit to himself. If any such be here,—as God forbid !— Let him depart before we need his help. Ox. Women and children of so high a courage, And warriors faint! why, ’twere perpetual shame.— O, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee: long may’st thou live, To bear his imaye, and renew his glories ! Som. And he that will not fight for such a hope, Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day, If he arise, be mock’d and wonder’d at. Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ;—sweet Oxford, thanks. Prince. And‘take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else. 445 Act V.} Enter a Messenger. Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, Ready to fight ; therefore be resolute. Oxr. I thought no less: it is his policy, To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. Som. But he’s deceiv’d; we are in readiness. Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness. [ budge. Oxr. Here pitch our battle, hence we will not Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, Kine Epwarp, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, and Forces. K. Epw. Brave followers, yonder stands the | thorny wood, Which, by theheavens’ assistance, and your strength, Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out: Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords ! Q: Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say, My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes." T herefore, no more but this:—Henry, your sove- reign, Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp’d, His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancell’d, and his treasure spent ; And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. You fight j in justice : then, in God’s name, lords, Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. [Lxeunt both Armies. SCENE V.—Another part of the same. Alarums ; Excursions ; and afterwards a retreat. Then enter Kina Epwarp, -CLARENCE, GroucsstEr, and Forces; with QurEn Mar- GARET, OxrorD, and SomERsET, Prisoners. K. Epw. Now, here>a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hammes’ castle straight : For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them speak. Oxr. For my part, I’ll not trouble thee with words. a Mine eyes.] So ‘* The True Tragedy ;” the folio 1623 reads, ““my eye.” 446 THE THIRD PART OF Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience te fortune. [Hxeunt Oxrorp and SoMERSET, guar Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this toul world, | To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. K. Epw. Is proclamation made, that who | Edward, Shall have a high reward, and he his life ? Guo, It is; “and, lo, ‘where youthful Edy comes ! Enter Soldiers, with Princr Epwarp. K. Epw. Bring forth the gallant, let nag him speak. | What! can so young a thorn begin to prick Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make, For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turn’d me to? Princz. Speak like a subject, proud ambit York ! . Suppose that I am now my father’s mouth ; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel tho Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer t Q. Mar. Ah, thatthyfather had been so resol Gio. That you might still have worn the pe coat, And ne’er have stol’n the breech from Lave Prince. Let Alsop fable in a winter’s night His currish riddles sort not with this place. Gio. By heaven, brat, I’ll plague ye for | t word. _Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plaga "UE men. Gro. For God’s sake, take away this cap scold. Princz. Nay, take away this scolding cro back rather. K. Epw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will eb your tongue. Crar. Untutor’d lad, thou art too malapert t. Prince. I know my duty ; you are all unduti Lascivious Edward,—and thou perjur’d George And thou misshapen Dick,—I tell ye all, I am your better, traitors as ye are ;— And thou usurp’st my father’s right and mine a. K. Epw. Take that, the likeness of this rai here. [Stabs h Guo. Sprawl’st thou? take that, ie end agony. [Stabs h Crar. And there’s for twitting me with perjt [Stabs | Q. Mar. O, kill me too! [Offers to bill LI} Guo. Marry, and shall. {. Epw. Hold, Richard, hold! for we have done too much, [ words ? x0. Why should she live, to fill the world with .. Epw. What! doth she swoon? use means for her recovery. 10, Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother ; hence to London on a serious matter : ‘ye come there, be sure to hear some news. rar. What? what? xo. The* Tower, the Tower ! [ Heit. ). Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy ! st thou not speak ?—O traitors ! murderers !— y that stabb’d Czesar shed no blood at all, not offend, nor were not worthy blame, his foul deed were by to equal it. was a man; this, in respect, a child ; ] men ne’er spend their fury on a child. at’s worse than murderer, that I may name it? no; my heart will burst, an if I speak :— will speak, that so my heart may burst.— chers and villains! bloody cannibals! w sweet a plant have you untimely cropp’d ! 1 have no children, butchers! if you had, : thought of them would have stirr’d up re- o «morse: if you ever chance to have a child, ok in his youth to have him so cut off, ann sliced erane- at CLE wage ar prince ! {. Epw. Away with her! go, bear her hence perforce. me here ; re sheathe thy sword, I’Il pardon thee my death: Phat! wilt thou not?—then, Clarence, do it thou. OiAr. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. ). Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, | do thou do it. LAR. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it? — Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: “Twas sin before, but now ’tis charity. it! wilt thou not? where is that devil’s butcher,” d-fayour’d Richard? Richard, where art thou? 1 art not here: Murder is thy alms-deed ; itioners for blood thou ne’er putt’st back. . Epw. Away, I say! I charge ye, bear her - henee. SS eee re SaaS a RR i by (*) First folio omits, The. id this sweet young prince !] One sense of rid was to destroy ; ‘Scene 3 of the present Act, gy ‘¢ __for willingness rids way.” i“ The Tempest,” Act I. Sc. 2:— KING HENRY THE SIXTH. deathsmen, you have rid* this sweet young. ). Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch [SCENE VI. Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this prince ! [ Hxit, led out. K. Epw. Where’s Richard gone? Crar. To London, all in post; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower. K. Epw. He’s sudden, if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence: discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let’s away to London, And see our gentle queen how well she fares ; By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Hxeunt. SCENE VI.—London. A Room in the Tower. Kine Henry is discovered sitting with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOUCESTER. Gio. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard ? K. Hey. Ay, my good lord: my lord, I should say rather ; ’Tis sin to flatter, good was little better : Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike, And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord. Gio. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. [Heit Lieutenant. K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf : So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, And next his throat unto the butcher’s knife.— What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ? Go. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; The thief doth fear each bush an officer. - K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush, With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush: And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye, Where my poor young was lim’d, was caught, and kill’d. Gio. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown’d. K. Hen. I, Deedalus ; my poor boy, Icarus ; Thy fatner, Minos, that denied our course ; The sun, that sear’d the wings of my sweet boy, Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea, Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. ‘‘_-The red plague rid you.” b That devil’s butcher,—] In the folio 1623, the line is encum - bered by the addition of “ Richard;” but as it is not found in the corresponding line of the earlier version, it was probably only an inadvertent repetition. 447 Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! Thou hadst not liv’d to kill a son of mine. My breast can better brook thy dagger’s point, And thus I prophesy,—that many a thousand, Than can my ears that tragic history.— | Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, | But wherefore dost thou come ? is’t for my life ? And many an old man’s sigh, and many a widow, Guo. Think’st thou I am an executioner ? And many an orphan’s water-standing eye,— | K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art ; Men for their sons’, wives for their husbands’, ws If murdering innocents be executing, _ | And* orphans for their parents’ timeless death, 4 Why, then thou art an executioner. Guo. Thy son I kill’d for his presumption. “119 a And orphans, &c.] And is found only in the second fo} K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill’d when first which amends the preceding line also, by reading, “ — for th thou didst presume, husbands’ fate.” 448 eR ES we a ete omen ‘yue the hour that ever thou wast born. ‘owl shrick’d at thy birth, an evil sign ; night-crow cried, aboding“ luckless time ; s howl’d, and hideous tempest shook down trees; . ,rayen rook’d® her on the chimney’s top, | chattering pies in dismal discords sung. - mother felt more than a mother’s pain, id yet brought forth less than a mother’s hope ; wit, an indigest deformed lump,° t like the fruit of such a goodly tree. eth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, 9 signify, thou cam’st to bite the world: d, if the rest be true which I have heard, 10U cam’st— Gro. I’ll hear no more ;—die, prophet, in thy a speech ! [Stabs him. r this, amongst the rest, was I ordain’d. K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. God forgive my sins, and pardon thee !(1) [Dves. Guo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster nk in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. e how my sword weeps for the poor king’s } death ! may such purple tears be alway shed rom those that wish the downfall of our house !— any spark of life be yet remaining, own, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither, - [Stabs him again. that have neither pity, love, nor fear.— deed, ’tis true that Henry told me of ; for I have often heard my mother say came into the world with my legs forward : lad I not reason, think ye, to make haste, nd seek their ruin that usurp’d our right ? he midwife wonder’d and the women cried, , Jesus bless us, he 1s born with teeth | nd so I was; which plainly signified that I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. then, since the heavens have shap’d my body so, et hell make crook’d:my mind to answer it. haye no brother, I am like no brother : ind this word ove, which greybeards call divine, 3e resident in men like one another, nd not in me; I am myself alone.— arence, beware ; thou keep’st me from the light ; sut I will sort a pitchy day for thee: rw I will buz abroad such prophecies, tat Mie shall be fearful of his life ; § Aboding—] Foreboding, portending. | The raven rook’d her—] To ruck, or to rook means to squat wn, or lodge, or roost. © To wit, an indigest deformed lump,—] The folio 1623 reads, —an indigested and deformed lumpe.” ‘The True Tragedy,” —an undigest created lumpe.” We adopt the slight change ade by Malone, a change made also by Mr. Collier’s annotator. * Work thou the way,—and that shalt execute.] Thou refers to VOL. I, 449 kh KING HENRY THE SIXTH. [SCENE VII, And then, to purge his fear, I’ll be thy death. King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone : Clarence, thy turn is next ; and then the rest ; Counting myself but bad, till I be best.— I7ll throw thy body in another room, And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [ Hart, bearing the body. SCENE VII.—The same. A Room in the Palace. Flourish. Kine Epwarp discovered sitting on his throne; QuEEN ExizaBetu with the . infant Princr carried by a Nurse, CLARENCE, GuovucesTteR, Hastines, and others, near him. K. Epw. Once more we sit in England’s royal throne, Re-purchas’d with the blood of enemies. What valiant foemen, like to autumn’s corn, Have we mow’d down in tops of all their pride! Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown’d * For hardy and undoubted champions : Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, And two Northumberlands ; two braver men Ne’er spurr’d their coursers at the trumpet’s sound : With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, That in their chains fetter’d the kingly lion, And made the forest tremble when they roar’d. Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, And made our footstool of security.— Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy :— Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself Have in our armours watch’d the winter’s night ; Went all afoot in summer’s scalding heat, That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace ; And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. Gro. I’ll blast his harvest, if your head were laid ; For yet I am not look’d on in the world. This shoulder was ordain’d so thick, to heave ; And heaveit shall some weight, or break my back :— Work thou the way,—and that shalt execute.* [ Aside. K. Epw. Clarence and Gloster, love my lovely queen ; And kiss+ your princely nephew, brothers both. Crar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty, I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. K. Epw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.°® (*) Old text, Renowne, (+) First folio, ’tis. the speaker’s head; that, to his arm or shoulder. Some copies of the folio 1623 read, ‘‘ add that shalt,” &c. e In the folio 1623 this line, which there begins,—‘‘ Thanke Noble Clarence,” &c., has the prefix Cla. In ‘‘ The True Tragedy” it is given to the Queen, GG aot v.] Gio. And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang’st, Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit :— To say the truth, so Judas kiss’d his master ; And cried—all hail / whenas he meant—all harm. [ Aside. K. Epw. Now am I seated as my soul delights, Having my country’s peace and brothers’ loves. Crar. What will your grace have done with Margaret ? THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH. (SCENE y1_ Reignier, her father, to the king of France Hath pawn’d the Sivils and Jerusalem, And hither have they sent it for her ransom. | K. Epw. Away with her and waft her hence France.— , And now what rests, but that we spend the time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befit the pleasure of the court ?— Sound drums and trumpets !—farewell sour annoy For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [ Haeur | | (1) Scenz i.— — I here entail The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever.] This compromise is an historical fact ; and, from the fol- lowing account, extracted from a MS. in the British Museum (Harl. C. 7), appears to have been the result of long and frequent debates in parliament. ‘‘ On halmesse evyn, abowt thre after noyne, comyn into the Comowne Howus, the Lordys spiritual and temporal, excepte the Kyng, the Duk of York, and hys sonys; And the Chawn- celer reherset the debate had bytwyn owre soveren Lord the Kyng and the Duk of York upon the tytelys of Ing- lond, Fraunce, and the Lordschep of Erlond, wyche mater was debat, arguet, and disputet by the seyd lordes spirit- ual and temporal byfore owre soveren Lord and the Duk of York longe and diverse tymys. And at the last, by _gret ayyce and deliberacion, and by the assent of owre -soveryn Lord and the Duk of York, and alle the lordes spiritual and temporal ther assemelyd by vertu of thys ‘present parlement, assentyt, agreyt, and acordyt, that owre soyereyne Lord the Kyng schal pessabylly and ‘quyetly rejoys and possesse the crowne of Inglond and _of Fraunce, and the Lordchip of Irlond, with al hys pre- -emynences, prerogatyves, and liberteys during hys lyf. _ And that after hys desese, the coroun, etc., schal remayne to Rychard Duk of York, as rythe inheryt to hym and to | hys issue, prayng and desyring ther the comownes of Ing- lond, be vertu of thys present parlement assemylet, to comyne the seyd mater, and to gyff therto her assent. The whyche comyns, after the mater debatet, comynt, /grawntyt, and assentyt to the forseyd premisses. And ferthermore was granted and assentyt, that the seyd Duk of York, the Erl of March, and of Rutlond, schul be Sworne that they schuld not compas ne conspyrene the fhyages deth ne hys hurt duryng hys lyf. Ferthermore the forseyd Duk schulde be had, take and reportyt as eyr apparent prince and ryth inheryter to the crowne above- seyd. Ferthermore for to be had and take tresoun to | ymagine or compas the deth or the hurt of the seyd Duk, wythe othyr prerogatyves as long to the prince and eyr _ parawnt, And ferthermore the seyd Duk and hys sonys _ schul haye of the Kyng yerly ten thousand marces, that 1s to sey, to hemself five thousand, to the Erl of Marche | three thousand, the Erl of Rutlond two thousand marces. And alle these mateyrs agreyd, assentyt, and inactyt by the auctoritie of thys present parlement. And ferther- Tore, the statutes mad in the tyme of Kyng Herry the fowrth, wherby the croune was curtaylet to hys issu male, utterly anullyd and evertyth, wyth alle other | statutes and grantys mad by the seyd Kynges days, Kyng _ Herry the V. and King Herry the yjte, in the infforsyng _ of the tytel of Kyng Herry the fourth in general.” ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. (2) ScknE I.—Stern Falconbridge.] ‘‘The person here meant was Thomas Nevil, bastard son to the lord Faucon- bridge. ‘A man (says Hall) of no lesse corage then audacitie, who for his evel. condicions was such an apte person, that a more meter could not be chosen to set all the worlde in a broyle, and to put the estate of the realme on an ylhazard.’ He had been appointed by Warwick vice-admiral of the sea, and had in charge so to keep the passage between Dover and Calais, that none which either favoured King Henry or his friends should escape untaken or undrowned: such at least were his instructions, with respect to the friends and favourers of King Edward, after the rupture between him and Warwick. On Warwick’s death, he fell into poverty, and robbed, both by sea and land, as well friends as enemies. He once brought his ships up the Thames, and with a considerable body of the men of Kent and Essex, made a spirited assault on the City, with a view to plunder and pillage, which was not repelled but after a sharp conflict, and the loss of many lives; and, had it happened at a more critical period, might have been attended with fatal consequences to Edward. After roving on the sea some little time longer, he ventured to land at Southampton, where he was taken and beheaded.”—RITSON. (3) ScENE ITI.—Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. | “‘ While this battaill was in fightyng, a prieste called sir Robert Aspall, chappelain and schole master to the yong erle of Rutland I. sonne to the above named duke of Yorke, scarce of the age of .xii. yeres, a faire gentleman, and a maydenlike person, perceivyng that flight was more savegard, then tariyng, bothe for him and his master, secretly conveyed therle out of the felde, by the lord Cliffordes bande, toward the towne, but or he coulde enter into a house, he was by the sayd lord Clifford espied, folowed, and taken, and by reson of his apparell, de- maunded what he was. The yong gentelman dismaied, had not a word to speake, but kneled on his knees im- ploryng mercy, and desiryng grace, both with holding up his handes and making dolorous countinance, for his speache was gone for feare. Save him sayde his Chappelein, for he is a princes sonne, and peradventure may do you good hereafter. With that word, the lord Clifford marked him and sayde: by Gods blode, thy father slew myne, and so wil I do the and all thy kyn, and with that woord, stacke the erle to the hart with his dagger, and bad his Chappeleyn bere the erles mother and brother worde what he had done, and sayde. In this acte the lord Clyfford was accompted a tyraunt, and no gentelman, for the pro- pertie of the Lyon, which is a furious and an unreasonable beaste, is to be cruell to them that withstande hym, and gentle to such as prostrate or humiliate them selfes before him,.”—HALL, ea2 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACT IL. (1) ScenzE I.— Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun. | The opinion that the eagle, of all birds, possessed the faculty of gazing undazzled at the blazing sun, 1s of very high antiquity. Pliny relates that it exposes its brood to this test as soon as hatched, to prove if they be genuine or not. Chaucer refers to the belief in the ‘‘ Assemblie of Foules :’”— ‘‘ There mighten men the royal egal find, That with his sharp look persith the sonne.” As does Spenser, in the “‘Hymn of Heavenly Beauty :”— ‘‘ Mount up aloft, through heavenly contemplation, From this dark world, whose damps the soul do blind. And like the native brood of eagles kind, On that bright sun of glory fix thyne eyes, Clear’d from gross mists of frail infirmitys.” (2) ScenE II.— And happy always was tt for that son, + Whose father for his hoarding went to hell 2] An allusion to a trite proverb: ‘‘ Happy is the child whose father went to the devil.” ‘‘ It hath beene an olde proverbe, that happy is that sonne whose father goes to the devill: meaning by thys allegoricall kind of speech, that such fathers as seeke to inrich theyr sonnes by covetousnes, by briberie, purloyning, or by any other sinister meanes, suffer not onely affliction of mind, as greeved with insatietie of getting, but wyth danger of soule, as a just reward for such wretchednesse.”—GREENE’S Royal Exchange, 4to. Lond, 1590. (3) Scene II.— I would your highness would depart the field ; The queen hath best success when you are absent. | ‘‘Happy was the Quene in her two battayls, but unfor- tunate was the King in al his enterprises, for wher his person was presente, ther victory fled ever from him to the other parte, and he commonly was subdued and van- queshed.”—HALL. Drayton, in ‘“‘The Miseries of Queen Margaret,” calls attention to this general belief in the luckless fortunes of the King :— «Some thik that Warwick had not lost the day, But that the King into the field he brought; For with the worse that side went still away Which had King Henry with them when they fought. Upon his birth so sad a curse there lay, As that he never prospered in aught. The queen won two, among the loss of many, Her husband absent; present, never any.” (4) Scene {II.—A Field of Battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire.] The following is Hall’s narrative of the memorable battle of Towton ; ‘‘a battle,” Carte ob- serves, which “‘ decided the fate of the house of Lancaster, overturning in one day an usurpation strengthened by near sixty-two years’ continuance, and established Edward on the throne of England.” ‘‘The same day, about .ix. of the 452 clocke, whiche was the .xxix. day of Marche, beyng Paln sundaye, bothe the hostes approched in a playn feld between Towton and Saxton. When eche parte perceyye other, thei made a great shoute, and at the same instant! time, their fell a small snyt or snow, which by violence « the wynd was driven into the faces of them, which we of kyng Henries parte, so that their sight was somewha blemeshed and minished. The lord Fawnconbridge, whic) led the forward of kyng Edwardes battail (as before 7 rehersed) being a man of great polecie, and of much ey perience in marciall feates, caused every archer under h} standard, to shot one flyght (which before he caused ther to provide) and then made them to stand still. The North t i renmen, feling the shoot, but by reason of the snow, n¢ wel vewyng the distaunce betwene them and the! enemies, like hardy men shot their schiefe arrowes as fe as thei might, but al their shot was lost, and their lab vayn for they came not nere the Southermen by .x taylors yerdes. When their shot was almost spent, tk) lord Faweonbridge marched forwarde with his archer) which not onely shot their awne whole sheves, but als) gathered the arrowes of their enomies, and let a gre parte of them flye agaynst their awne masters, and anothi part thei let stand on the ground, which sore noyed th legges of the owners, when the battayle joyned. The e f of Northumberland, and Andrew Trolope, which we chefetayns of Kyng Henries vangard, seynge their shi not t6 prevayle, hasted forward to joine with t enemies* you may besure the other part nothing r tarded, but valeauntly foughte with their enemies. Th battayl was sore foughten, for hope of life was set < side on every parte and takynge of prisoners was pr claymed as a great offence, by reason wherof every mt determined, either to conquere or to dye in the ‘el This deadly battayle and bloudy conflicte, continued houres in doubtfull victorie. The one parte some) flowyng, and some time ebbyng, but in conclusion, kyr Edward so coragiously comforted his men, refreshyng tl wery, and helping the wounded, that the other part w) discomfited and overcome, and lyke men amased, f toward Tadcaster bridge to save them selfes: but meane way there is a litle broke called Cocke not 1 broade, but of a great deapnes, in the whiche, what f, hast of escapyng, and what for feare of folowers, a gre number were drent and drowned, in so much that the ¢o mon people there affirme, that men alyve passed ne upon dead carcasis, and that the great ryver of Whe : which ‘is the great sewer of that broke, and of all t water comyng from Towton, was colored with bloude,” (5) Scuenr VI.—¥For Gloster’s dukedom 7s too omunow) So Hall :—‘‘ It seemeth to many men that the name i title of Gloucester hath bene unfortunate and unluckie | diverse, whiche for their honor have bene erected by er¢) tion of princes to that stile and dignitie ; as Hugh Spene ‘Thomas of Woodstocke, son to Kynge Edward the thirc and this duke Humphrey ; whiche three persons by mis } able death finished their daies; and after them Ki Richard the iii. also duke of Gloucester, in civil wa was slaine and confounded ; so that this name of Glc cester is taken for an unhappie and unfortunate stile, the proverbe speaketh of Sejanes horse, whose ryder W ever unhorsed, and whose possessor was ever —_ miserie.” - | ‘ om 7 ia ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACT (1) Scrnz I.—From Scotland am I stol’n, even of ae we, &c.| “And on that parte that marched upon Scot- nde, he laied watches and espialles, that no persone jould go out of the realme to kyng Henry and his com- any, which then laye soiornyng in Scotlande ; but what- never ieoperdy or peryll might bee construed or demed to ave insued by the meanes of kyng Henry, all suche ‘oubtes were now shortly resolved and determined, and jl feare of his doynges were clerely put under and ex- net; for he hymselfe, whether he were past all feare, or -as not well stablished in his perfite mynde, or could not ong kepe hymselfe secrete, in a disguysed apparell boldely Dae ints Englande. He was no soner entered, but he ‘as knowen and taken of one Cantlowe, and brought swarde the kyng, whom the erle of Warwicke met on ae waie, by the kynges commaundement, and brought through London to the towre, and there he was laied 1 sure holde.”—HALL. (2) ScenE II.— Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman dtd lose his life.| hhisisanerror. Sir John Grey fell at the second battle f St. Alban’s, while fighting, not on the side of York, at Lancaster; a fact of which Shakespeare was subse- uently aware, since, in ‘‘ Richard III.” Act I. Se. 3, chard, addressing Queen Elizabeth, remarks,— “Tn all which time, you, and your husband Grey, Were factious for the house of Lancaster ;— And, Rivers, so were you:—was not your husband In Margaret’s batile at Saint Alban’s slain?” It may not be out of place to introduce here a portion > Hall’s description of King Edward’s first interview ‘ith the lady Grey, upon which the present scene was vunded :— ' “The king being on huntyng in the forest of Wychwod 2syde Stonnystratforde, came for his recreacion to the -annor of Grafton, where the duches of Bedford sojorned, 1en wyfe to sir Richard Wodyile, lord Ryvers, on whom ien was attendyng a doughter of hers, called dame \lizabeth Greye, wydow of sir Ihon Grey knight, slayn at e last battell of saincte Albons, by the power of kyng dward. This wydow havyng a suyt to the king, either ' be restored by hym to some thyng taken from her, or quyring hym of pitie, to have some augmentacion to -t livyng, founde such grace in the kynges eyes, that he \pt onely favored her suyte, but much more phantasied “r person, for she was a woman more of formal coun- naunce, then of excellent beautie, but yet of such utie and favor, that with her sober demeanure, lovely kyng, and femynyne smylyng, (neither to wanton nor to imble) besyde her toungue so eloquent, and her wit so egnant, she was able to ravishe the mynde of a meane rson, when she allured, and made subject to her, the rt of so great a king. After that kyng Edward had ll eonsidered all the linyamentes of her body, and the Se and womanly demeanure that he saw in her, he de- ‘mined first to attempt, if he might provoke her to be 3 Sovereigne lady, promisyng her many giftes and fayre Wwardes, affirmynge farther, that if she woulde therunto ndiscend, she myght so fortune of his peramour and neubyne, to be chaunged to his wyfe and lawfull bed- ow: whiche demaunde she so wisely and with so covert eache aunswered and repugned, aflirmynge that as she 8 for his honor farre unable to be hys spouse and bed- ow: So for her awne poore honestie, she was to good to either hys coneubyne, or sovereigne lady: that where was a littel! before heated with the dart of Cupid, he Snowe set all on a hote burnyng fyre, what for the con- ' inf fidence that he had in uer perfyte constancy, and tho trust that he had in her constant chastitie, and without any farther deliberacion, he determined with him selfe clerely to marye with her, after that askyng counsaill or them, whiche he knewe neither woulde nor once durst impugne his concluded purpose. But the duches of Yorke hys mother letted it as much as in her lay alledgyng a precontract made by hym with the lady Lucye, and divers other lettes: al which doubtes were resolved, and all thinges made clere and all cavillacions avoyded. And so, privilie in a mornyng he maried her at Grafton, where he first phantasied her visage.” (3) ScENE IIT.— I came from Edward as ambassador, But I return his sworn and mortal foe.) Shakespeare s relation of Warwick’s embassy and com- mission, and the rupture between king Edward and him in consequence of the former’s marriage with lady Grey, are strictly accordant with the statements of Hall and Holinshed ; but, as Ritson observes, ‘‘later as well as earlyer writers, of better authority, incline us to discredit the whole ; and to refer the rupture between the king and his political creator to causes which have not reached posterity, or to that jealousy and ingratitude so natural, perhaps, to those who are under great obligations, too great to be discharged. ‘ Beneficia (says Tacitus) ed usque loeta sunt, dum videntur exsolvi posse: ubi multum antevenere, pro gratca odium redditur.’” Hall’s narration of the circumstances, which appears to have been that adopted by the poet, is as follows :— “» Ten—] So Theobald. The old text reads—‘‘ 4nd able horses.” AG aah A Room in a Senator’s House. Enter Capuis. CaPH. Here, sir; what is your pleasure ? Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord Timon ; Importune him for my monies ; be not ceas’d With slight denial ; nor then silenc’d, when— Commend me to your master—and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus :—but tell him, sirrah,* My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past, And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit: I love and honour him ; But must not break my back to heal his finger: Immediate are my needs ; and my relief Must not be toss’d and turn’d to me in words, (*) First folio omits, sirrah. ¢ No porter—] From what follows we may suspect the original had ‘no grim porter.” 471 AcT It.] But find supply immediate. Get you gone : Put on a most importunate aspéct, A visage of demand; for, I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a pheenix. Get you gone. Caru. I go, sir. SEN. Take the bonds along with you,* And have the dates in compt.” CapH. I will, sir. SEN. Go. [ Hxeunt. SCENE Il.—TZhe same. A Hall in Timon’s House. Enter Fuavius, with many bills in his hand. Frav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expense That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cezse his flow of riot : takes no account How things go from him ; nor resumes ° no care Of what is to continue; never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done? he will not hear, till feel : T must be round with him, now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie! Enter Caputs, and the Servants of IstporE and Varro. Capn. Good even, Varro:* what, You come for money? Var, SERV. Is’t not your business too ? Capu. It is ;—and yours too, Isidore ? Istp. SERV. It is so. Carn. Would we were all discharg’d ! Var. SERV. I fear it. Capu. Here comes the lord. Enter Tron, Aucrsrapes, Lords, &e. Tim. So soon as dinner’s done, we’ll forth again, My Alcibiades.—With me? what is your will? Carn. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. Trar. Dues! whence are you? Carn. Of Athens here, my lord. Tia. Go to my steward. a Capua. I go, sir. SEN. The old copies read,— Capu. J go sir. Sen. I go sir? Take the bonds, &c. The repetition of ‘I go, sir,” was, in all probability, an error of the copyist or compositor. » And have the dates in compt.] Theobald’s amendment of the old text, which reads— “‘ And have the dates in, Take the bonds, &c.] Came,” 479 TIMON OF ATHENS. — [SCENE } Carn. Please it your lordship, he hath put me of To the succession of new days, this month; | My master is awak’d by great occasion, To call upon his own; and humbly prays you, That with your other noble parts you'll suit, In giving him his right. Tm. Mine honest friend, I pr’ythee, but repair to me next morning. | Carn. Nay, good my lord,— Tr. Contain thyself, good frien: Var. Serv. One Varro’s servant, my go lord,— Isrp SERV. From Isidore He humbly prays your speedy payment,— | Capu. If you did know, my lord, my master’ wants,— Var. Serv. ’I'was due on forfeiture, my loi six weeks and past. . Istp. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord and I | Am sent expressly to your lordship.— | Tm. Give me breath :— I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; I’]l wait upon you instantly. [Hxeunt ArcrpraDEs and Lords Come hither: pray you, [Z'o Fiavrus How goes the world, that I am thus encounter’d With clamorous demands of date-broke* bonds, | ; And the detention of long-since-due debts, | Against my honour ? Fav. | The time is unagreeable to this business : Your importunacy cease till after dinner ; ! That I may make-his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. | ; Please you, gentlemen, Tm. Do so, my friends :— See them well entertained. [ Hart Troy, Fay. [Hait Fravro Pray, draw near. Enter ApemMantvs and Fool. Carn. Stay, stay, here comes the fool witl Apemantus; let’s have some sport with ’em. Var. Szrv. Hang him, he’ll abuse us. Ist. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! Var. Serv. How dost, fool ? Avrm. Dost dialogue with thy shadow ? (*) Old text, debt, broken. 4 ce Nor resumes no care, &c.] The old text reads—* nor rare) no care,” &c., for which Mr. Collier’s annotator, with mucl plausibility, substitutes,—‘‘no reserves, no care,” &c., according tt Mr. Collier’s last edition of Shakespeare; or, ‘‘ no reserve; nM care,” &c., if we are to believe his monovolume edition, and th: supplemental volume of ‘‘ Notes and Emendations,” &e. ] d Good even, Varro:] The old stage direction 18, «“ Ente. Caphis, Isidore, and Varro ;” the two latter, though addressed by their masters’ names, itis clear, from what follows, are onl) servants. ACT IL] ~ Var. Serv. I speak not to thee. Apra. No; ’tis to thyself—Come away. [Zo the Fool. Ist. Serv. [70 Van. Serv.] There’s the fool hangs on your back already. _ Ape. No, thou stand’st single, thou art not on him yet. _ Carn. Where’s the fool now ? _ Aprm. He last asked the question.—Poor rogues, and usurers’ men! bawds between gold and want ! Att Serv. What are we, Apemantus ? | Apr. Asses. Aut Serv. Why? _ Apra. That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. —Speak to ’em, fool. Foot. How do you, gentlemen ? Aut Serv. Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress ? Foo. She’s e’en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at ‘Corinth ! Aprm. Good! gramercy. Foor. Look you, here comes my mistress’* page. Enter Page. Page. [70 the Fool.] Why, how now, captain ! what do you in this wise company ? How dost thou, Apemantus ? Arrm. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Pace. Pr’ythee, Apemantus, read me the super- seription.of these letters ; I know not which is which. Arrm. Canst not read ? Paces. No. _ Aprm. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon ; this ‘to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thowlt die a bawd. Pace. Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog’s death. Answer not, I am gone. [ Hart Page. Aprm. F’en so thou out-runn’st grace. Fool, I will go with you to lord Timon’s. Foor. Will you leave me there ? | Aveo. If Timon stay at home.—You three serve three usurers ? Aut Serv. Ay; would they served us ! | Arrm. So would I,—as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. _ Foor. Are you three usurers’ men? _ Atz Serv. Ay, fool. * And that unaptness made your minister,—] That unaptness became, or was made, &c. |, » At many times I brought in my accounts,—] The import is, “At many times when I brought in my accounts,” &e. | | b f | } (*) Old text, Masters. TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE IL Foou. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant : my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry ; but they enter my mistress’* house merrily, and go away sadly : The reason of this ? Van. Serv. I could render one. Arr. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster anda knaye ; which, notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed, Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ? Foor. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. ’Tis a spirit: sometime, it appears like a lord ; sometime, like a lawyer ; sometime, like a philosopher, with two stones more} than his artificial one: he is very often like a knight ; and, generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. Foou. Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. AprM. That answer might have become Apemantus. Aut Serv. Aside, aside; here comes lord Timon. Aprem. Come with me, fool, come. Foon. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman ; sometime, the philosopher. [Heeunt ApEMANTUS and Fool. Re-enter Timon and Fuiavtius. Fuav. Pray you, walk near; I’ll speak with you anon. [ Lxeunt Servants. Trm. You make me marvel: wherefore, ere this time, Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means. Fuav. You would not hear me ; At many leisures I propos’d.t Tim. Go to: Perchance some single vantages you took, When my indisposition put you back ; And that unaptness made vour minister,* Thus to excuse yourself. Fuav. O my good lord! At many times I brought in my accounts,” Laid them before you, you would throw them off, And say, you found § them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much,° I have shook my head and wept ; Yea, ’gainst the authority of manners, pray’d you (*) Old text, Masters. (t) First folio, propose. (+) First folio, moe. (§) First folio, sound. ¢ Return so much—] As Malone observes, he does not mean so great a sum, but a certain sum, as it might happen to be. 473 i) ~ WSs oS “zeN To hold your hand more close: I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate, And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov’d* lord, Though you hear now, too late! yet now’s atime, The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. Tim. Let all my land be sold. Frav. ’Tis all engag’d, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace : What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning ! Tim. To Lacedeemon did my land extend. (*) First folio omits, dear. ® You tell me true.] That is, you estimate or rate me truly. So in a previous scene, Act I. Sc. 2 :— “‘T’ll ¢eld you true. I'll call to you.” b I have retir’d me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. | This is one of those humiliating passages occasionally found in the first folio, the meaning of which, from no involution or abstruseness of language in the poet, but through some trivial error on the part of copyist or compositor, has foiled the pene- tration of every commentator. Pope boldly cut the knot by reading ‘‘lonely room” for ‘‘ wasteful cock,” but this daring substitution never got beyond his own edition. Hanmer ex- plained the doubtful words to signfy ‘a cock-loft or garret, 474 ‘ Frav. O my good lord, the world is but a word: Were it all yours to give it in a breath, . How quickly were it gone! . Ti. You tell me true.” | Fay. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before the exactest auditors, a And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, | When all our offices have been oppress’d A | With riotous feeders ; when our vaults have wept pe With drunken spilth of wine; when every room Hath blaz’d with lights, and bray’d with minstrelsy ; I have retir’d me to a wasteful cock, - |i And set mine eyes at flow. Tm. Pr’ythee, no more. lying in waste ;”(!) and Mr. Collier’s annotator changes ‘‘ waste cock” to “ wasteful nook;” an alteration not likely to faré better than Pope’s, since everybody who reads the contex feels, we apprehend, instinctively, that ‘‘a wasteful cock,” i.e. thi tap of a wine butt turned on to waste, is an image so peculiarl) | suitable in the steward’s picture of profligate dissipation, that 1 must be right. Jn default of any satisfactory explication, W' hazard a suggestion that the passage might originally have bee! printed thus,— } «¢___So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress’d , With riotous feeders ; when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine; when every room Hath blaz’d with lights, and bray’d with minstrelsy, I have retir’d (me too a wasteful cock,) And set mine eyes at flow.” Act 11.] Fray. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord ! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants, This night englutted! Who is not Timon’s ? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord Timon’s ? Great Timon! noble, worthy, royal Timon ! Ah! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : Feast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch’d. Trot. Come, sermon me no further : No villainous bounty yet hath pass’d my heart ; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, To think I shall Jack friends ? Secure* thy heart ; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men’s fortunes could I frankly use, As I can bid thee speak. Fuav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! ‘Tia. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown’d, That I account them blessings ; for by these Shall I try friends: you shall perceive, how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthyin my friends.— Within there,—Flaminius !* Servilius ! Enter Fuamrntus, Servitius and other Servants, Serv. My lord? my lord ?— Tim. I will despatch you severally.—You, to lord Lucius,—to lord Lucullus you; I hunted with |his honour to-day ;—you, to Sempronius; com- mend me to their loves; and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use ’em toward a supply of money: let the request be fifty talents. Fram. As you have said, my lord. Fray. Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum! [ Aside. _ Tim. Go you, sir, [Zo another Serv.] to the senators, Of whom, even to the state’s best health, I have (*) Old text, Flavius. ® Secure thy heart ;] Assure, make confident, thy heart. > Intending—] That is, pretending. So in “Richard III.” Act III. Sc. es) fh eae ie ata ine ; “Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion.”’ TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE IT. Deserv’d this hearing, bid ’em send 0’ the instant A thousand talents to me. Fav. I have been bold (For that I knew it the most general way) To them to use your signet and your name ; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. Tm. Is’t true? can’t be? Frav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall—want treasure—cannot Do what they would—are sorry—you are honour- able,— But yet they could have wish’d—they know not— Something hath been amiss—a noble nature May catch a wrench—would all were well—’tis pity ;— And so, intending” other serious matters, After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods, They froze me into silence. Tm, You gods, reward them !— Pr’ythee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : Their blood is cak’d, ’tis cold, it seldom flows ; Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind ; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion’d for the journey, dull, and heavy.— Go to Ventidius :—[ Zo a Serv.]| Pr’ythee, [70 Fiavrus. | be not sad, Thou art true and honest: ingeniously® I speak, No blame belongs to thee :—[ Zo Serv. ] Ventidius lately Buried his father, by whose death he’s stepp’d Into a great estate: when he was poor, Imprison’d, and in scarcity of friends, I clear’d him with five talents: greet him from me ; Bid him suppose some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember’d With those five talents :—that had,—[7’o Frav. } give it these fellows To whom ’tis instant due. Ne’er speak, or think, That Timon’s fortunes ’mong his friends can sink. Frav. I would I could not think it ; that thought is bounty’s foe ; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [weunt. ¢ Ingeniously—] The use of ingenious where we now er ploy ingenuous was not uncommon formerly. Thus in ‘* The Taming of the Shrew,” Act I. Sc. 1,— ‘« Here let us breathe and haply institute A course of learning, and ingenious stuuies.” 475 A Le LET: SCENE I.—dAthens. Fiaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to hem. Surv. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. Fram. I thank you, sir. Enter Lucvutuvs. Serv. Here’s my lord. Lucut. [Aside.] One of lord Timon’s men! a eift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir.—Fill me some wine.—[ Zait Ser- vant.| And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master ? => tit A Room in Lucullus’ House. Fram. His health is well, sir. Lucut. I am right glad that his health is well, sir; and what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius ? | Fram. ’Faith, nothing but an empty box, sit; which, in my lord’s behalf, I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lord-_ ship to furnish him ; nothing doubting your present | assistance therein. Lucu. La, la, la, la,—nothing doubting, Says he? Alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman ’tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I have dined with him, and told him’ on’t ; and come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him spend less, and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every AcT UL] man has his fault, and honesty* is his; I have told him on’t, but I could never get him from it. Re-enter Servant, with wine. Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. Lucvt. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here’s to thee. _ Fram. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. _ Bucur. I have observed thee always for a to- wardly prompt spirit,—give thee thy due,—and one that knows what belongs to reason ; and canst use the time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in thee—Get you gone, sirrah.—{ 70 the Servant, who goes out, |\—Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord’s a bountiful gentleman; but thou art wise, and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend money ; especially upon bare friendship, without security. Here’s three solidares for thee ; good boy, wink at me, and say, thou sawest me not. Fare thee well. Fram. Is’t possible the world should so much differ ; And we alive that liv’d? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee. [Throwing back the money. Lucut. Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. [Lait Lucuruuvs. Fram. May these add to the number that may | scald thee! Let molten coin be thy damnation, ‘Thou disease of a friend, and not himself ! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, I feel my master’s passion! This slave Unto his honour, has my lord’s meat in him: Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment, When he is turn’d to poison ? O, may diseases only work upon’t ! [nature ‘And, when he’s sick to death, let not that part of Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! [ Lait. SCENE II.—The same. A Public Place. Enter Lucius, with Three Strangers. Luc, Who? the lord Timon? he is my very rood friend, and an honourable gentleman. | | 1 . . | ® Honesty—] Honesty here signifies, liberality. b This slave Unto his honour, has my lord’s meat in him :] ope, who has been followed in some later editions, printed, — ' This slave Unto this hour has,” &c. ir, Collier’s annotator substitutes,— es This slave Unto his humour has,” &c. TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE IL 1 Srran. We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him: but I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours ;-—now lord 'Timon’s happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. Luc. Fie no, do not believe it ; he cannot want for money. 2 Srran. But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the lord Lucullus, to borrow so many talents;° nay, urged extremely for’t, andshowed what necessity belonged to’t, and yet was denied. Luc. How! 2 Srran. I tell you, denied, my lord. Luc. What a strange case was that! now, before the gods, I am ashamed on’t. Denied that ho- nourable man ! there was very little honour showed in’t. For my own part, I must needs confess, I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him, and sent to me, I should ne’er have denied his occasion so many talents. Enter SERVILIUS. Ser. See, by good hap, yonder’s my lord; I have sweat to see his honour—My honoured lord,— [Zo Lucius. Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well :—commend me to thy honourable, vir- tuous lord, my very exquisite friend. Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent— Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord; he’s ever sending: how shall I thank him, think’st thou? and what has he sent now ? Ser. H1’as only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. Luc. I know his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous, I should not urge it half so faithfully. Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius ? Ser. Upon my soul, ’tis true, sir. Luc. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish And Mr. Dyce thinks there is ‘‘a high probability that the true reading is,”— ‘This slander Unto his honour has,” &c. lf any change be really needed, we would read,— ‘‘ This slave Unto dishonour has,” &c. ¢ So many talents;] That is, certain talents. The expression occurs twice again in the present scene. See also note (¢), p. 473. 477 myself against such a good time, when I might | True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed ; have shown myself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part,* and undo a great deal of honour. —Servilius, now before the gods, I am not able to do; the more beast, I say :—I was sending to use lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness ; but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done it now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship ; and I hope, his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind:—and tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him ? Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. Luc. I’ll look you out a good turn, Servilius.— [Hait SeRvIutqvs. ———— ® A little part,—] Part seems a palpable misprint. We should, perhaps, as Mason suggested, read, ‘‘a little por/,” that is, osten- talion, show, and the like. Theobald proposed, “a little dirt.” 478 EY hea ——————E Ss ———— if eA wa i We eae SA oes ee And he that’s once denied will hardly speed. [ Hawt Lucrvs. 1 Srran. Do you observe this, Hostilius? 2 STRAN. Ay, too well: 1 Srran. Why this is the world’s soul; and just of the same piece [friend, Ts every flatterer’s spirit.» Who can call him his That dips in the same dish ? for, in my knowing, | Timon has been this lord’s father, And kept his credit with his purse ; Supported his estate ; nay, Timon’s money | Has paid his men their wages. He ne’er drinks, | But Timon’s silver treads upon his lip ; | And yet, (O, see the monstrousness of man | When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!) He does deny him, in respect of his, | What charitable men afford to beggars. 3 Stran. Religion groans at it. | Johnson, ‘‘a little park.” b Spirit.] An emendation by Theobald; the old text has, sport. , Act M11] 1 Srran. For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me, To mark me for his friend ; yet, I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation, And the best half should have return’d to him, So much I love his heart: but, I perceive, Men must learn now with pity to dispense, For policy sits above conscience. [ Haeunt. SCENE III.—TZhe same. A Room in Sempro- nius’ [House. Enter Sempronivs, and a Servant of Trmon’s. Sem. Must he needs trouble me in’t ?—hum ! —’bove all others? He might have tried lord Lucius or Lucullus ; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem’d from prison ; all these Owe their estates unto him. SERV. My lord, They have all been touch’d, and found base metal ; For they have all denied him ! | Sem. How! have they denied him ? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him ? ‘And does he send to me? ‘Three? hum !— Tt shows but little love or judgment in him. Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians, [me ? Thrice* give him over ; must I take the cure upon H’as much disgrac’d me in’t; I’m angry at him, That might have known my place: I see no sense for’t, But his occasions might have woo’d me first ; For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e’er received gift from him: And does he think so backwardly of me now, That I'll requite it last ? No: so it may prove An argument of laughter to the rest, And amongst lords 1” be thought a fool. ‘had rather than the worth of thrice the sum, ‘Wad sent to me first, but for my mind’s sake ; Pd such a courage to do him good. But now return, _ — Fis friends, like physicians, Thrice give him over ;] Thricz is an emendation of Johnson’s ; Thrive, b the old text having } So it may prove Ar argument of laughter to the rest, And amongst lords \ be thought a fool ;] I was introduced by the second folio. We believe, however, the orginal error arose from the trifling misprint of i¢ for I, and that the passage once stood, — TIMON OF ATHENS. villain. (SCENE Iv, And with their faint reply this answer join; Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin. [ Hatt. Serv. Excellent! Your lordship’s a goodly The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic,—he crossed himself by’t: and I cannot think, but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked ; like those that, under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms on fire. Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord’s best hope ; now all are fled, Save the gods only: * now his friends are dead, Doors, that were ne’er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year, must be employ’d Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows ; Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. [ Hart. SCENE IV.—The same. House. inter Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Lucius, meeting Tirus, Horrtenstvs, and other Servants of Trvon’s Creditors, waiting his coming out. 1 Var. Serv. Well met; good-morrow, Titus and Hortensius. Tir. The like to you, kind Varro. Hor. What, do we meet together ? Luc. Serv. Ay, and, I think, One business does command us all; for mine Is money. Trr. A Hall in Timon’s Lucius ? So is theirs and ours. Enter Puriotvs. Luc. Serv. And sir Philotus too! Pur. Good day at once. 7 Luc. Srry. Welcome, good brother. What do you think the hour ? Pur. Luc. Szrv. So much? Put. Is not my lord seen yet ? Luc. Srrv. Not yet. Pur. I wonder on’t; he was wont to shine at seven. Labouring for nine. (*) Old text, onely the Gods. db: So J may prove An argument of laughter to the rest, And amongst lords be thought a fool.” Compare: ‘* Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wi/t prove a notable argument.”’—Much Ado ahout Nothing, Act 1. Sc. 1. The same misprint occurs in “‘ King John,” Act I. Se. 1:— ** Tt would not be sir Nob in any case ;” which, in the second folio, is corrected to,— ** T would not be,” &c. 479 Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are wax’d shorter | with him: You must consider that a prodigal course Ts like the sun’s, but not like his recoverable. T fear, ’tis deepest winter in lord Timon’s purse ; That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. Put. I am of your fear for that. Trr. Ill show you how to observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. Hor. Most true, he does. Trr. And he wears jewels now of 'Timon’s gift, For which I wait for money. Hor. It is against my heart. Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows, Timon in this should pay more than he owes : And e’en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, And send for money for ’em. [ witness : Hor. I am wearv of this charge, the gods can I know my lord hath spent of Timon’s wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine’s three thousand crowns: what’s yours ? Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 1 Var. Serv. ’T'is much deep: and it should seem by the sum, Your master’s confidence was above mine ; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter FLAMINIvs. Tir. One of lord Timon’s men. Luc. Serv. Flaminius! sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to come forth ? Fiam. No, indeed, he is not. 480 Tir. We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much. Fram. I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent. [Hat FLaMiniws. Enter Fuavius, in a cloak, muffled. Luc. Serv. Ha! is mufiled so ? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. Tir. Do you hear, sir ? 1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir,— Fray. What do ye ask of me, my friend? Trt. We wait for certain money here, sir. Frav. Ay, if money were as certain as your waiting, *"T' were sure enough. Why then preferr’d you not your sums and bills, When your false masters ate of my lord’s meat? Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts, And take down the interest into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up ; Let me pass quietly : Believe’t, my lord and I have made an end ; I have no more to reckon, he to spend. Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. Frav. If twill not serve, ’tis not so base as you; For you serve knaves. [ Haut. 1 Var, Serv. How! what does his cashier’d worship mutter ? 2 Var. Serv. No matter what; he’s poor, ani that’s revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings. not that his steward ACT IIT.] Enter Srrviuivs. Tir. O, here’s Servilius ; now we shall know some answer. Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from it: for, take it of my soul, my lord leans won- drously to discontent. His comfortable temper has forsook him; he’s much out of health, and keeps his chamber. Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers are not sick : And, if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. Ser. Good gods ! Tir. We cannot take this for answer, sir. Fram. [Without.] Servilius, help !—my lord ! my lord ! Enter Timon, in a rage; Fuaminius following. Tm. What, are my doors oppos’d against my passage ? ' Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ? | The place which I have feasted, does it now, ' Like all mankind, show me an iron heart ? Le. Serv. Put in now, Titus. Tir. My lord, here is my bill. | Lc. Serv. Here’s mine. Hor. Srry. And mine, my lord.* Boru Var. Srry. And ours, my lord. Pur. All our bills. [the girdle. Tm. Knock me down with ’em:” cleave me to Luc. Srrv. Alas! my lord,— Tm. Cut my heart in sums. Trr. Mine, fifty talents. Tm. Tell out my blood. | Live. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. Tim. Five thousand drops pays that.— ‘What yours ?—and yours ? 1 Var. Serv. My lord,— 2 Var. Serv. My lord,— Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! [ Hat. Hor. ’Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money ; these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes ’em. [ Lxewnt. % And mine, my lord.] The old copies assign this speech to 1 Varro. Capell correctly gave it to the servant of Hortensius, because Varro’s two servants proffer their bills immediately afterwards. ik Put. All our bills. Tim. Knock me down with ’em :] _\Again the inveterate conceit on bill a weapon, and bill a paper! VOL, II, 481 TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE V. Re-enter Tron and Fiavtivs. Tim. They have e’en put my breath from me the slaves, Creditors !—devils. Frav. My dear lord,— Tim. What if it should be so? Frav. My lord,— Tim. I’ll have it so. Frav. Here, my lord. Tim. So fitly ? Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius ;° all : I’ll once more feast the rascals. Frav. O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul There is not so much left, to furnish out A moderate table. Tm. Be’t not in thy care ; 70, I charge thee ;. invite them all: let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I’II provide. [ Fxeunt. 2 My steward! SCENE V.—TZhe same. The Senate-House. The Senate sitting. 1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault’s bloody; ’tis necessary he should die nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him.* Enter At.crptapEs, attended. Axcrs. Honour, health, and compassion to the senate ! 1 Sen. Now, captain ? Axcrs. I am an humble suitor to your virtues ; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp’d into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into ’t. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues : Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice, (An + honour in him which buys out his fault,) But with a noble fury and fair spirit, (*) Old text, ’em. (+) Old text, And. ¢ Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius ; all:] The folio 1623 has, «s and Sempronius Vilorma; All,” but, as Ullorxa is utterly unintelligible, and overloads the line, we adopt the example set by the editor of the second folio, and expunge it from the text. If Keenan Slisiie iy Seeing his reputation touch’d to death, He did oppose his foe : And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave* his anger ere ’twas spent, As if he had but prov’d an argument. 1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox,” Striving to make an ugly deed look fair : Your words have took such pains, as if they labour’d [relling To bring manslaughter into form, and set quar- Upon the head of valour ; which, indeed, Is valour misbegot, and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He’s truly valiant, that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe ; And make his wrongs his outsides, To wear them like his raiment, carelessly ; And ne’er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, What folly ’tis to hazard life for ill ? Acts. My lord,— _ [clear : 1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look To revenge is no valour, but to bear. [me, Aucrs. My lords, then, under favour, pardon If I speak like a captain.— Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, © He did behave his anger—] Behave, in its ancient sense of coatrol, was substituted hy Rowe, in place of behoove, which is the word in the old copies; but, with Malone, we doubt the text is not yet right. 482 And not endure all threats ? sleep upon it, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy ? If there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? why then, women are more valiant That stay at home, if bearing carry it ; And the ass more captain than the lion ; f The felon* loaden with irons wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, . As you are great, be pitifully good: Y Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? — To kill, I grant, is sin’s extremest gust ; S | But, in defence, by mercy, ’tis most just. a To be in anger is impiety ; But who is man that is not angry ? Weigh but the crime with this. 2 Sen. You breathe in vain. . | ALCIB. In vain! his service done At Lacedemon, and Byzantium, Were a sufficient briber for his life. 1 Sen. What’s that ? . 3 Acts. Why, I + say, my lords, h’as done fair service, a And slain in fight many of your enemies : How full of valour did he bear himself ' In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds ! 2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with’ em,t a4 (*) Old text, fellow. (+) First folio omits, I. (t) First folio, him. b You undergo too strict a paradox,—] You undertake too harsh’ a paradox. al. ACT JIT.] He’s a sworn rioter : he has a sin that often, Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner : If there were no foes, that were enough To overcome him: in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions: ’t'is inferr’d to us, His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 1 Sen. He dies. Aucrs. Hard fate! he might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him, (Though his right arm might purchase bis own time, And be in debt to none,) yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join ’em both: And for I know your reverend ages love security, I'll pawn my victories, all my honour to you, Upon his good returns. if by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive’t in valiant gore ; For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 1 Sen. We are for law,—he dies; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure : friend or brother, He forfeits his own blood that spills another. Axcis. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, JT do beseech you, know me. 2 Sen. How! Atcrs. Call me to your remembrances. 3 SEN. What ! Acts. I cannot think but your age has forgot me ; It could not else be I should prove so base, _ To sue, and be denied such common grace : My wounds ache at you. 1 Sen. Do you dare our anger ? ’Tis in few words, but spacious in effect ; | We banish thee for ever. Acts. Banish me! Banish your dotage’; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly. 1 Sen. If, after two days’ shine, Athens contain thee, . Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. [Zaewnt Senators. Axcis. Now the gods keep you old enough ; | that you may live Only in bone,* that none may look on you! I’m worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money, and let out Their coin upon large interest ; I myself, | Rich only in large hurts ;—all those, for this ? * That you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you!] What living in bone may mean, and why when ossified these aged ' Senators should become invisible, are beyond our comprehension ; though we make the avowal with diffidence, because previous editors print the passage without any misgiving apparently as to 483 TIMON OF ATHENS. (SCENE VI. Is this the balsam that the usuring senate Pours into captains’ wounds? Banishment ! It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish’d It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I?ll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. ‘Tis honour with most lands to be at odds ; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. [ Hat. . ’ 4 SCENE VI.—The same. A magnificent Room én Timon’s House. Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter divers Lords, at several doors. 1 Lorp. The good time of day to you, sir. 2 Lorp. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this other day. 1 Lorp. Upon that were my thoughts tiring,® when we encountered: I hope, it is not so low with him, as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. 2 Lorp. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. 1 Lorp. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and I must needs appear. 2 Lorp. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. J am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. 1 Lorn. Iam sick of that grief too, as I under- stand how all things go. 2 Lorp. Every man here’s go. he have borrowed of you ? 1 Lorp. A thousand pieces. 2 Lory. A thousand pieces ! 1 Lorp. What of you? 3 Lorp. He sent to me, sir,—Here he comes. What would Enter Timon and Attendants. Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both :—and how fare you? 1 Lory. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. 2 Lorp. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship. its integrity. Hamlet, speaking to Ophelia of her father, says,— ‘‘Let the doors be shut upon him, that he play the fool nowhere but in’s own house,” and it may be questionable whether ‘only in bone’’ is not a typographical error for only at home, or only in doors. b Tiring,—] That is, pecking, as a bird at its prey. | es Tin. [ Astde.] Nor more willingly leaves winter ; such summer-birds are men.—Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly 0’ the trumpet’s sound: we shall to ’t presently. | 1 Lorn. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship, that I returned you an empty mes- senger. | Trt. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 2 Lorp. My noble lord,— Tr. Ah, my good friend! what cheer ? 2 Lorp. My most honourable lord, I am e’en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. Tim. Think not on’t, sir. 2 Lorp. If you had sent but two hours before,— Tim. Let it not cumber your better remem- brance.—Come, bring in all together. [The Banquet brought in. 2 Lorn. All covered dishes ! 1 Lorp. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 3 Lorp. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. 1 Lorp. How do you? what’s the news ? 3 Lorp. Alcibiades is banished; hear you of it ? 1 & 2 Lorn. Alcibiades banished ! 3 Lorn. *Tis so, be sure of it. a The rest of your fees,—] Warburton proposed foes ; but Capell explained ‘‘The rest of your fees” to mean, ‘‘ forfeits due to your vengeance.” 484 i oe — 1 Lorp. How! how! -% 2 Lorp. I pray you, upon what ? @ Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 3 Lorp. I’ll tell you more anon. Here’s a noble feast toward. a 2 Lorp. This is the old man still. 3 Lorp. Will’t hold? will’t hold ? 2 Lorp. It does: but time will—and so— 3 Lorp. I do conceive. Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, — to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: sit, sit. The gods require our than You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with i thankfulness. For your own gifts, make your- selves praised ; but reserve still to give, lest you deities be despised. Lend to each man enough that one need not lend to another ; for, were your — godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved, more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty — be without a score of villains : if there sit twelve — women at the table, let a dozen of them be—as — they are-—The vest of your fees,» O gods,—the : : b senators of Athens, together with the common lag’ of people,—what is amiss in them, you gods mate ¥ b Lag—] So Rowe. The old text has “ /egge,” for which ee Collier’s annotator substitutes ‘‘ tag.” a _ «© o ] . er oe ACT III. } suitable for destruction. For these my present friends,—as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome. Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes, uncovered, are full of warm water. Some spEAK. What does his lordship mean ? Somsz oruer. I know not. Trim. May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke and luke-warm water Is your perfection. This is Timon’s last ; Who, stuck and spangled with your* flatteries, Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces [Lhrowing water in their faces. Your reeking villainy. Live loath’d, and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears ; You fvols of fortune, trencher-friends, time’s flies, Cap-and-knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks ! Of man and beast the infinite malady Crust you quite o’er !—What, dost thou go ? Soft, take thy physic first—thou too,—and thou ;— [Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out. Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.— (*) Old text, you with. & One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.] It has been inferred from the mention of stones in this line that Shakespeare was not unacquainted with the old Academic drama noticed in the Introduction, where ‘‘ painted stones” form part of the banquet ; but the traces of a feebler hand than his are so evident and so fre- A TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE VI. What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, Whereat a villain’s not a welcome guest. Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be Of Timon, man and all humanity ! (1) [ Hatt. Re-enter the Lords, with Senators. other Lords and 1 Lorp. How now, my lords ! 2 Lorp, Know you the quality of lord Timon’s fury ? 3 Lorp. Push! did you see my cap ? 4 Lorn. I have lost my gown. 3 Lorp. He’s but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: —did you see my jewel? 4 Lorp. Did you see my cap ? 2 Lorn. Here ’tis. 4 Lorp. Here lies my gown. 1 Lorv. Let’s make no stay. 2 Lorp. Lord Timon’s mad. 3 Lorp. I feel’t upon my bones. 4 Lorp. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.* (2) [ Hxeunt. quent in the present play, that we think, with Mr. Knight, the dialogue which concludes this act was probably a portion of the old piece, which, recast and improved by Shakespeare, forms the tragedy before us. When, in remodelling the stage business, he caused the feast to consist of warm water in lieu of stones, he perhaps neglected to cancel the line above. yo Wii ed AK at Len SS) ACE Ve SCENE I.— Without the Walls of Athens. Enter Timon. | Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, — And pill by law! maid, to thy master’s bed;— _ Tum. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall, | Thy mistress is 0’ the brothel! son * of sixteen, — That girdlest* in those wolves, dive in the earth, | Pluck the lin’d crutch from thy old limping sire, ~ And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! | With it beat out his brains! piety, and fear, Obedience fail in children ! slaves and fools, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, | Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood And minister in their steads! to general filths Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Convert* o’ the instant, green virginity ! Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, Do’t in your parents’ eyes! bankrupts, hold fast; | Decline to your confounding contraries, Rather than render back, out with your knives, And yet? confusion live!—Plagues, incident to men, And cut your trusters’ throats! bound servants, | Your potent and infectious fevers heap steal ! On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica, (*) Old text, girdles. (*) First folio, Some. ® Convert 0’ the instant, green virginity !] That is, turn yourself, | reading is,—‘‘ And let confusion live!” but yet has here the sense green virginity, into, &c. we have shownit to bear in many other passages, of now, and any And yet confusion live !] So the old text. The usual modern | change detracts from the emphasis and grandeur of the climax. 486 Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners ! lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, That ’gainst the stream. of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains, ‘Sow all the Athenian bosoms, and their crop Be general leprosy! breath infect breath ; That their society, as their friendship, may Be merely poison! Nothing I’ll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou détestable town ! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans ! Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all,) The Athenians both within and out that wall ! And grant, as Timon. grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen, [ Hat. % As we do turn our backs From our companion thrown into his grave, j So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away ;] X\ r \ SCENE II.—Athens. A Room in Timon’s House. Enter Fuavivs, with two or three Servants. 1 Szrv. Hear you, master steward, where’s our master ? Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining ? Fuav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you ? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. 1 Srrv. Such a house broke ! So noble a master fall’n! All gone! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him ! 2 SERV. As we do turn our backs From* our companion thrown into his grave, So his familiars to his buried fortunes Mason proposed, with reason, that from and to in this passage should change places. 487 ACT Iv.] Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick’d: and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn’d poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone.—More of our fellows. Enter other Servants. Fray. All broken implements of a ruin’d house. 3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon’s livery, That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow: leak’d is our bark ; And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air. Fuav. Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I’ll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon’s sake, Let’s yet be fellows; let’s shake our heads, and say, As ’twere a knell unto our master’s fortunes, We have seen better days. Let each take some ; [Giving them money. Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. [Servants embrace, and part several ways. O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us ! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt ? Who'd be so mock’d with glory ? or so* live But in a dream of friendship ? To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,” But only painted, like his varnish’d friends ? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart ; Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,° When man’s worst sin is, he does too much good! Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord,—bless’d, to be most accurs’d, Rich, only to be wretched ;—thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He’s flung in rage from this ingrateful scat Of monstrous friends : Nor has he with him to supply his life, Or that which can command it. T’ll follow, and inquire him out: T’ll ever serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I’ll be his steward still. [| Hwt. ® Or so live—] The old text has,—‘ or to live,’’ which is unin- telligible. The slight change of so for to occurred to us many years ago, and we are glad to find it recently proposed by Mr. Grant White, in his entertaining and suggestive book, called -‘Shakespeare’s Scholar,” &c., p. 393. b And all what state compounds,—] Mr. Collier’s annotator reads,—‘‘ Ail state comprehends.” ¢ Strange, unusual blood,—] Blood is here supposed to signify propensity or disposition ; but we suspect it to be one of several misprints by which this speech is depraved. 4 Raise me this beggar, and demit that lord ;] The old text has— r deny’t that, lord,’”? which, notwithstanding Mr. Dyce pronounces it “unquestionably right,” we believe to be certainly wrong, and a mere misprint for demit, of old spelt demyt, from the Latin demitto, to depress or cast down. ® It is the pasture lards the rother’s sides,—] Rother is an 488 TIMON OF ATHENS. (SCENE I. SCENE III.—The Woods. Enter Timon, with a spade. Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity ; below thy sister’s orb Infect the air! 'Twinn’d brothers of one womb,— Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant,—touch them with fortunes ; The greater scorns the lesser: not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and demit? that lord ; The senator* shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother’s® sides, The want that makes him lean.t Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say, This man’s a flatterer ? if one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth’d‘ by that below: the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique ;t There’s nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr’d All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains : Destruction fang mankind!—Earth, yield me roots! [ Digging. Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison !—What is here? — Gold ? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle? votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! Thus much of this will make black, white; foul, several fair ; ae Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, ~ valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods! why this . Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; Pluck stout® men’s pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave ie Will knit and break religions ; bless the accurs’d ; Make the hoar leprosy ador’d ; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, (*) Old text, Senators. (+) First folio, Zeave. (t) First folio, Ali's obliquie. . emendation by Mr. Singer; the first folio reading,— “Tt is the Pastour Lards, the Brothers sides.” f Is smooth’d by that below:] After all that has been written upon this passage, the sense of smooth’d here remains to be explained, It means, fawned on, beslavered, &c. g I am no idle votarist.] Mr. Collier’s annotator reads, ‘‘ idol votarist;’’ but idle here, as in ‘“‘ Hamlet,” Act III. Se. 3, and ir. other places, means mad-bruined, demented. h Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads :] Hanme: was surely right in substituting sick for stout : the allusion is te an atrocious practice attributed to nurses of sometimes accelerating the dissolution of their patients by drawing away the pillows from beneath their heads. a ee AT 1Vv.] With senators on the bench: this is it, That makes the wappen’d widow wed again ; She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the Apri] day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that putt’st odds Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature—[March afar of. |—Ha! a drum !—Thovw’rt quick, But yet I’ll bury thee: thou’lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand :— Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Laying aside some gold. Enter Aucrp1aves, with drum and fife, in war- like manner ; Purynta and TrmanprRa. AxcrB. What art thou there? speak. Tm. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! Axcis. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man ? Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind.(1) For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALcrB. I know thee well ; But in thy fortunes am unlearn’d and strange. Tim. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; With man’s blood paint the ground, gules, gules : Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; Then what should war be ? This fell, whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubin look. Pury. Thy lips rot off ! Tm. I will not* kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. Aucrs. How came the noble Timon to this change ? Ti. As the moon does, by wanting light to rive : But then renew I could not, like the moon ; There were no suns to borrow of. Aucrs. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee? Tm. None, but to maintain my opinion. Axcis. What is it, Timon? Tro. Promise me friendship, but perform none : if thou wilt not? promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ® J will not kiss thee ;] We should perhaps read, ‘‘I will but kiss thee.” TIMON OF ATHENS, [SCENE il. Axcis. Ihave heard in some sort of thy miseri2s. Tim. ‘Thou saw’st them, when I had prosperity. Aucts. I see them now; then was a blessed time. Tr. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voie’d so regardfully ? Tim. Art thou Timandra ? Trman. Yes. Tm. Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee ; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast, and the diet. TIMAN. Hang thee, monster ! Axcis. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown’d and lost in his calamities.— I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band: I have heard, and griev'd, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,— Tra. I pr’ythee beat thy drum, and get thee gone. Axcis. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. Tim. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble ? I had rather be alone. ALCIB. Why, fare thee well: Here’s some gold for thee. Tr. Keep it, I cannot eat it. Aucrs. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,— Tim. Warr’st thou ’gainst Athens? ALI. Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tru. The godsconfound them all inthy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquered ! Axcis. Why me, Timon? Tm. That, by killing of villains, Thou wast born to conquer my country. Put up thy gold; go on,—here’s gold,—go on ; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o’er some high-vie’d city hang his poison In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour’d age for his white beard,— He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron :— It is her habit only that is honest, Herself ’s a bawd: let not the virgin’s cheek b If thou wilt not promise,—] Here again not appears to be a inisprint for buf. 489 ACT IV.] Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk- aps, That throu ithe window-bars* bore at men’s eyes,” Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy ; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronoune’d thyt throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse : swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes, Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There’s gold to pay thy soldiers: Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. Aucrs. Hast thou gold yet? I’ll take the gold thou giv’st me, Not all thy counsel. Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven’s curse upon thee! Pury. & Tran. Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more? Tm. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. sluts, Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable,— Although I know you’ll swear, terribly swear, Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues, The immortal gods that hear you,—spare your oaths, I’ll trust to your conditions: be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; Let your close” fire predominate his smoke And be no turneoats: yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs With burdens of the dead ;—some that were hang’d, No matter :—wear them, betray with them: whore still ; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: A pox of wrinkles ! Pury. & Trman. Well, more gold ;—what then? Believe’t, that we’ll do anything for gold. Hold up, you ~ (*) Old text, Barne. (+) Old text, the. For those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men’s eyes,—] Johnson interprets this, ‘‘The virgin that shows her bosom through the lattice of her chamber!” and although we have two pages of commentary on the subject in the ‘‘ Variorum,” no writer there has exposed the absurdity of this expJanation. The ‘*window-bars” in question: meant the cross-bars or lattice- work worn, aS we see it in the Swiss women’s dress, across the breasts. In modern times, these bars have always a bodice of satin, muslin, or other material beneath them; af one period they 490 TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE Itt, Tm. Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men’s spurring. Crack the lawyer’s voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen,* That scolds* against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down*with the nose, Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, . Smells from the general weal: make curl’d-pate ruffians bald ; And let the unscarr’d braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: plague all ; That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection.—There’s more gold ;— Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all! Pury. & Tran. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tm. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. Acre. Strike up the drum, towards Athens! Farewell, Timon ; If I thrive well, I’ll visit thee again. Tim. If I hope well, I’ll never see thee more. Aucts. I never did thee harm. Tru. Yes, thou spok’st well of me. ALCIB. Call’st thou that harm? Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away, And take thy beagles with thee. ALCIB. We but offend him.— Strike ! | [Drum beats. Haxewnt ALCTBIADES, PuryniA, and 'TIMANDRA. Tru. That nature, being sick of man’s unkind- ness, Should yet be hungry !— Common mother, thou,—(?) [ Digging. Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff’d, Engenders the black toad and adder-blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom’d worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion’s quick’ning fire doth shine, Yield him, who all thy human sons dotht hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, (*) Old text, scold’st. (+) Old text, the, ({) Old text, do. crossed the nude bosom. . bs Let your close fire—] Close, of old, among other significations, meant ‘wanton, lascivious, &c., of which none of the commenta- — tors seem to have been aware, and of which even Gifford was ignorant; vide Vol. II. p. 300, of Ben Jonson’s Works on the passage :-—“ I am to say to you these ladies are not of that close and open behaviour as haply you may suspend,” ¢ Hoar the flamen,—] Infect with the ‘hoar, or white, leprosy; } the priest, &c. Ai aot Iv. | Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Neyer presented ! —O, a root,—dear thanks ! Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas ; Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips !— More man? Plague! plague ! ' Enter APEMANTUS. Apr. I was directed hither : men report, Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. Tm. ’Tis then, because thou dost not keep a do Whom I mpakd imitate: consumption catch thee ! Aprem. This is in thee a nature but infected ; A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung From change of fortune.* Why this spade? this lace ? This slave-like habit ? and these looks of care ? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft ; Hug their diseas’d perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive ‘By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou It observe, ‘Blow off thy cap: praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent : thou wast told thus ; Thou gav’st thine ears, (like tapsters that bad * welcome, ) To knayes and all approachers : tis most just That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have’t. Do not assume my like- ness. Tim. Were I like thee, I’d throw away myself. _ Avro. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself 4 madman so long, now a fool: what, think’st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moss’d° trees, Chat have outliv’d the eagle, page thy heels, And skip when thou point’st out ? Will the cold brook, Jandied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, lo cure thy o’er-night’s surfeit? call the crea- tures, (*) Old text, future. _* Like tapsters that bad welcome,—] Thus the first folio, which, rom not perceiving that bad meant the bad of society, bad people, ater editors have changed to,—“ like tapsters that bid wel- ome,” &c, TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE III. Whose naked natures live in all the spite Of wreakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements expos’d, Answer mere nature, bid them flatter thee ; O! thou shalt find— Tr, A. fool of thee: depart. Aprm. I love thee better now than e’er I did. Tim. I hate thee worse. APEM, Why ? Tr, Thou flatterest misery. Arrm. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff. Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? APEM. To vex thee. Tru. Always a villain’s office, or a fool’s. Dost please thyself in’t ? APEM. Ay. Ti. What ! a knave too? Aprem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, ’t were well: but thou Dost it enforcedly ; thou’dst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives incertain pomp, is crown’d before The one is filling still, never complete ; The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. Tim. Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune’s tender arm With favour never clasp’d, but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, pro- ceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords, To such as may the passive drugs® of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plung’d thyself In general riot ; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn’d The icy precepts of respect; but follow’d The sugar’d game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary ; The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment ; That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves Do on the oak, have with one winter’s brush Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare For every storm that blows ;—I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in’t. Why shouldst thou hate men ? They never flatter’d thee: what hast thou given? b Will these moss’d trees,—] The old text has, moyst trees. The emendation, which was made by Hanmer, is strengthened by the line in, ‘‘ As you Like It,” Act IV. Se. 3:— ‘‘ Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age.” ¢ Passive drugs—] That is, drudges. Mr. Collier’s annotator gives, ‘‘ passive dugs.” 491 AOT IVv.} If thou wilt curse,—thy father, that poor rag,* Must be thy subject ; who, in spite, put stuff To some she-beggar, and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone!— Tf thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. Aprem, Art thou proud yet ? Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. Arrm. I, that I was no prodigal. Trim. I, that I am one now ; Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I’d give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.— That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. [Hating a root. APEM. Here ; I will mend thy feast. [Offering him something. Tr. First mend my * company, take away thyself. Aven. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. Tur. ’Tis not well mended so, it is but botch’d ; If not, I would it were. Aprm. What wouldst thou have to Athens ? Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. Avrm. Here is no use for gold. Tim. The best, and truest : For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. Avrrem. Where liest 0’ nights, Timon ? Tm. Under that’s above me. Where feed’st thou o’ days, Apemantus ? AprmM. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. Tim. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind! Apvrem. Where wouldst thou send it? Tim. To sauce thy dishes. AprrM. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity ;” in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There’s a medlar for thee, eat it. Trt. On what I hate I feed not. ApEM. Dost hate a medlar? Tim. Ay, though® it look like thee. Aprm. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. (*) Old copies, thy. a That poor rag.—] Mr. Singer’s corrected second folio reads, “* poor rogue,” a substitution also proposed by Johnson; but, as Mr. Dyce remarks, ‘‘rag occurs elsewhere in our author as a term of contempt; and it was formerly a very common one.” b Curiosity ;] Finical refinement. © Ay, though it look like thee.] Johnson observes on this speech,—‘‘ Timon here supposes that an objection against hatred, which through the whole tenor of the conversation appeare an argument for it. answered :— 492 TIMON OF ATHENS. One would have expected him to have ! ~~ [SCENE ny, | What man didst thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after his means ? . Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest | of, didst thou ever know beloved ? | Aprm. Myself. | Tim. I understand thee; thou hadst some means | to keep a dog. Arem, What things in the world canst thon _ nearest compare to thy flatterers ? | Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? ApreM. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. - Tru. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the | confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts ? . | Aprrem. Ay, Timon. . Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee to attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy | dulness would torment thee; and still thou livedst | but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the | wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee,(8) and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be. seized by the leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were | remotion, and thy defence, absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? f and what a beast art thou already, that seest not — thy loss in transformation ? i Aprm. If thou couldst please me with speaking — to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of — beasts. | Tur. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city ? Ms Aprm. Yonder comes a poet and a painter : the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way: when I know not what else to do, I’ll see thee again. ‘ Yes, for it looks like thee.’ ”’ The remark is just, if we accept the word though in its ordina it sense; but in this place and elsewhere it appears to import, #f 0!) since. Compare,— ‘‘My lips are no common, though several they be.” Love’s Labour's Lost, Act JI. Se. 1) And,— ‘*No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons, | : i You are so empty of them.” Troilus and Cressida, Act II, Se. 1 Pi _ Tru. When there is nothing living but thee, | thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar’s dog, than Apemantus. | Aprm. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. _ Tia. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon ! Aprm. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse ! SS = ~ Ss by NG ", YU SES « Tim. All villains that do stand by thee are pure. Aprm. There is no leprosy but what thou speak’st. Tim. If I name thee.— T’ll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. Aprm. I would my tongue could rot them off! Tum. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! 493 AOT Iv.]| Choler does kill me that thou art alive ; I swoon to see thee. APEM. Would thou wouldst burst ! Tm. Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him. APEM. Beast ! Tm. Slave ! APEM. Toad ! Tm. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! [ APEMANTUS retreats backward, as going. I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon it. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others’ lives may laugh. O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce [Looking on the gold. *T'wixt natural son and sire !* thou bright defiler Of Hymen’s purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, lov’d, and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian’s lap! thou visible god, That solder’st close impossibilities, And mak’st them kiss! that speak’st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts ! Think, thy slave man rebels; and by thy virtue Set ‘hom into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! APEM. Would *twere so !— But not till I am dead.—I’ll say thou’st gold: Thou wilt be throng’d to shortly. Tm. Throng’d to! APEM. Ay. Tm. Thy back, I pr’ythee. APEM. Live, and love thy misery | Tru. Long live so, and so die!—I am quit.— [Hai APEMANTUS. More things like men ?—Eat, Timon, and abhor them.’ Enter Banditti. 1 Ban. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender ort of bis re- mainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling- from of his fr iends, drove him into this melancholy. 2 Ban. It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. 3 Ban. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for’t, he will supply us easily ; if he covet- ously reserve it, how shall’s get it? (*) Old text, Sunne and fire. 4 More things like men, &c.] In the old copies, this line, which runs,— ‘* Mo things like men, Eate Timon, and abhorre then,” 494 TIMON OF ATHENS. | (SCENE Ir, 2 Ban. True; for he bears it not about him, tis, hid. 1 Ban. Is not this he? Banvirrr. Where? 2 Ban. *Tis his description. 3 Ban. He; I know him. ' Banovirti. Save thee, Timon. M Tim. Now, thieves ! 4 Banpirti. Soldiers, not thieves. Tm. Both too ; and women’s sons. Banvirtr. We are not thieves, but men that | much do want. | Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much. of| meat. [ roots ; | Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath Within this mile break forth a hundred springs ; . The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips ; The bounteous Houeewiiel Nature, on each bush | Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want? | . 1 Ban. We cannot live on grass, on berries, | water, 3 As beasts, and birds, and fishes, Tr. Nor on the beasts themselves, the via, | and fishes ; . i You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, | That you are thieves protess’d ; that you work not. In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft | In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here’s gold: go, suck the subtle blood o’ the, grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so ’scape hanging: trust not the physicians His antidotes are poison, and he slays | More* than you rob: take wealth and lives’ to- gether ; 4 Do villainy,f do, since you protest to do’t, Like workmen. I’ll example you with thievery: The sun’s a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the,moon’s an arrant thief, — And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: — The sea’s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth’s a thief, — That feeds and breeds by a composture stol’n a From general excrement: each thing’s a thief; (4) | The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough ower - Have uncheck’d theft. Love not yourselves ; away ; A Rob one another ;—there’s more gold:—cut throats; All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: steal not? less, for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe’ er! Amen. [Timon retires to his cave. (*) Old text, Moe. (+) Old text, Villaine. ll is assigned to Apemantus. b Steal not less,—] Not, which is omitted in the old copies, was first supplied by Rowe. ds ESS 3 Ban. H’as almost charmed me from my pro- fession, by persuading me to it. 1 Ban. ’Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 2 Ban. I’ll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. 1 Ban. Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable but a man may be true.* [Hxeunt Banditti. Enter FLAVIUS. Frav. O you gods! Is yond despis’d and ruinous man my lord ? Full of decay and failing ? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow’d! What an alteration of honour Has desperate want made ! What viler thing upon the earth, than friends Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends ! How rarely does it meet with this time’s guise, When man was wish’d to love his enemies : Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me, than those that do ! H’as caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life.—My dearest master ! & True.] That is, honest. Tron comes forward from his cave. Tim. Away! what art thou? Fav. Have you forgot me, sir? Tr. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men ; Then, if thou grant’st* thou’rt a man, I have forgot thee. Fav. An honest poor servant of yours. Tim. Then I know thee not: T ne’er had honest man about me, I; All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. Fav. The gods are witness, Ne’er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. Trim. What, dost thou weep ?—Come nearer then ;—I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim’st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give, But thorough lust and laughter. Pity’s sleeping : Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping ! Fav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts, To entertain me as your steward still. Tim. Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable ? *) Old text, grunt’st. 495 ACT Iv.] Tt almost turns my dangerous nature wild.* Let me behold thy face.—Surely, this man Was born of woman.— Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man,—mistake me not,— but one ; No more, I pray,—and he’s a steward.— How fain would I have hated all mankind, And thou redeem’st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise ; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service : For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord’s neck. But tell me true, (For I must ever doubt, though ne’er so sure,) Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one ? Fray. No, my most worthy master; in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac’d too late : You should have fear’d false times, when you did feast : Suspect still comes where an estate is least. & Wild.] Hanmer and Warburton read mild, and the same word is suggested by Mr. Collier’s annotator. TIMON OF ATHENS. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely loye, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, j Care of your food and living: and, believe it, My most honour’d lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I’d exchange For this one wish,—that you had power and weal To requite me, by making rich yourself. Tnr. Look thee, ’tis so!—Thou singly honest man, . Here, take :—the gods out of my misery ; Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy; But thus condition’d ; thou shalt build from me Hate all, curse all: show charity to none; But let the famish’d flesh slide from the bone, _ Ere thou relieve the beggar: give todogs What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow ’em, P Debts wither ’em to nothing: be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods ! And so, farewell, and thrive. 4 Fray. O, let me stay, — And comfort you, my master. Tmo. If thou hat’st ¢ Stay not ; fly, whilst thou’rt bless’d and free: 3 Ne’er see thou man, and let me ne’er see thee [£xit Fuavrvs. Tron retires into his cave. _/“~ Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, unseen | by them. Pam. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Porr. What’s to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true, that he’s so full of gold? Paw. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quan- tity: ’tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum, Port. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Paty. Nothing else; you sha!l see him a palm Vol... II, 497 ae y By Y i il i tit i i il i ACT V SCENE I.—Before Timon’s Cave. in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore ’tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having. Porr. What have you now to present unto him ? Par. Nothing at this time but my visitation : only I will promise him an excellent piece. Pont. I must serve him so too,—tell him of an intent that’s coming toward him. Parn. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o’the time; it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the K K ACT V.]| deed of saying* is quite out of use. 'To promise, is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. Trt. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Port. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself: a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. Tra. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Port. Nay, let’s seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Patn. True ;— When the day serves, before black-corner’d” night, Find what thou want’st by free and offer’d light.° Come. Tr. I’ll meet you at the turn.— What a god’s gold, That he is worshipp’d in a baser temple Than where swine feed ! Tis thou that rigg’st the bark, and plough’st the foam ; Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship !* and thy saints for aye Be crown’d with plagues, that thee alone obey !— Fit I meet them. [ Advaneing. Port. Hail, worthy Timon ! Pain. Our late noble master ! Tim. Have I once liv’d to see two honest men ? Port. Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retir’d, your friends fall’n off, Whose thankless natures—O abhorred spirits !— Not all the whips of heaven are large enough— What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being ! I am rapt, and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. Tim. Let it go naked, men may see’t the better: You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. PAIN. He and myself Have trayail’d in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. Tm. Ay, you are honest men.f Parn. We are hither come to offer you our service. (*) Old text, worshipt. (+) First folio, man. ® The deed of saying—] In other words, the performance of promise. b Black-corner’d night,—] For this strange expression, a cor- 498 TIMON OF ATHENS. ' ' Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall 1 requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. | Boru. What we can do, we’ll do, to do service. [SCENE 4 : i, “ you Tim. You’re honest men: you’ve heard that I have gold; I am sure, you have: speak truth: you’re honest men. Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but there- fore Came not my friend nor I. Tim. Good honest men !—Thou draw’st a coun- terfeit Best in all Athens: thou’rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit’st most lively. Pam. So, so, my lord. Tim. Even so, sir, as I say.—And, for thy fiction [Zo the Poet. Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth, That thou art even natural in thine art.— But, for all this, my honest-natur’d friends, I must needs say you have a little fault : Marry, ’tis not monstrous in you ; neither wish I You take much pains to mend. Boru. - Beseech your honour, To make it known to us. Tm. You'll take it ill. Born. Most thankfully, my lord. Tim. Boru. Doubt it not, worthy lord. Tim. There’s ne’er a one of you but trusts a knave, i That mightily deceives you. Boru. Do we, my lord? Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom: yet remain assur’d, That he’s a made-up villain.* Pain. I know none such, my lord. Poet. Nor I. | Tim. Look you, I love you well; I’ll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies : Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, _ Confound them by some course, and come to me, | I'll give you gold enough. Botu. Name them, my lord, let’s know them. — Tim. You that way, and you this,—but two in company = Each man apart, all single and alone, 7 respondent of Steevens’ proposed to read, ‘‘ black-cover’d night.” — Mr. Dyce suggests ‘* black-curtain’d night.” ¢ When the day serves, &c.] This couplet should be assigned to the Poet, to whom it undoubtedly belongs. 4 A made-up villain.) A finished, or aceomplished villain. {- Will you, indeed? — aT Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. _ If, where thou art, two villains shall not be, [ Z'o the Painter. Come not near him.—If thou wouldst not reside | [Zo the Poet. But where one villain is, then him abandon.— Hence! pack! there’s gold, you came for gold, ye slaves : You have done* work for me, there’s payment : hence ! You are an alchemist, make gold of that :— Out, rascal dogs ! [Beats them out, and then retires into his cave. Enter Fuavris, and Two Senators. Fray. It is vain that you would speak with Timon ; For he is set so only to himself, That nothing but himself, which looks like man, Is friendly with him. _ 1 Sen, Bring us to his cave: ‘It is our part, and promise to the Athenians, To speak with Timon. | 2 Sen. At all times alike Men are not still the same: ’twas time and griefs Ry You have done work for me,—] So Malone: the folios vead,— ** You have worke for me,”’ &c. 499 That fram’d him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him, Bring us to him, And chance* it as it may. Fav. Here is his cave.— Peace and content be here!’ Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee : Speak to them, noble Timon, Timon comes from the cave. Tim. Thou sun, that comfort’st, burn !—Speak, and be hang’d: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as a cauterizingt to the root o’the tongue, Consuming it with speaking ! 1 Sen. Worthy Timon,— Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. 2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. Tr. I thank them ; back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. and would send them (*) First folio, chane’d. (+) First folio, cantherizing. b Peace and content be here!] This speech would be more appropriate to one of the Senators. Me Bok na Ss — os i tl 1 Sen. O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators, with one consent of love, Kntreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. a Of it own fall_—] We should perhaps read,—‘‘ Of it own fault.” Every editcr for if, here and in other instances, silently 509 = = i ‘ae ——— LSS 2 SEN. They confess, Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, Qos! Which now the public body,—which doth seldom Play the recanter,—feeling in itself A lack of Timon’s aid, hath sense* withal Of it own fall,* restraining aid to Timon ; (*) Old text, since. substitutes é#s, but see note (3), p. 530, Vol. I. ¥ ace - a “4 an 1 ie hit i UYU Hy _And send forth us, to make their sorrow’d render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram ; |Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth, As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs, And write in thee the figures of their love, yer to read them thine. Tm. You witch me in it; | Surprise me to the very brink of tears : Lend me a fool’s heart and a woman’s eyes, And I’ll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. | 1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with . us, jae of our Athens (thine and ours) to take ‘The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow’d with absolute power, and thy good name Liye with authority :—so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; | | | Ha like a boar too savage, doth root up His country’s peace. | 2 SEN. And shakes his threat’ning sword Against the walls of Athens. 1 Sen. Therefore, Timon,— Tim. Well, sir, I will,—therefore, I will, sir,— thus,— If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon—cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain’d war ; Then, let him know,—and tell him Timon speaks it, In pity of our aged and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that—I care not, And let him take’t at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer: for myself, There’s not a whittle in the unruly camp, But I do prize it at my love, before 501 ACT v.] The reverend’st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers. Fay. Stay not, all’s in vain. Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph ; It will be seen to-morrow ; my long sickness Of health and living, now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,— And last so long enough ! 1 Sen. ) We speak in vain. “Ti. But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it. : 1 Sen. That’s well spoke. Tr. Commend me to my loving countrymen,— 1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass through them. 2 Sen. And enter in our ears like great tri- umphers In their applauding gates. Tm. Commend me to them ; And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature’s fragile vessel doth sustain In lifé’s uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them,— I’ll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades’ wrath. 2 Sen. I like this well; he will return again. Tru. I have atree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it ; tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop afiliction, let him take his haste,* Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself.—I pray you, do my greeting. Frav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall find him. Tim. Come not tome again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle.— Lips, let sour * words go by, and language end: (*) Old copy, foure. a Take his haste,—] To: take: time, is to go leisurely about a business; to take haste is to perform it expeditiously. Mr. Collier’s annotator suggests,—‘‘ take his halter.” b Whom, though in general part we were oppos’d, Yet our old love made a particular force, And made us speak like friends :—] The second line is unquestionably corrupt; Hanmer endeavoured to restore the sense by printing,— ‘* And, though in general part we were oppos’d, Yet our old love kad a particular force,” &c. And Mr. Singer by reading, — 502 TIMON OF ATHENS. What is amiss, plague and infection mend! Graves only be men’s works, and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign, [| Hat Tron, 1 Sen. His discontents are unremovably Coupled to nature. 2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. | 2 SEn. SCENE II.—The Walls of Athens. Enter Two Senators, and a Messenger. 1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discover’d; are his files As full as thy report ? Mzss. I have spoke the least : Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. 2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ;— Whom, though in general part we were oppos’d, Yet our old love made a particular force,” And made us speak like friends :—this man was ridin From Alcibiades to Timon’s cave, With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i’ the cause against your city, In part for his sake moy’d. 1 Sen. Here come our brothers. Enter Senators from 'Trton. 3 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.— The enemy’s drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare ; Ours is the fall, I fear, our foes the snare. [ Haxeunt. ‘“‘ When, though on several part we were oppos’d, Yet our old love had a particular force.” We conceive the errors to lurk in the words made and force, the former having been caught by the compositor from the following line, and would read,— . ‘“‘Whom, though in general part we were oppos’d, Yet our old love took a particular truce, And made us speak like friends.” To take a truce was an every-day expression in our author's time, — and has been adopted by him more than once; thus, in ‘* King John,” Act IIT. Sc. 1:— i ‘‘With my vex’d spirits I cannot take a truce.” And in *‘ Troilus and Cressida,” Act II. Sc. 3:— “«___ Took a truce, and did him service.” It requires swift foot. [Hiceunt. (SCENE Ir, . —e"s ee i Aor Vv.) SCENE III.—Zhe Woods. Timon’s Cave, and a rough Tomb near tt. Enter a Soldier, seeking Tron. Sotp. By all description this should be the place. [ this ? Who’s here? speak, ho!—No answer? What is [ Reads.] 'TIMoN Is DEAD !—who* hath outstretch’d his span,— Some beast—read this ; there does not live a man.” Dead, sure, and this his grave: what’s on this tomb Tecannot read; the character Ill take with wax ; Our captain hath in every figure skall ;° An ag’d interpreter, though young in days: Before proud Athens he’s set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [ Hat. SCENE IV.—Before the Walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Hxter Aucrprapes and Forces. Ancrs. Sound to this coward and lascivious town (Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded. Enter Senators on the Walls. i Till now you have gone on, and fill’d the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice ; till now, myself, and such As slept within the shadow of your power, Have wander’d with our travers’d arms, and breath’d Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, Mie crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, ries, of itself, Vo more / now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight. _ 1 S8zy. Noble and young, ‘When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ire thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee; to give thy rages balm, Lo wipe out our ingratitude with loves pos their quantity. 4a Who hath, &c.] That is, whoever hath, &c. b=. Trmon 1s DEAD!—who hath outstretch’d his span,— Some beast—read this; there does not live a man.] /Of the many erroneous interpretations of Shakespeare’s text for which his commentators are responsible, none, perhaps, is so remarkable, and, at the same time, so supremely ridiculous, as that into which they have lapsed with regard to the above passage. Not perceiving—what it seems scarcely possible from the lines themselves and their context to miss—that this couplet is an inscription by Timon to indicate his death, and point to the epitaph on his tomb, they have invariably printed it as a portion of the soldier’s speech, and thus represented him as misanthro- pical as the hero of the piece! Nor was this absurdity sufficient : as, says Warburton, “‘ The soldier had yet only seen the rude pile of earth heaped up for Timon’s grave, and not the inscription upon it,” we should read ; TIMON OF ATHENS. [SCENE IV. 2 SEN. So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city’s love, By humble message and by promis’d means ; We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. 1 Sen. These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have receiv’d your grief: nor are they such, That these great towers, trophies, and schvols should fall For private faults in them. 2 SEN. Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out ; Shame, that they wanted cunning,* in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread : By decimation, and a tithed death, (If thy revenges hunger for that food, Which nature loathes,) take thou the destin’d tenth ; And by the hazard of the spotted die, Let die the spotted. 1 Sen. All have not offended ; For those that were, it is not square,° to take, On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage : Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall, With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. 2 SEN. What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, Than hew to’t with thy sword. 1 SEN. Set but thy foot Against our rampir’d gates, and they shall ope ; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say, thou’lt enter friendly. 2 SEN. Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal’d thy full desire. ALCIB. Then there’s my glove ; “Some beast rear’d this ;”— and he prints it accordingly. And because “our poet certainly would not make the soldier call on a beast to read the inscription before he had informed the audience that he could not read it himself; which he does afterwards,” Malone adopts Warburton’s reading, and every editor since follows his judicious example! What is still more amusing, too, Mr. Collier, who has claimed for his mysterious annotator three-fourths of the most acute of modern emendations, assigns this precious ‘‘ restoration” to him also! We are curious to know whether he derived it from some manu- script copy of the play, or merely from the traditions of the stage. ¢ Our captain hath in every figure skill ;} We are obviously to understand that the insculpture on the tomb, unlike the inscrip- tion which he has just read, is in a language the soldier was unac- quainted with. ad Cunning,—] That is, wisdom, foresight. e Square,—] Lguilaéle. 503 ACT V.] Descend,* and open your uncharged ports : Those enemies of Timon’s, and mine own, Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, Fall, and no more: and,—to atone your fears With my more noble meaning,—not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city’s bounds, But shall be render’d,* to your public laws At heaviest answer. Boru. *T’ is most nobly spoken. Aucrs. Descend, and keep your words. [The Senators descend, and open the Gates. Enter a Soldier. Sorp. My noble general, Timon is dead ; Entomb’d upon the very hem o’ the sea: And on his grave-stone this insculpture ; which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. (*) First folio, Defend. « Render’d,—] Acorrection by Mason, the first folio reading,— TIMON OF ATHENS. | ! i | {SCENE Tv, Axcis. [Reads.| Here les a wretehed corse, of wretched soul bereft. Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked cattifs left ! Here lieI Timon ; who, alive, all humg men did hate : Pass by, and curse thy fill ; but pass, and stay not here thy gait. These well express in thee thy latter spirits : ‘Though thou abhorr’dst in us our human griefs, Scorn’dst our brain’s flow, and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit ‘Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is nobie Timon; of whose memory Hereafter more.—Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword : Make war breed peace; make peace stint war ; make each Prescribe to other, as each other’s leech.— Let our drums strike. [ Hxeunt, ‘But shall be remedied to,” &c. And the second,— ** But shall be remedied by,” &c. ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. BLE, (1) ScrnE I.—2nter Timon.] It is so interesting to contrast Shakespeare’s exalted conception of Timon’s cha- racter with the popular idea of the misanthrope in his time, that we need ask no indulgence for reprinting the once familiar story on which, it is believed, the present play was based. THE TWENTY-EIGHTH NOUELL. Of the straunge and beastlie nature of Timon of Athens, enemie to mankinde, with his death, buriali, and Epitaphe. Al the beastes of the worlde do apply theimselues to other beastes of theyr kind, Timon of Athens onely ex- cepted: of whose straunge nature Plutarche is astonied, in the life of Marcus Antonius. Plato and Aristophanes do report his marveylous nature, because he was a man but by shape onely, in qualities hee was the capitall enemie of mankinde, which he confessed franckely vtterly to abhorre and hate. He dwelt alone in a litle cabane in the fieldes not farre from Athenes, separated from all neighbours and company ; he neuer wente to the citie, or to any other habitable place, except he were constrayned : he could not abide any mans company and conuersation : he was neuer seen to goe to any mannes house, ne yet would suffer them to come to him. At the same time there was in Athenes another of like qualitie, called Ape- mantus, of the very same nature, differente from the naturall kinde of man, and lodged likewise in the middes of the fields. Ona day they two being alone together at dinner, Apemantus said ynto him; ‘‘O Timon, what a pleasant feast is this, and what a merie companie are wee, being no more but thou and I.” ‘ Naie (quoth Timon) it would be a merie banquet in deede, if there were none here but my selfe.” Wherein he shewed how like a beast (in deede) he was: for he could not abide any other man, being not able to suffer the company of him, which was of like nature. And if by chaunce hee happened to goe to Athenes, it was onelye to speake with Alcibiades, who then was an excellente captaine there, whereat many did marueile : and therefore Apemantus demaunded of him, why he spake to no man, but to Alcibiades. ‘‘I speake to him sometimes,” said Timon, ‘‘ because I know that by his occasion, the Atheniens shall receiue great hurt and trouble.” Which wordes many times he told to Alcibiades himselfe. He had a garden adioyning to his house in the fields, wherin was a figge tree, wheruppon many desperate Men ordinarily did hange themselues: in place whereof, he purposed to set vp a house, and therefore was forced to cutte it donne, for which cause hee went to Athenes, and in the markette place, hee called the people about him, saying that hee had newes to tell them: when the people vnderstoode that he was about to make a discourse vnto them, which was wont to speake to no man, they marueiled, and the citizens on every part of the citie, ranne to heare him: to whom he saide, that he purposed to cutte doune his figge tree, to builde a house vpon the where it stoode. ‘‘ Wherefore (quoth he) if there any man amonges you all in this company, that is dis- posed to hange himselfe, let him come betimes, before it cutte doune.” Hauing thus bestowed his charitie amonges the people, hee returned to his lodging, wher he liued a certaine time after, without alteration of nature 5 and because that nature chaunged not in his life time, he would not suffer that death should alter, or varie the same : for like as he liued a beastly and churlish life, euen so he required to haue his funerall done after that maner. By his last will he ordeined himselfe to be interred vpon the sea shore, that the waues and surges might beate and vexe his dead carcas. Yea, and that if it were possible, his desire was to be buried in the depth of the sea: causing an epitaphe to be made, wherin was described the qualities of his brutishe life. Plutarche also reporteth an other to be made by Calimachus, much like to that which Timon made himselfe, whose owne soundeth to this effect in Englishe verse. My wretched catife dayes, Expired now and past: My carren corps intered here, Is fast in grounde: In waltring waues of swel- ling sea by surges cast, My name if thou desire, The gods thee doe confounde. PAYNTER’S Palace of Pleasure, Tom. I. (2) SCENE I.—Hnter APEMANTUS.] The name and dis- position of this cynic were probably borrowed by the original author of the play from Paynter’s novel, though he appears to have caught some hints for the delineation from the following lively scene in Lucian’s Dialogues :— Mereury. You Fellow, with the Scrip over your shoulder, stand forth, and walke round the Assembly. O yes, I sell a stout, ver tuous, well-bred, free mortall. Who buyes him? Merchant. Do yon sell a Free-man, Cryer? Mercury. Yes. * * * Merchant. To what imployment may a man put such aslovenly ill-lookt fellow, unlesse he should make him a Delver, or Water. bearer? Mercury. That’s not all, set him to keep your house, you will need no Dogs. His name is Dogge, Merchant. What’s his Countrey or Profession ? Mercury. You were best to ask him. Merchant. Y fear his crabbed, grimme looks, least he should bark, if I should draw neer, and bite me. Do you not see how he lifts his Staffe, and bends his Brows, and how threatningly, and Cholerick he looks? Mercury. Fear him not, he is very tame. Merchant. Of what Countrey are you, my Friend Diogenes. Of all Countreys. * * * * * * * * * Merchant. Well, sir, if I should buy you, what will you teach m ‘ : * * * * * * * * * Diogenes. The things which you are chiefly to learn, are to be impudent, bold, to barke without distinction at all, both Kinges, and private men. A way to make them regard and admire yon, fora valiant man. Let your speech be Barbarous, and your Elo- cution rude, and Artlesse, like a dogge. Let your look pe forced and your Gate be agreeable to your look. In a word, let your whole behaviour be beastly and savage. Be Modesty, Gentle- nesse, and moderation far from you, and all blushing quite blotted out of yourface. You are to frequent, also, populous places, and there to walk alone, and unaccompanied, and neither to salute acquaintance or stranger, for that were to destroy your Empire. * * * * Hereby you will neither need Education or Studies, or such like trifles, but will arrive at glory a more compendious way. Though you be an Idiot, or Tanner, or Salter, or Mason, or Banker, yet these are no hindrances, why you should not be admired, if you have impudence, and boldnesse, and can artificially rayie.— From the ‘* Sale of Philosophers,’ in Lucian’s Dialogues, trans- tated by Jasper Mayne, 1638, published 1664, pp. 383-4. 505 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACT (1) SceNnE VI.— Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be Of Timon, man and all humanity !) The circumstances which Jed to Timon’s self-expulsion, and many of the incidents in his subsequent career, are touched on, though slightly, in the following passage from Plutarch’s Life of Antony :—‘‘ Antonius, he forsooke the citie and companie of his frendes, and built him a house in the sea, by the Ile of Pharos, upon certaine forced mountes which he caused to be cast into the sea, and dwelt there, as a man that banished him selfe from all mens companie: saying that he would lead Timons life, bicause he had the like wrong offered him, that was affore offered unto Timon: and that for the unthankefulnes of those he had done good unto, and whom he tooke to be his frendes, he was angry with all men, and would trust no man. This Timon was a citizen of Athens, that lived about the warre of Peloponnesus, as appeareth by Plato, and Aristophanes commedies : in the which they mocked him, calling him a vyper, and malicious man unto mankind,to shunne all other mens companies, but the companie of young Alcibiades, a bolde and insolent youth, whom he woulde greatly feast, and make much of, and kissed him very gladly. Ape- mantus wondering at it, asked him the cause what he ment to make so muche of that young man alone, and to hate all others: Timon aunswered him, I do it, sayd he, bicause I know that one day he shall do great mischiefe unto the Athenians. This Timon sometimes would have Apemantus in his companie, bicause he was much like to his nature and condicions, and also followed him in maner of life. On a time when they solemnly celebrated the feasts called Choze at Athens (to wit, the feasts of the dead, where they make sprincklings and sacrifices for the dead), and that they two then feasted together by them selves, Apemantus said unto the other : O, here is a trimme banket Timon. ‘Timon aunswered againe, yea said he, so thou wert not here. It is reported of him also, that this Timon on a time (the people being assembled in the market place about dispatch of some affaires) got up into the pulpit for Orations, where the Orators commonly use to speake unto the people: and silence being made, everie man listning 10 heare what he would say, bicause it was a wonder to see him in that place: at length he began to speake in this maner. My Lordes of Athens, I have a litle yard in my house where there groweth a figge tree, on the which many citizens have hanged them selves: and bicause I meane to make some building upon the place, I thought good to let you all understand it, that before the figge tree be cut downe, if any of you be desperate, you may there in time goe hang your selves. He dyed in the citie of Hales, and was buried upon the sea side. Nowe it chaunced so, that \he sea getting in, it compassed his tombe rounde about, Kil. that no man coulde come to it: and upon the same was. wrytten this epitaphe. Heere lyes a wretched corse, of wretched soule bereft, Seeke not my name: a plague consume you wicked wretches left. It is reported, that Timon him selfe when he lived made this epitaphe : for that which is commonly rehearsed was not this, but made by the poet Callimachus. Heere lye I Timon who alive all living men did hate, Passe by, and curse thy fill: but passe, and stay not heere thy gate. Nortw’s Plutarch: ed. 1579, p. 1003. (2) Scene VI.—One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. | Subjoined is the scene from the old manuseript play, before mentioned, to which Shakespeare or his pre- decessor is supposed to have been indebted for the idea of the mock banquet in Act III. :— Tim. Why doe yee not fall to? [am at home: Tle standing suppe, or walking, if I please.— Laches, bring here the artichokes with speede.— Eutrapelus, Demeas, Hermogenes, I’le drinke this cuppe, a healthe to all your healths! Lach. Converte it into poison, O yee gods! Let it bee ratsbane to them! Gelas. What, wilt thou have the legge or els the winge? Eutr. Carve yee that capon. Dem. I will cutte him up, And make a beaste of him. Phil. Timon, this healthe to thee. Tim. Ile pledge you, sir. These artichokes doe noe mans pallat please. Dem. I love them well, by Jove. Tim. Here, take them, then. [Stones painted like tu them; and throwes them at them. Nay, thou shalt have them, thou and all of yee! Yee wicked, base, perfidious rascalls, Think yee my hate’s soe soone extinguished? [Timon beates HERM. above ali the reste. [ Aside, Dem. O my heade! Herm. O my cheekes! Phil. Is this a feaste? Gelas. Truly, a stony one. Stilpo. Stones sublunary have the same matter with the heavenly. : Tim. If I Joves horridde thunderbolte did holde Within my hande, thus, thus would I darte it! [Hee hitts Herm. Herm. Woe and alas, my braines are dashed out! Gelas. Alas, alas, twill never bee my happe To travaile now to the Antipodes! Ah, that I had my Pegasus but here! I’de fly away, by Jove. [Exeunt all except Tim, and LACH. Tim. Yee are a stony generation, Or harder, if ought harder may bee founde; Monsters of Scythia inhospitall, Nay, very divells, hatefull to the gods. Lach, Master, they are gone. Act IV. Se. 5. ACT (1) Scrne ITI.—Z am misanthropos, and hate mankind.] The epithet, misanthropos, was perhaps taken, as Malone conjectured, from a marginal note in North’s translation of Plutarch’s Life of Antony: ‘‘ Antonius followeth the life and example of Timon Misanthropus, the Athenian ;” or it might have been derived by the original author of this drama, from the subjoined soliloquy in ‘‘ Lucian :”’— 506 TV. ‘“‘T will purchase the whole confines of this countrey, and build a towre over my treasure big enough for myse alone to live in, and which I purpose shall be my sepulchre at my death; and for the remainder of my ensuing life, I will resolve upon these rules, to accompany no man, to take notice of no man, and to live in contempt of all men: the title of friend, or guest, or companion, or the altar of pe ae oF ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. , are but meer toyes, of: to be sorry for him that weeps, or help him that wants, shall be a transgression and breach of our laws: I will eat alone as wolves do, and have but one friend in the world to bear me company, and that shall be Timon ; all others shall be enemies and traitors, and to have speech with any of absolute piacle [enormity]: If I do but see a man, that day shall be dismal and accursed: I will make them, an no difference between them and statues of stone and brass: I will admit no messenger from them, nor contract any truce with them, but solitariness shall be the main limit betwixt me and them; to be of the same tribe, the same fraternity, the same people, or the same countrey, shall be but poor and unprofitable terms, to be respected by none but fools; let Timon alone be rich, and live in despight of all other; let him revel alone by himself, far from flattery and odious commendations ; let him sacrifice to the gods, and make good chear alone, as a neighbour conjoyned only to himself, discarding all other; and let it be further enacted, that it shall be lawful for him only to shake him- self by the hand, that is, either when he is about to die, or to set a crown upon his head ; and the welcomest name to him in the world is to be called Man-hater.”—HICKES’ Lucian, fol. 1663, p. 174. (8) Scene III.— Common mother, thou,— | Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast.] Warburton conjectured this image was borrowed from the ancient statues of Diana Ephesia Multimammia, called mavaiohos gdvais mavtwv Mrytnp; see Montfaugon, “PAntiquité Expliquée,” lib. iii. ch. xv. (4) SounzE III.— Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the conquest of An allusion to the notion once current, that thy fury. this fabulous animal, in the impetuosity of its attack, would sometimes strike its horn into the root of a tree so deeply, as to become transfixed :—‘“‘ He is an enemy to the lions, _ wherefore as soon as ever a lion seeth a unicorn, he runneth to a tree for succour, that so when the unicorn maketh force at him, he may not only avoid his horn, but also \ destroy him ; for the unicorn in the swiftness of his course _ runneth against the tree, wherein his sharp horn sticketh fast, then when the lion seeth the unicorn fastened by the horn, without all danger he falleth upon him and killeth ‘him. These things are reported by the King of Cithiopia, nan Hebrew epistle unto the Bishop of Rome.”—TOoPsEL’s | History of Four-footed Beasts, ed. 1658, p. 557. So too Spenser :— ‘¢ Like as a lion whose imperial power A proud rebellious Vnicorn defies, To avoid the rash assault and wrathful stour Of his fierce foe, him to a tree applies ; And when him running in full course he spies, He slips aside; the whiles the furious beast His precious horn, sought of his enemies, Strikes in the stock, ne thence can be releast, | But to the mighty Victor yields a bounteous feast.” ' Faéry Queen, b. ii. Canto V. st. 5. + - —— a not worth a straw to be talkt (4) Scene III.—EKach thing’s a thief.| Timon’s mag- nificent exemplifications of thievery, like others of a less elevated and universal kind, which are to be found in writers of his period, had their origin probably in Ana- creon’s graceful ode, beginning—H yn peArawa mivec. Thus in the old play of Albumazar, quoted by Stee- vens :— ‘“The world’s a theatre of theft: great rivers Rob smaller brooks, and them the ocean. And in this world of ours, this microcosm, Guts from the stomach steal; and what they spare The Meseraicks filch, and lay ’t i’ the liver; Where (lest it should be found) turn’d to red nectar, ’T is by a thousand thievish veins convey’d, And hid in flesh, nerves, bones, muscles and sinews, In tendons, skin, and hair; so that the property Thus altered, the theft can never be discover’d. Now all these pilfries, couch’d, and compos’d in order, Frame thee and me; Man’s a quick mass of thievery.” In farther illustration of the same idea, an antiquarian correspondent supplies the following lines, which, however, though bearing the early date of 1590, are, it is plain, but of comparatively modern composition :— “‘ Certaine fine Thoughtes gathered oute of the Greeke and Romane Authours, and done into English. 1590. AN EPIGRAM ON THEEUES. (1.) Eache Thing that liues of somewhat else Becomes the Foode or Prey: So if it were that Nature tells To take whene’re we may. For worldlie superfiuitie Here is a sure reliefe ; When euerie Thing is made to be A Giver, or a Theefe. (2.) A glorious Robber is the Sunne, For with his vaste attracte Hee robbes the boundlesse sea: the Moone From him steales Lighte to acte O’re the broade Earthe, and Ocean too: Whilst the rapacious Maine Absorbs the Vapoures, Mists, and Dewe To yielde the Cloudes their Raine. (3.) The brutish Earthe can little give From her composture rude : Though some there be ordaind to live Upon Earthes foulest foode. Is all Creation then but fedde By Spoile, his Life to gaine? Nay,—all Things liuing be but made Eache other to maintaine.” 507 CRITICAL OPINIONS ON TIMON OF ATHENS. “Timon or ArHEns, of all the works-of Shakspeare, possesses most the character of satire :—a laughing satire in the picture of the parasites and flatterers, and Juvenalian in the bitterness of Timon’s imprecations on the ingratitude of a false world, The story is very simply treated, and is definitely divided into large masses :—in the first act, the joyous life of Timon, his noble and hospitable extravagance, and around him the throng of suitors of every description; in the second and third acts, his embarrassment, and the trial which he is thereby reduced to make of his supposed friends, who all desert him in the hour of need ;—in the fourth and fifth acts, Timon’s flight to the woods, his misan- thropical melancholy, and his death. The only thing which may be called an episode is the banishment of Alcibiades, and his return by force of arms. However, they are both examples of ingratitude,—the one of a state towards its defender, and the other of private friends to their benefactor. As the merits of the General towards his fellow-citizens suppose more strength of character than those of the generous prodigal, their respective behaviours are not less different: Timon frets himself to death, Alcibiades regains his lost dignity by force. If the poet very properly sides with Timon against the common practice of the world, he is, on the other hand, by no means disposed to spare Timon. Timon was a fool in his generosity; in his discontent he is a madman; he is everywhere wanting in the wisdom which enables a man in all things to observe the due measure. Although the truth of his extravagant | feelings is proved by his death, and though when he digs up a treasure he spurns the wealth which seems to tempt him, we yet see distinctly enough that the vanity of wishing to be singular, in both the parts that he plays, had some share in his liberal self-forgetfulness, as well as in his anchoritical seclu- sion. This is particularly evident in the incomparable scene where the cynic Apemantus visits Timon in the wilderness. They have a sort of competition with each other in their trade of misanthropy: the Cynic reproaches the impoverished Timon with having been merely driven by necessity to take to the | way of living which he himself had long been following of his free choice, and Timon cannot bear the thought of being merely an imitator of the Cynic. In sucha subject as this, the due effect could only be produced by an accumulation of similar features; still, in the variety of the shades, an amazing degree of understanding has been displayed by Shakspeare. What a powerfully diversified concert of flatteries and of empty testimonies of devotedness! It is highly amusing to see the suitors, when the _ ruined circumstances of their patron had dispersed, immediately flock to him again when they learn — that he has been revisited by fortune. On the other hand, in the speeches of Timon, after he is undeceived, all hostile figures of speech are exhausted;—it is a dictionary of eloquent imprecations.” —SCHLEGEL. a hos Wc) ey at \" o>, y he AA ieee in NNR) ii in Manta Ae ati wh Ahir i KING RICHARD THE THIRD. Tum earliest known copy of this popular tragedy is a quarto published in 1597, entitled,— “The Tragedy of King Richard the Third. Containing, His treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence: the pittiefull murther of his imnocent nephewes: His tyrannicall vsurpation : with the whole course of his detested life, and most deserued death. As it hath beene lately acted by the Right honourable the Lord Chamberlaine, his seruants. At London, Printed by Valentine Sims, for Andrew Wise, dwelling in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Angell, 1597.” In 1598, another edition appeared bearing the same title, and in addition the author’s name, ‘ William Shake-speare.” ‘The next impression, brought out in 1602, professes to be “Newly augmented ;” this was followed by a fourth in 1605, and a fifth in 1613, which was the last quarto copy prior to the publication of the folio in 1628. Subsequently, three other quarto editions, dated respectively 1624, 1629, and 1634, were published, not one of which however, it is noticeable, contains the passages first found in the folio. Although an historical piece on the same subject,—“ The True Tragedve of kichard the Third: wherein is showne the death of Edward the fourth, with the smothering of the two young Princes in the Tower: with a lamentable ende of Shores wife, an example for all wicked women. And lastly, the conjunction and royning of the two noble houses, Lancaster and Yorke. As it was playd by the Queenes Maesties Players,”—was issued in 1594, there are no proofs that Shakespeare has any obligations to it: his only authorities appear to have been the old chroniclers, Malone has remarked that the textual variations between the quarto version of this play and the folio are more numerous than in any other of our author’s works. This is true, and the diversity has proved, and will continue to prove, a source of incalculable trouble and perpetual dispute to his editors, since, although it is admitted by every one properly qualified to judge, that a reasonably perfect text can only be formed from the two versions, there will always be a conflict of opinions regarding some of the readings. Upon the whole, we prefer the quarto text, though execrably deformed by printing-office blunders, and can by no means acquiesce in the decision that those passages found only in the folio are ‘‘ additions” made by the poet, subse- quent to the publication of the early quartos. On the contrary, we believe those very passages to have been structural portions of the piece, and the real additions to be the terse and vigorous bits of dialogue peculiar to the quartos. Is it credible that so accomplished a master of stage- craft as Shakespeare, after witnessing the representation of Richard the Third, would have added above eighty lines to the longest scene in this or perhaps any other play? Is it not far more probable that these lines in Act IV., those touching the young prince’s train in Act II., the nine in Gloucester’s mock reply to the Mayor and Buckingham, and some others, formed originally part of the text and were omitted to accelerate the action, and afford space for the more lively and dramatic substitutions which are met with in the quartos alone? But although in these and a few other instances the folio copy appears to have been an earlier one than that used by the printers of the quartos, it must be admitted that there are numerous places in which the text of the former has undergone minute and careful correction, and where, both in rhythm and in language, it is superior to the previous editions. Malone conjectured that Shakespeare wrote “Richard the Third” in 1593; the received impression at the present day is, that he produced it very shortly before its first publication in 1597, 511 Tuomas Roturgrnam, Archbishop of York. tAA4 & Aersons Represented. Kine Epwarp THE FourtH. Epwarp, Prince of Wales, afterwards King Edward V. Rrenarp, Duke of York, GrorGe, Duke of Clarence, a Ricnuarp, Duke of Gloucester, afterwards King Richard rf Re eee A Young Son of Clarence. Henry, Zarl of Richmond, afterwards King Henry VII. CaRDINAL BouroutEerR, Archbishop of Canterbury. : _ 7 ; LA Vv a 2? Sons to tke King. Joun Morron, Bishop of Ely. Duke of BuckiINaHAm. Doxe of Norrork. Haru of Surrey, his Son. 3 a Kart Rivers, Brother to King Edward's Queen. Margquis of Dorset, and Lorp Gray, her Sais, Earu of Oxrorp. Lorp LHHasrines. Lorp STANLEY. Lorp Lovet. Sir THomas VAUGHAN. Sir Ricw#arD RatcuirF. Sir WiLLIAM CATESBY. Sir JAMES TYRREL. Sir JAMES Buount. Sir WALTER HERBERT. Sir Ropert Brakunpoury, Lieutenant of the Tower. CHRISTOPHER Urswick, a Priest. Another Priest. Lord Mayor of Londen. Sheriff of Wiltshire. EnizaBEeTn, Queen of King Edward IV. Mar@aret, Widow of King Henry VI. Ducuness of York, Mother to King Edward IV., Clarence, and Gloucester. Lavy Annz, Widow of Edward Prince of Wales, Son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester. A Young Daughter of CLARENCE. Lords, and other Attendants ; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citrzexs, Murderers Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, de. SCENEH,—Enananp. bs i MMR FN DAN Ne aN a ara uf Hrwnintraysl Ant ey zu cs ith i in : iy ‘itt Pat PAu TSM MMe hat WT ies iat et AUUMTLUNTT A ACT I. SCENE I.—London. A Street. Enter GuoucrstEr.(!) Gio. Now is the winter of our discontent ude glorious summer by this sun of York ; id all the clouds, that lour’d upon our house, the deep bosom of the ocean buried. VOL. Il. 513 Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums chang’d to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag’d war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front ; Lo ACT I.] And now,—instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,— He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.* But I,—that am not shap’d for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ; I, that am rudely stamp’d, and want love’s majesty, To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ;— Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time ; Unless to spy* my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity : And therefore,—since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days,— I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days, Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king, In deadly hate the one against the other: And, if king Edward be as true and just, As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew’d up, About a prophecy, which says that G Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence comes. Enter CuarEnce, guarded, and BRAKENBURY. Brother, good day: what means this armed guard, That waits upon your grace ? Crar. His majesty, Tendering my person’s safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. Gro. Upon what cause ? Crar. Because my name is George. Guo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ; He should for that commit your godfathers :— QO, belike his majesty hath some intent, That you shall be new-christen’d in the Tower. But what’s the matter, Clarence? may I know ? Crar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for,t I protest, As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams ; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, (*) First folio, see. (+) First folio, should. ({) First folio, dwt. ® Ofalute.] In the quartos, /wte is misprinted Jove. b That tempers him to this extremity.] So the first quarto, 1597. The folio 1623 reads :— “ That tempts him to this harsh extremity.” 514 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. | (SCENE rik And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be ; And for my name of George begins with G, | It follows in his thought that I am he: | These, as I learn, and such like toys as these, | Have * mov’d his highness to commit me now, | Gio. Why this it is, when men are rul’d by! women :— | "Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower; My lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she, That tempers him to this extremity.” Was it not she, and that good man of worship, Antony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower, | From whence this present day he is delivered? } We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. Crar. By heaven, I think there is no man secure, | But the queen’s kindred, and night-walking. heralds | That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. - Heard you not, what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery ?° Gio. Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 4 IT’ tell you what,—I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, | To be her men, and wear her livery : The jealous o’er-worn widow and herself, . | Since that our brother dubb’d them gentlewomen, | Are mighty gossips in thist monarchy. i Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me ; , His majesty hath straitly given in charge, : That no man shall have private conference 3 (Of what degree soever) with hist brother. ! Guo, Even so, an please your worship ; Braken-. bury, | You may partake of anything we say: | We speak no treason, man ;—we say, the king — Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen i Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous:— We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot, | A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue ; | | 4 , “ ; p And that the queen’s kindred are made gentlefolks : How say you, sir? can you deny all this? ' Brax. With this, my lord, myself have nan) to do. F Guo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best to do it secretly, alone. \! (*) First folio, Hath. (+) First folio, our. i ({) First folio, your. } © Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?] The folio reads,— ‘“‘ Lord Hastings was, for her delivery.” T I.] Brak. What one, my lord? Gio. Her husband, knave:—wouldst thou betray me ? Brak. I1* beseech your grace to pardon me ; and, withal, orbear your conference with the noble duke. Oran. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. Gro. We are the queen’s abjects, and must obey. rother, farewell; I will unto the king ; nd whatsoe’er you will employ me in,— Jere it to call king Edward’s widow, sister— will perform it to enfranchise you. feantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, ouches me deeper than you can imagine. Crar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. Gio. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long ; will deliver you, ort lie for you :* [eantime, have patience. CraR. I must perforce :” farewell. “Exeunt Cuarencr, Braxensury, and Guard. Gio. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return ! imple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so, hat I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, * heaven will take the present at our hands.— ut who comes here ? the new-deliver’d Hastings ! Enter Hastines. Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord ! Gro. As much unto my good lord chamberlain ! Vell are you welcome to this open air. (ow hath your lordship brook’d imprisonment ? Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must : ut I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, hat were the cause of my imprisonment. Gro. No doubt, no doubt ; and so shall Clarence | too ; or they that were your enemies are his, ‘nd have prevail’d as much on him as you. -Hasr. More pity that the eaglet should be | mew’d, vhile § kites and buzzards prey § at liberty. Gro. What news abroad ? | Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home ;— he king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, ‘nd his physicians fear him mightily. \(*) First folio inserts, do. . b (+) First folio inserts, else. (t) First folio, eagles. (§) First folio, Whiles—play. is Or lie for you :] Or lie imprisoned in your stead. : | Must perforce:] In allusion to the popular saying,— Patience upon force is a medicine for a mad dog.” 515 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENB II. Guo. Now, by Saint Paul, this® news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And over-much consum’d his royal person ; "Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, * is he in his bed ? Hast. He is. Guo. Go you before, and I will follow you. | Hat Hastines. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack’d with post-horse up to heaven. I’ll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel’d with weighty arguments ; And if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest daughter : What though I kill’d her husband and her father ; The readiest way to make the wench amends, Is to become her husband and her father : The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market : Clarence still breathes, Edward still lives and relons ; When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Katt. SCENE II.—The same. Another Street. Enter the corpse of Kine Henry the Srxru, borne upon a hearse, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it ; and Lavy ANNE as mourner, Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load,— If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,— Whilst I awhile obsequiously * lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.— Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, T'o hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter’d son, Stabb’d by the self-same hand that made these wounds ! fF Lo, in those windows, that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless baim of my poor eyes :— (*) First folio, Where. (t) Quartos, holes. c Now, by Saint Paul, this news, &c.] So the quartos. The folio 1623 has,—‘‘ Now by S John, that Newes,” &c. d Obsequiously lament—] That is, funereally lament. Pi ACT I.] Curs’d be the hand, that made these fatal holes ! Curs’d be the heart, that had the heart to do it!* [Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence!” | More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than T can wish to adders, spiders, toads,° Or any creeping venom’d thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspéct May fright the hopeful mother at the view ; [And that be heir to his unhappiness ! “| If-ever he have wife, let her be made As* miserable by the death of him, Ast I am made by my young lord and thee !— Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul’s to be interred there ; And still, as you are weary of thet weight, Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry’s corse. | [Bearers take up the corpse, and move forward. Enter GLOUCESTER. Guo. Stay, you that bear. the corse, and set it down. Annet. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds ? Guo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, Ill make a corse of him that disobeys ! 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Gro, Unmanner’d dog! stand§ thou when I command : Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, Or by Saint Paul, I’ll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. [Bearers set down the hearse. Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid ? , Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.— Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell ! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone. Guo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. Awne. Foul devil, for God’s sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, (*) First folio, More. : (+) First folio, Than. (t) First folio, this. (§) First folio, Stand’st. a Curs’d be the hand, that made these fatal holes! Curs’d be the heart, that had the heart to do it !] The folio gives these lines as follows :— **O cursed be the hand that made these holes: Cursed the Heart, that had the heart to do it.” > Cursed the blood, &c.] A line not in the quartos. 516 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. {SCENE 1 Fill’d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims, _ If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Bekold this pattern of thy butcheries:— O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry’s wounds | Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh,(2)- Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwell; Thy deed,* inhuman and unnatural, | Provokes this deluge most unnatural— = O God, which this blood mad’st, revenge | death ! } O earth, which this blood drink’st, revenge h death ! F Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murder dead, ~ Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou didst swallow up this good king’s” Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered Guo. Lady, you know no rules of cliarity, — Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses Anne. Villain, thou know’st not law of G nor man ; . No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pit Gio. But I know none, and therefore am 1) beast. Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the trut Gio. More wonderful, when angels are angry.— Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed evils, to give me leaye, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus’d infection of a man’ For§ these known evils, but to give me leave, — By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. — Gro. Fairer than tongue can name thee, | me have . 2 Some patient leisure to excuse myself. Annr. Fouler than heart can think thee,th canst make _ No excuse current, but to hang thyself. Gio. By such despair, I should accuse mysel Anne. And, by despairing, shouldst}| thou stai excus’d . For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, — | Which § didst unworthy slaughter upon others. Guo. Say, that I slew them not ? ‘ ANNE, Why, then, they are not dead) But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. Guo. I did not kill your husband. ‘y i a (+) First folio, nor. bs (§) First folio, Of. ({) First folio, That. (*) First folio, Deeds. (t) First folio, crimes. (||) First folio, shalé. © Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,—] Thus the ¢ the folio reads,—‘‘ to Wolves, to Spiders,” &c. q a And that be, &c.] A line omitted in the quartos. — © And eat him quick,—] That is, swallow himalive. | f Why, then, they are not dead: &c.] The folio has,— rs ‘©Then say they were not slaine.” _ el. - ——- oT LJ ANNE. Why, then he is alive. Guo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward’s hand. * Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest; queen Margaret saw hy murderous falchion smoking in his blood ; he which thou once did bend against her breast, ut that thy brothers beat aside the point. Gro. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, Jhich7 laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. _Awnne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, Thich? never dreamt* on aught but butcheries : idst thou not kill this king ? Guo. I grant ye. Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant me too, 10u mayst be damned for that wicked deed ! he was gentle, mild, and virtuous ! Gto. The fittert for the King of heaven that hath him. ; Anne. He is in heayen, where thou shalt never / come. Gio. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither ; lr he was fitter for that place than earth. ‘Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. ‘Guo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. Anne. Some dungeon. ~ ILO. Your bed-chamber. Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou lest! /310. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. \nnE. I hope so. i10. I know so.—But, gentle lady Anne,— leaye this keen encounter of our wits, \1 fall somewhat § into a slower method ;— | ‘10t the causer of the timeless deaths } these Plantagenets, Henry, and Edward, \blameful as the executioner ? [ effect. uynE. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs’d Lo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect ; tw beauty, which+ did haunt me in my sleep, Vandertake the death of all the world, - might liye || one hour in your sweet bosom. Aye. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, se nails should rend] that beauty from my + cheeks. LO. These eyes could not endure that beauty’s | wreck.” ; ‘| should not blemish it, if I stood by: il the world is cheered by the sun, ¢ by that ; it is my day, my life. ‘) First folio, hands. (+) First folio, That. ° First folio, better. (§) First folio, something. Quartos, rest. ({) First folio, rent. Thich never dreamt—] In the folio,— That never dream’st.”” heseeyes, &c.] This passage is misprinted in the quartos,— KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE II, Anne. Black night o’ershade thy day, death thy life! Guo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. Anne. I would I were, to be reveng’d on thee. Guo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be reveng’d on him that loveth thee, Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be reveng’d on him that slew * my husband. Guo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. Guo. He lives that loves yout better than he could. Anne. Name him. - Gro. Plantagenet. ANNE. Why, that was he. Guo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. Anne. Where is he? Guo. Here ! [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me? Anne. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake ! Gro. Never came poison from so sweet a place. Awne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes. Guo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead ! Guo. I would they were, that I might die at once ; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Sham’d their aspéctt with store of childish drops : [These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,—‘° No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, When black-fae’d Clifford shook his sword at him: Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father’s death, And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, Like trees bedash’d with rain: in that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. | I never sued to friend nor enemy ; and (*) First folio, kil/’d. (+) First folio, thee. (t) First folio, aspects. ‘¢ These eies could never endure sweet beauties wrack, You should not blemish them if I stood by.’ ce These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,—] This and the eleven following lines are omitted in the quarto copies. 517 | NERO NN i wy i i {ul N th \ A ) ‘ NN ARR ue hth i » wi x \ ai Gi . ‘\\ ; ‘ i AN \\ \\ y WA )\Y Yee “ae } \ i h Ss. \\ ‘ “ ITI S \ YAN Z 4 f me fl I ee HEA) ee x AYNNIINWN WANA ays b 1 M4 \ Ae t Vi i Nh \ Db), mit Ai \ Y i th AW \ | Mh if \ th THRU ND \ ANA H 1 We HY! t yoy. MWY || | ! : YR \ A) } ra Wild 1A 2 Wy] A | wt ASSO Wi \ f 4 \ > tn } MN) SAI icin dt ta 5 eS a aa} th RW a AAA i | ieee Nel ANE 1 ANY ) \ NN AN ap AR Han i 14 | Ih . / i} ( nt al WN \ nN RNIN aan, - Hy CO Re URN AERTS RMA) Ai i t i i 1 ait i Nt IH} IN i \ i i TH 4 I) ait AY VAD } aN Nl ui R \ i Niet NE ag % 5 ) @ 0c OFT ea ae so A Awe, ¥ NATALIA TPS My tongue could never learn sweet soothing* | Teach not thy lip” such scorn; for it was ma) words ; For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. But now thy beauty is propos’d my fee, If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, | My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to | Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword: speak, Which if thou please to hide in this true bret [She looks scornfully at him. | And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 4 Sweet soothing words;] The folio reads,— (*) Quartos, bosome._ - ‘* _. sweet smoothing word.” » Teach not thy lip, &c.] The quartos less elegantly read,— 518 ‘Teach not thy lips such scorne, for they were made— Tg em oT I] lay it naked to thy deadly stroke, nd humbly beg the death upon my knee. [Lays his breast open. ‘ay, do not pause ; *twas I that kill’d your husband ;— [She offers at it with his sword. Sut *twas thy beauty that provoked me. lay, now despatch; *twas I that kill’d king Henry ;—* [She again offers at his breast. jut *twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall the sword. ‘ake up the sword again, or take up me. Annz. Arise, dissembler ; though I wish thy death, will not be thy executioner. Guo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. Anne. I have already. Gro. Tush,* that was in thy rage: peak it again, and, even with the word, ‘his hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, hall for thy love kill a far truer love ; ‘o both their deaths shalt thou be accessory. : Anne. I would I knew thy heart. Gro. "Tis figur’d in my tongue. Anne. I fear me both are false. Guo. Then never man was true. Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. Guo. Say then, my peace is made. Anne. That shall yout know hereafter. Gio. But shall I live in hope ? Any. All men, I hope, live so. Gio. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. Anne. To take, is not to give.” [ Puts on the ring. Guo. Look, how thist ring encompasseth thy finger, ven so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ; Tear both of them, for both of them are thine. nd if thy poor devoted suppliant § may ut beg one favour at thy gracious hand, nou dost confirm his happiness for ever. Aynz. What is it? Guo. That it may please you leave these sad | designs ) him that hath more || cause to be a mourner, nd presently repair to Crosby-place : J (3) here—after I have solemnly interr’d, t Chertsey monast’ry, this noble king, ad wet his grave with my repentant tears,— *) First folio omits, Tush. 't) First folio, my. ‘ |) First folio, most. (t) First folio, shalt thou. (§) First folio, Servant. (7) First folio, Crosbie House. » 'T was I that killed king Henry.—] In the folio, this and the 9 preceding lines run thus, v ay do not pause: For I did kill King Henrie, 3ut ’t was thy Beautie that provoked me. Vay now dispatch: ’T was I that stabb’d young Edward,” &c. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IL. I will with all expedient*® duty see you: For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this boon. Anne, With all my heart ; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent.— Tressel and Berkley, go along with me. Guo. Bid me farewell. ANNE. *T'is more than you deserve : But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. [ Hxeunt Lavy Annr, TRrEsseL, and BERKLEY. Guo. Sirs, take up the corse.* GEN, Towards Chertsey, noble lord ? Guo. No, to White-friars; there attend my coming. [Hxewnt the rest with the corpse, Was ever woman in this humour woo’d? Was ever woman in this humour won? [ll have her,—but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill’d her husband and his father, To take her in her heart’s extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her * hatred by ; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no thing® to back my suit withal, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Kidward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb’d in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,— Fram’d in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,— The spacious world cannot again afford: And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp’d the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woeful bed ? » On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety ? On me, that halt,$ and am unshapen § thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier,’ I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I’ll be at charges for a looking glass ; And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body : Since I am crept in favour with myself, I will maintain it with a|| little cost. (*) First folio, my. (t) First folio, abase: (t) First folio, halts. (§) First folio, mishapen. (||) First folio, some. b To take, is not to give.—] This line is not in the folio which also errs in attributing to Anne the preceding line, ¢ Expedient—] For expeditious. E d Sirs, take up the corse.—] This line is omitted in the folio, @ And Ino thing—] in the folio, ‘* And 1, no Friends—” f A beggarly denier,—] A denier is the twelfth part of a French sous, S19 ACT 1.) But, first, Ill turn yon fellow in his grave ; And then return lamenting to my love.— Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. [ Lait. SOENE IIl.—TZhe same. A Room wm the Palace. Enter Quren Exizasetu, Lorp Rivers, and Lorp GreEyY. Riv. Have patience, madam ; there’s no doubt, his majesty Will soon recover his accustom’d health. Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse : Therefore, for God’s sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.* Q. Exrz. If he were dead, what would betide of + me? Grey. No other harm but loss of such a lord. Q. Ex1z. The loss of such a lord includes all harm.t Grey. The heavens have bless’d you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. Q. Exrz. Ah, he is young; and his minority Ts put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protector ? Q. Exrz. It is determin’d, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Grey. Here come the lords$ of Buckingham and Stanley.* Enter BuckrinaHamM and STANLEY.* Bucx. Good time of day unto your royal grace ! Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have been ! : ° Q. Ex1z. The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley, To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she’s your wife, And loves not me, be you, good Jord, assur’d, IT hate not you for her proud arrogance. Sran. I do beseech you, either not believe (+) First folio, on. (*) First folio, eyes. (§) First folio, the lord. (t) First folio, harmes. a Stanley.] He is styled Derby in the old copies ; but he was not created Earl of Derby until after Henry VII. came to the throne, b Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,—] ‘‘ An impor- tation of artificial manners seems to have afforded our ancient poets a never failing topick of invective. So, in A Tragical Dis- course of the Haplesse Man’s Life, by Churchyard, 1593 :— We make a legge, and kisse the hand withall, (A French device, nay sure a Spanish tricke) 520 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. But thus his simple truth must be abus’d _Or thee ?—or thee ?—or any of your faction ? [: [SCENE 111. The envious slanders of her false accusers ; Or, if she be accus’d on true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds | From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice, | Q. Exrz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of | Stanley ? , | Sran. But now, the duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. | Q. Ex1z. What likelihood of his amendme 3 lords ? Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. q Q. Exm. God grant him health! did you confer with him ? Bucx. Madam, we did:* he desires to make atonement Betwixt} the duke of Gloster and your brothers, — And betwixt t+ them and my lord chamberlain ; _ And sent to warn them to his royal presence. Q. Ex1z. Would all were well !—but that will, never be ;— ) I fear our happiness is at the height. Enter Guoucester, Hasrines, and Dorsnr, Guo. They do me wrong, and I will not Bie it :— . Who are they that complain ¢ unto the king, | That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? | By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly, — | | | I f Because I cannot flatter, and speak § fair, Smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,” I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, — | That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. 3 : By || silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? | Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your grace ? 7 | Gio. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace When have I injur’d thee? when done thec wrong ?— A plague upon you all! His royal gracex—- Whom God preserve better than you woul wish !— | \! Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, |3 But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. (*) First folio, J madam. (+) First folio, Betweene ({) First folio, Who is it that complains. : t f (§) First folio, look. (||) First folio, with, ({) First folio, who. And speake in print, and say loe at your call ; I will remaine your owne both dead and quicke. = | A courtier so can give a lobbe a licke, re And dress a dolt in motley for a while, \@ And so in sleeve at silly woodcocke smile.’ ” K STEEVENS. — AoT I.] Q. Ex1z. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter : The king, of * his own royal disposition, _ And not provok’d by any suitor else ; _ Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Whicht in your outward action shows itself, _ Against my children, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send, that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.* Gro. I cannot tell;"—the world is grown so bad, _ That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch : Since every Jack became a gentleman, There’s many a gentle person made a Jack. Q. Ex1z. Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloster ; You envy my advancement, and my friends’ ; God grant we never may have need of you! Gio. Meantime, God grants that we t have need of you: Our brother is imprison’d by your means, Myself disgrac’d, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair § promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. Q. Ex1z. By Him that rais’d me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy’d, _ I never did incense his majesty _ Against the duke of Clarence, but have been _ An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, _ Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. _ Gto. You may deny that you were not the cause || Of my lord Hastings’ late imprisonment. Riv. She may, my lord ; for— Gio. She may, lord Rivers !—why, who knows not so? , She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair, preferments ; _ And then deny her aiding hand therein, _ And lay those honours on your high deserts.4] - What may she not? She may,—ay, marry, may | she,— Riv. What, marry, may she ? Gio. What, marry, may she? marry with a king, A bachelor,** a handsome stripling too : _ I wis your grandam had a worser match. [borne Q. Exiz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long | Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs ; (*) First folio, on. (+) First folio, That. (t) First folio, I. (§) First folio, while great. (||) First folio, meane. ({) First folio, desert. (**) First folio inserts, and. > Makes him to send, that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. ] In the folio, this is reduced to a single line,— “ Makes him to send, that he may learne the ground.” » I cannot tell;—] I cannot account for it, I cannot make it KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IIL By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty, With those gross taunts I often* have endur’d. I had rather be a country servant-maid, Than a great queen, with this condition— To be thus taunted, scorn’d, and baited at:—° Small joy have I in being England’s queen. Enter QuEEN Marcaret, behind. Q. Mar. [Aside] And lessen’d be that small, God, I beseech thee! + Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. Gio. What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him and spare not ; look, what have I said* J will avouch + in presence of the king : [I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. |° Tis time to speak,—my pains are quite forgot. Q. Mar. [Asede.] Out, devil! I§ remember them too well: Thou slew’st || my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. Guo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends ; To royalize his blood, I spilt 4] mine own. Q. Mar. [Aside.|] Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. Guo. In all which time, you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster ;— And, Rivers, so were you.u— Was not your husband In Margaret’s battle at Saint Albans slain ? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere this, and what you are ; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. Q. Mar. [Aside.] A murd’rous villain, and so still thou art. [ Warwick, Guo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Avy, and forswore himself,—which Jesu pardon !— Q. Mar. [Aside.] Which God revenge! Guo. To fight on Edward’s party for the crown And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew’d up: I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward’s, Or Edward’s soft and pitiful, like mine ; I am too childish-foolish for this world. Q. Mar. [Aside.] Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodeemon! there thy kingdom is. (*) First folio, that oft I. (+ ({) First folio, avouch’t. (§ (||) First folio, kill’dst. (9 ) First folio, him. ) First folio inserts, do. ) First folio, spent. out. See note (4), p. 577, Vol. I. ce To be thus taunted, scorn’d, and baited at:—] The folio has,—‘‘ To be so baited, scorn’d, and stormed at.” d Tell him, and spare not; &c.] This line is omitted in the folio. e I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.] A line which is only in the folio. 42] ACT I.] Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days, Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow’d then our lord, our lawful * king ; So should we you, if you should be our king. Guo. If I should be?—I had rather be a pedlar : Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! T Q. Exiz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country’s king,— As little joy may you suppose in me, That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. Q. Mar. [Aside.] Ast little joy enjoys the queen thereof ; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient— [ Advancing. Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill’d* from me ! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that I being § queen, you bow like subjects; Yet that, by you depos’d, you quake like rebels ?— O,|| gentle villain, do not turn away ! Gio. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight ? [marr’d ; Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast That will I make, before I let thee go. [Gro. Wert thou not banished, on pain of death ? Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banishment, Than death can yield me here by my abode. | A husband and a son thou ow’st to me,— And thou, a kingdom ;—all of you, allegiance : This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ; And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. Guo. The curse my noble father laid on thee,— When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper, And with thy scorn drew’st rivers from his eyes ; And then, to dry them, gav’st the duke a clout Steep’d in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ;— Fis curses, then from bitterness of soul Denoune’d against thee, are all fallen upon thee ; And God, not: we, hath plagu’d° thy bloody deed. Q. Exrz. So just is God to right the innocent. Hasr. O, *twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e’er was heard of! Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re- ported. i (*) First folio, soveraigne. (t) First folio, thereof. (t) Old text, A. (§) First folio, am. (||) First folio, Ah. & That which you have pill’d from me!] Pilled is the same as et To pilJ, means literally to peel, or strip off the rind or skin. b Wert thou not banished, &c.] This, and the two lines following, are not in the quartos. e Plagu’d—] In our early language to plague meant to punish. Thus, in ‘* King John,” Act II. Sc, 1:— 522 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. (SCENE rrr, Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it, Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. came, Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all before Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me ? Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with heaven, That Henry’s death, my lovely Edward’s death, Their kingdom’s loss, my woeful banishment, Could* all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven ?— Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses !—* . If + not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Kdward thy son, which now is prince of Wales, For Edward my§ son, whicht was prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence ! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! | Long mayst thou live to wail thy children’s loss ;}} And see another, as I see thee now, Deck’d in thy glory, as thou’rt stall’d in mine! _ Long die thy happy days before thy death ; And, after many lengthen’d hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England’s queen!— Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,— And so wast thou, lord Hastings,—when my son Was stabb’d with bloody daggers ; God, I pray him, That none of you may live his natural age, But by some unlook’d accident cut off! Gio. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither’d hag! Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store, Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation Alo On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace! The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul! — Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv’st, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting dream . Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! . Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal’d in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell ! for (*) First folio, Should. (t) First folio, that. (|) First folio, death. (t) First folio, Though. (§) First folio, our. (1) First folio, rights. _ *« That he’s not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue.” d Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses !—] This line serves to show that the accepted explanation of “ lither sky” in the ‘ First Part of Henry VI.” is erroneous. Instead of pieieing sky, it certainly meant heavy, lazy sky. See note (#), p. 320. - AcT I.| Thou slander of thy mother’s heavyy* womb ! Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins ! Thou rag of honour! thou detested— Gro. Margaret. Q. Mar. Richard ! GLo. Ha? Q. Mar. I call thee not. Guo. I ery thee mercy then ; for I did think, That thou hadst* call’d me all these bitter names. Q. Mar. Why so I did; but look’d for no | reply. O, let me make the period to my curse ! Guo. *Tis done by me, and ends in—Margaret. Q. Ex1z. Thus have you breath’d your curse against yourself. Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled” spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about ? Fool, fool ! thou whett’st a knife to kill thyself. ’ The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that pois’nousf bunch-back’d toad.° _ Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you! you have all moy’d mine. Riv. Were you well serv’d, you would be taught your duty. Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me.duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects : O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty ! Dors. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert : Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current : O, that your young nobility could judge, ' What ’twere to lose it, and be miserable ! They that stand high have mighty ¢ blasts to shake them ; _ And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. Gro. Good counsel, marry ;—learn it, learn it, marquis. Dors. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. Gro. Yea,§ and much more: but I was born so high, Our aiery buildeth in the cedar’s top, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. (*) First folio, heavie Mothers. pate (+) Quartos, poisoned, ({) First folio, many. 3 (§) First folio, 7, a —————. for I did think, That thou hadst—] The reading of the folio: the quartos have,— for I had thought “ec Thou hadst,”’ &c. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IIL. Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ;—alas ! alas !— Witness my sun, now in the shade of death, Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aiery buildeth in our aiery’s nest :— O God, that seest it, do not suffer it ; As it was* won with blood, lost be it so! Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me ; Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher’d. My charity is outrage, life my shame,— And in that shame still live my sorrow’s rage ! Bucx. Have done, have done. Q@. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I ¢ kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee : Now fair befall thee, and thy princely § house ! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. Bucx. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. Q. Mar. I’ll not believe || but they ascend the sky, And there awake God’s gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog ; Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death : Have not to do with him, beware of him ;_ Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. Gio. What doth she say, my lord of Bucking- ham ? Bucx. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel ? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from ? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess !— Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God’s! [ Lait. Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. Riv. And so doth mine; I wonder she’s at liberty. Guo. I cannot blame her: by God’s holy mother, She hath had too much wrong, and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. (*) First folio, is. (t) First folio, Z/e. (||) First folio, I will not thinke. b Bottled spider,—] That is, swollen, bloated, spider. c The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that, &c.] So the quartos. The folio reads, — “* The day will come that thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse this,” &c. (t+) First folio, my hopes by you, (§) First folio, noble. (%) First folio, J muse why. 523 ACT I.] Q. Exiz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. Guo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; He is frank’d up to fatting* for his pains ;— God pardon them that are the cause of it !* Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scath to us. Guo. [Aside.”] So do I ever, being well ad- vis’d ;— For had I curs’d now, I had curs’d myself. Enter CATESBY. Carrs. Madam, his majesty doth call for you,— And for your grace,—and you, my noble lords. ° Q. Ex1z. Catesby, wey come :—lords, will you go with us ?+ Riv. Madam, we will attend* your grace. [Lxeunt all except GLOUCESTER. Guo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence,—whom I, indeed, have laid¢ in dark- ness,— I do beweep to many simple gulls ; Namely, to Hastings, Stanley, Buckingham ; And say—it is§ the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now they believe it; and withal whet me To be reveng’d on Rivers, Vaughan,|| Grey: But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villainy With old odd@ ends, stol’n out ** of holy writ ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil But soft! here.come my executioners.— Enter two Murderers. How now, my hardy, stout, resolved mates ! Are ye now going to despatch this deed ? ++ (+) First folio, J—mee. (§) First folio, And te/l them ’tis. (1) First folio, odde old. (tt) First folio, thing. (*) First folio, thereof. ({) First folio, cast. (||) First folio, Dorset. (**) First folio, forth. a He is frank’d up to fatting—] He is styed up. Speaking of hogs, in his Description of Britaine, Holinshed says, ‘‘The nusbandmen and farmers never fraunke them above three or four months, in which time he is dyeted with otes and peason, and lodged on the bare planches of an uneasie coate.”—Book III, p. 1096. b Aside.] The old copies rarely direct a speech to be spoken aside: appended to this passage, the folio has, ‘‘ Speakes to himselfe.” ¢ And you, my noble lords.] So the first quarto 1597: the folio reads, ‘‘and yowrs my gracious Lord.” d Madam we will attend your grace.] The folio has, ‘We wait upon your Grace.” e Your eyes drop millstones, when fools’ eyes drop tears :] A proverbial expression, which oceurs in the tragedy of ‘‘ Cesar 524 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. 4 [SCENE Ly, 1 Murp. We are, my lord; and come to haye the warrant, ; That we may be admitted where he is. 7 Guo. Well thought upon; I have it here about — me: [ Gives the warrant. When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate ; do not hear him plead, For Clarence is well spoken, and perhaps, May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 1 Murp. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate, Talkers are no good doers; be assur’d, We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. Gio. Your eyes drop* millstones, when fools’ eyes drop tears :° I like you, lads ;—about your business [straight ; Go, go, dispatch. j 1 Murp. We will, my noble lord.’] | Hxewnt. SCENE IV.—TZhe same. A Room wm the Tower, Enter CLARENCE and BRaAkENBURY 4 Brax. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ? Crar. O, I have pass’d a miserable night, - So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,® That, as I am a christian-faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days ;— So full of dismal terror was the time! 3 Brax. What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.” . ¥ Crar. Methought, I was embark’d for Bur- gundy ;' ? And in my company my brother Gloster ; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk . = Upon the hatches; thence t we look’d toward — England, _ And cited up a thousand fearful ¢ times, (*) First folio, fai/. (+) First folio, there. (t) First folio, heavy. and Pompey,” 1607 :— = ‘“‘ Men’s eyes must mill-slones drop, when fools shed tears.” f We will, my noble lord.] In the quartos the scene ends with Gloucester saying :— 5 } «“_____about your business.” _ A more becoming termination than for an inferior actor to have | the Jast word. : z=. g Of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,—] The folio gives, “of fearefull Dreames, of ugly sights.” — h What was your dream? 1 long to hear you tell it.] Inthe folio — the line stands,— a “‘ What was your dream, my lord, I pray you tel me.” xf _ i Methought, I was embark’d for Burgundy ;] The folio reads,— : ’ © Me thoughts that I had broken from the Tower, et And was embark’d to crosse to Burgundy.” ~ = AcT I.] During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall’n us. As we pac’d along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in stum- bling,* Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord! Lord! + methought, what pain it was to drown ! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears ! What ugly sights + of death within mine eyes ! Methought,§ I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw’d upon ; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued* jewels, All seatter’d in the bottom of the sea. - Some lay in dead men’s skulls; and, in those || holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As ’t were in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, Which woo’d the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock’d the dead bones that lay scatter’d by. Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? Crar. Methought I had; for still the envious flood - Kept in my soul,” and would not let it forth To seek ** the empty, vast, and wand’ring air ; - But smother’d it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. Brax. Awak’d you not in this sore agony ? Crar. O, no, my dream was lengthen’d after life ; _ 0, then began the tempest of my soul! I pass’d, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim}? ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; _ Who cried tt aloud,— What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? And so he vanish’: then came wand’ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair _Dabbled in blood; and he shriek’d out aloud,— Clarence is come,— false, fleeting, perjur’d Clarence, That stabb’d me in the field by Tewksbury ;— (*) First folio, falling. (+) First folio, O Lord. (ft) First foiio, sights of ugly. (§) First folio, metoughts. A) First folio, the. (7) First folio, who. (**) First folio, find. (tt) First folio, sowre. (tt) First folio, spake. 2 Unvalued—] That is, invaluable. —for still the envious flood Kept in my soul,—] The folio reads,— ae and often did I strive To yeeld.the Ghost; but still the envious Flood Stop’t in my soule,” &c. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE Iv. Sewe on him, furies, take him to your tor- ments { *— With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ’d me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, I trembling wak’d, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell ;— Such terrible impression made the dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, though® it affrighted you ; I promise you, I am afraid to hear you tell it.4 Cran. O Brakenbury,t I have done these things,— Which now bear® evidence against my soul,— For Edward’s sake; and see how he requites me !— [O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be aveng’d on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone : O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor chil- dren !—] I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me,® My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. Brax. I will, my lord; God give your grace good rest !— [ CLARENCE sleeps. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil ; And, for unfelt imagination,§ They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, between their titles and low name, There’s nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers. In God’s name what are you, and how came you hither ? 1 Murp. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. Brak. Yea, are ye so brief? 2 Mourp. O, sir, ’tis better to be brief than tedious :— (+) First folio, my. (*) First folio, wnto Torment. (§) First folio, imaginations. (t) First folio, Ah, Keeper, Keeper. ¢ No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;] See note (4), . 492, . ad 1 promise you, I am afraid, &c.] In the folio, ‘* I am affraid (me thinkes) to hear,” &c. e Which now bear evidence—] The folio has, ‘‘ That now give evidence,” &c. f O God! if my deep prayers, &c.] The four lines composing this prayer are not found in the quartos. g I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me.] In the folio,— ‘¢ Keeper, I prythee sit by me a-while.” 525 ACT I. J Show him our commission ; talk no more.” [A paper is delivered to BRaAKENBURY, who reads tt. Brax. I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble duke of Clarence to your hands :— I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of * the meaning. Here are the keys,—there sits the duke asleep : T’ll to his majesty and certify his grace That thus I have resign’d my place to you.” 1 Murp. Do so;7 it is a point of wisdom: [Hatt BRAKENBURY. 2 Murp. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 1 Murp. No; then he’ll say, ’twas done cowardly, when he wakes. 2Mourv. When he wakes! why, fool,t he shall never wake till the great judgment day. 1 Murv. Why, then he’ll say, we stabbed him sleeping. 2 Murp. The urging of that word, yudgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me. 1 Murp. What! art thou afraid? 2 Murp. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ;§ but to be damned for killing him, from || which no warrant can defend us. [1 Murp. I thought thou hadst been resolute. 2 Murp. So I am, to let him live. ]° 1 Murp. I’ll back to the duke of Gloucester, and tell him so. 2 Mourn. Nay, I pr’ythee, stay a little: I hope my holy humour will change; it was wont to hold me but while one could tell twenty. 1 Murp. How dost thou feel thyself now ? 2 Murp. Faith,** some certain dregs of con- science are yet within me. 1 Murp. Remember our reward, when the deed’s done. 2 Murp. Zounds,tt he dies ; I had forgot the reward. 1 Murp. Where is thy conscience now ? 2 Murp. In the duke of Gloucester’s purse. 1 Murp. So, tt when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. (*) First folio, from. (+) First folio, You may sir. (t) First folio omits, when he wakes, aud fool. (§) First folio omits, for it. (||) First folio inserts, the. (41) First folio, this passionate humor of mine. (**) First folio omits, Fa7th. (++) First folio, Come. (tt) First folio omits, So. a Talk no more.] In the folio, the dialogue begins thus,— ‘*] Mur. Ho, who’s heere ? Bra. What would’st thou Fellow? hither. 2 Mur. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my Legges. Bra. What so breefe? 1 ’T is better (Sir) then to be tedious: Let him see our Commission, and talke no more.” b Here are the keys,—there sits the duke asleep: I ’ll,to his majesty and certify his grace That thus I have resign’d my piace to you.] And how camm’st thou 526 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE ly. 2 Moro. Let it go ;% there’s few or none will entertain it. 1 Murp. How if it come to thee again ? 2 Mourp. I[’ll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous thing,* it makes a man a coward; a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; het cannot swear, but it checks him; he*f cannot lie with his neighbour’s wife, but it detects him ; ’tis a blushing shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man’s bosom ; it fills one + full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold, that I found ; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing ; and every man that means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live with- out it. . 1 Murp. Zounds,§ it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. 2 Murp. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. 1 Morp. I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me.° ) 2 Murp. Spoke like a tall fellow,|| that re- spects his] reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ? 1 Murp. Take him over** the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt in the next room. 2 Morp. O excellent device! and make a sop of him.* 1 Murp. Hark! he stirs. Shall I strike? 1 Murp. No, first let’s reason with him. Crar. [Awaking.] Where art thou, keeper? give me acup of wine. ’ 1 Murp. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. Crar. In God’s name, what art thou ? 1 Murp. A man, as you are. Crar. But not, as I am, royal. 1 Mourn. Nor you, as we are, loyal. Crar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. (*) First folio omits, it is a dangerous thing. (+) First folio, a man. (t). First folio omits, all. (§) First folio omits, Zounds. (||), First folio, man. (1) First folio, thy. (**) First folio, on. So the quartos: the folio gives,— ‘‘ There lies the Duke asleepe, and there the Keyes. Tle to the King and signifie to him That thus I have resign’d to you my charge.” ¢ To let him live,] The lines in brackets are omitted in the quartos. d Let it go;] The folio has, ‘‘ 7 is no matter ; let it goe.” e I am strong-framed, &c.] So the folio text; the quartos read, ‘‘ Tut, Iam strong in fraud; he cannot prevail with me, I war- rant thee.” | Ay And make a sop of him.] The folio continues the dialogue thus :— ‘© 1. Soft, he wakes. 2. Strike. 1. No, wee’l reason with him.” I Ny \ i} ON iy i a) 1 Ny | Murp. My voice is now the king’s, my looks é mine own. [speak ! ' Cran. How darkly and how deadly dost thou [Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale ?|* Tell me who are you? wherefore come you hither? Botu Muvrp. To, to, to,— Cran. T'o murder me ? Born Murp. Ay, ay. Crar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. | Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 1 Mourn. Offended us you have not, but the king. | Car. I shall be reconeil’d to him again. _ 2Muorp. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to | die. {men,” Cuar. Are you call’d forth from out a world of To slay the innocent? What is my offence ? _ Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronoune’d The bitter sentence of poor Clarence’ death ? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. & Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?] This line is omitted in the quartos, possibly because Clarence had just before | Said,— ‘thy looks are humble,” and the next in the folio reads,— “Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?” > Are you call’d forth from out a world of men,—] The folio ~— ‘* Are you drawne forth among a world of men.” I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ’s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,—] ce I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ’s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,° That you depart, and lay no hands on me ; The deed you undertake is damnable. 1 Murp. What we will do, we do upon command. 2 Mourn. And he that hath commanded is the * king. [kings Cxar. Erroneous vassal !+ the great King of Hath in the table of his law commanded, That thou shalt do no murder; wilt thou ¢ then Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man’s ? Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 2 Murp. And that same vengeance doth he hurl § on thee, For false forswearing, and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy || sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 1 Murp. And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unripp’dst the bowels of thy sovereign’s son. (*) First folio, our. (+) First folio, Vassals. ({) First folio, wll you. (§) Quartos, throw. (||) First folio omits, holy. So the quartos : the folio poorly reads,— ‘‘ T charge you, as you hope for any goodnesse,” and omits the emphatic line which follows, 527 ACT Ly 2 Murp. Whom thou wert* sworn to cherish and defend. [law to us, 1 Murp. How canst thou urge God’s dreadful When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ? Crar. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed ? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : Why, sirs,+ he sends you not to murder me for this; For in this{ sin he is as deep as I. If God will be avenged for the deed, [O, know you yet, he doth it publicly ; |* Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ; He needs no indirect nor§ lawless course, To cut off those that have offended him. 1 Murp. Who made thee then a_ bloody minister, When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? Crar. My brother’s love, the devil, and my rage. [ faults, 1 Murp. Thy brother’s love, our duty, and thy Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. Crar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; T am his brother, and I love him well. If you are hir’d for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloster ; Who shall reward you better for my life, Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 2 Mourn. You are deceiv’d, your brother Gloster hates you. [dear : Crar. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me Go you to him from me. Bots Mourp. Ay, so we will. [York Crar. Tell him, when that our princely father Bless’d his three sons with his victorious arm, And charg’d us from his soul to love each other,” He little thought of this divided friendship : Bid Gloster think of this, and he will weep. 1 Murp. Ay, mill-stones ; as he lesson’d us to weep. Crar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 1 Murp. Right; as snow in harvest.—Come, you deceive yourself ; ’T is he that sends us to destroy you here.° (*) First folio, wast. (t) First folio, that. (t) First folio omits, Why, sirs. (§) First folio, or. a O, know you yet, he dothit publicly ;] A Jine omitted in the quartos. b And charg’d us, &c.] This line is not in the folio. ¢ ’T is he that sends us to destroy you here.] In the quartos,— “Tis he hath sent us hitlrer now to slaughter thee.” ad Ay, thus, and thus! [Stabs him.] if this will not serve,—] The confusion observable in the latter portion of this scene as it is presented in the folio, is confirmatory, perhaps, of our theory that the text of “‘ Richard III.” in that edition is made up in parts from an earlier manuscript than that from which the quartos were printed. In the passages under consideration, the player- editors have retained five lines, beginning,—‘“‘ Which of you, if you were a prince’s son,” that were apparently the poet’s first sketch of a speech for Clarence, and which he no doubt intended to be superseded by his after-thought, and this retention has reduced the trialogue to chaos. Let any one compare the following transcript of the speeches, as they stand in the folio, with the concise and lucid colloquy of the quartos, and he will not find it difficult to determine which text bears the latest marks of the 528 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. ¢ [SCENE ty, Crar. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune, And hugg’d me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. 1 Murp. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you — From this earth’s thraldom to the joys of heaven. 2 Murp. Make peace with God, for you mus — die, my lord. + = Crar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, » To counsel me to make my peace with God, | And art thou yet to your own soul so blind, | That thou wilt war with God by murdering me ?— — Ah, sirs, consider, they that set you on 7 To do this deed, will hate you for this deed. : 2 Murp. What shall we do? Ciar. Relent, and save your souls. | 1 Murp. Relent! ’tis cowardly, and womanish. Crar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish.— My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, 4 Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, A begging prince what beggar pities not? 1 Murp. Ay, thus, and thus! [Stabs him.] if this will not serve,? | T’ll chop thee in the malmsey-butt in the next room. (4) | 2 Murp. A bloody deed, and desperately per- form’d ! | How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands — Of this most grievous guilty murder done !° (9) 1 Murp. Why dost not thou help me? | By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou _ art.* | 2 Murp. I would he knew that I had sayvd_ his brother ! | Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; | For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Hai 1 Murp. So donot I; go, coward as thou art— Now, must It hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial : And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. : [Huit with the body. i a ta ee a ee ge ee, (*) First folio, you have beene. (1) First folio, Well Ile go. suthor’s hand :— ‘“©2 Mur. What shall we do? Cra. Relent, and save your soules ; } Which of you, if you were a Princes Sonne, ) Being pent from Liberty, as I am now, If two such murtherers as your selves came to you, Would not intreat for life, as you would begge Were you in my distresse. 1 Mur. Relent? no: ’T is cowardly and womanish. Cua. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, divellish : My Friend, I spy some pitty in thy lookes :' | O, if thine eye be not a Flatterer, / Come thou on my side, and intreate for mee, A begging Prince, what begger pitties not. i 2 Murp. Looke behinde you, my Lord. >) 1 Murp. Take that, and that, if all this will not do, [Stabs him. - Ile drowne you in the Malmesey-But within.” ; e Of this most grievous guilty murder done !] The folio reads;~ “Of this most greevous murther.” oa Sm My UT) te | SCENE I.—TZhe same. inter Kine Epwarp (led in sick), QUEEN Enizasetru, Dorset, Rivers, Hasrtines, Bucxineuam, Grey, and others. _ K. Epw. Why, so :—now have I done a good | day’s work ;— You peers, continue this united league: _ every day expect an embassage trom my Redeemer to redeem me hence ; And now in * peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have sett my friends at peace on earth. Rivers, and Hastings, + take each other’s hand ; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. Rtv. By heaven, my soul§ is purg’d from grudging hate, (*) First folio, more to. (t) First folio, Dorset and Rivers. | VOL, II. (+) First folio, made. (§) Quartos, heart. 529 AGW AT: A Room in the Patace. And with my hand I seal my true heart’s leve. Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! K. Evw. Take heed you dally not before your king, Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings, Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Hither of you to be the other’s end. Hasr. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! Rrv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! K. Epw. Madam, yourself are* not exempt int this — Nor you, son Dorset,—Buckingham, nor you ;— You have been factious one against the other. Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. (*} First folio, ts. (+) First folio, from. MM ACT II.] Q. Exiz. There, Hastings ;—I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I, and mine ! [K. Epw. Dorset, embrace him,— Hastings, love lord marquis. |* Dors. This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable. Hast. And so swear I. [They embrace. K. Epw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements. to my wife’s allies, And make me happy in your unity. Bucx. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours,* [Zo the QuEEN.] but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of heaven, When I am cold in zeal, } to you or yours! [Lmbracing Rivers, &c. K. Epw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buck- ingham, Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, To make the perfect period of this peace. Bucx. And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. Enter GLOUCESTER. Gio. Good morrow to my sovereign king, and queen ; And, princely peers, a happy time of day! K. Epw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day :— Brother, § we have done deeds of charity ; Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. Guo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege. || Among this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe ; if I unwittingly,{] or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By** any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace : "Tis death to me to be at enmity ; (t) First folio, love. (§) First folio, Gloster. (7) First folio, unwillingly. (**) First folio, To. (*) First folio, Upon your grace. (t) First folio, blessed. (||) First folio, Lord. ® —Hastings, love lord marquis.] A line omitted in the quartos. b Here comes the noble duke.] So the quartos. The folio reads,-— ‘* Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliffe, and the Duke.” ® Of you, lord Rivers,—and lord Grey of you,—] The folio 530 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. | [scuyz } I hate it, and desire all good men’s love.— First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, | Which I will purchase with my duteous service -| Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, ; If ever any grudge were lodg’d between us ;— | Of you, lord Rivers,—and lord Grey of you, | That all without desert have fgown’d on me ;— | Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all. | I do not know that Englishman alive, With whom my soul is any jot at odds, | More than the infant that is born to-night ; I thank my God for my humility.) Q. Ex1z. A holy day shall this be kept here after :— | I would to God, all strifes were well compounded.— My sovereign liege,* I do beseech your majesty} To take our brother Clarence to your grace. Guo. Why, madam, have I offer’d love for this To be so flouted in this royal presence ? | Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead? [They all star. You do him injury to scorn his corse. K. Epw. Who knows not he is dead! rh knows he is ? Q. Ex1z. All-seeing heaven, what a world this ! | Bucx. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as a rest ? l Dors. Ay, my good lord; and no one¢ in thi presence, : But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. K. Epw. Is Clarence dead? the order wa revers’d. Guo. But he, poor soul,t by your first orde died, | And that a winged Mercury did bear ; Some tardy cripple bore § the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried.— | God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but || not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion ! Enter STanuEy. Sran. A boon, my sovereign, for my servic done ! [sorrow K. Epw. I pr’ythee peace ; my soul is full o Stan. I will not rise, unless your highnes: grant. ] (*) First folio, Zord. (t+) First folio, Highnesse. — (ft) First folio, man. (§) First folio, dare. (||) First folio, and. (J) First folio, heareme, — reads,— ‘*Of you and you, Lord Rivers and of Dorset,” and adds, after the next line,— “Of you, Lord Woodvill, and Lord Scales of you.” oT I1.] K. Epvw. Then say at once, what is it thou demand’st. * Sran. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life ; Vho slew to-day a riotous gentleman, ately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. _K. Enw. Have [a tongue to doom my brother’s death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? Ay brother slew no man, his fault was thought, ind yet his punishment was cruel{ death. Vho sued to me for him? who, in my rage,§ Xneel’d at my feet, and bade me be advis’d ? Nho spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love? Nho told me how the poor soul did forsake the mighty Warwick, and did fight for me ? Vho told me, in the field by|| Tewksbury, When Oxford had me down, le rescu’d me, And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king ? Nho told me, when we both lay in the field frozen almost to death, how he did lap me dven in his garments, and did give himself, ‘All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night ? (ll this from my remembrance brutish wrath sinfully pluck’d, and not a man of you dad so much grace to put it in my mind. 3ut when your carters or your waiting-vassals Taye done a drunken slaughter, and defae’d the precious image of our dear Redeemer, Cou straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon! And I, unjustly too, must grant it you :— 3ut for my brother not a man would speak,— Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself ‘or him, poor soul.—The proudest of you all Tave been beholden to him in his life ; Cet none of you would once plead { for his life,— ) Godt I fear, thy justice will take hold Jn me and you, and mine and yours for this !— Yome, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor | Clarence ! [Haeunt Kine, Queen, Hastines, Rivers, Dorset, and Grey. | Guo. This is the fruit** of rashness !—Mark’d you not, . Low that the guilty kindred of the queen 10ok’d pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death ? ), they did urge it still unto the king! (+) First folio, kill’d. (§) First folio, wrath. ({) First folio, beg. (**) First folio, fruits. /4 To comfort Edward with our company?] The folio adds,— a ‘‘Buc. We wait upon your grace ;” ‘hich may have been omitted, like the Murderers’ “ We will, ‘ynoble lord,” Act I. Sc. 3, to give what is technically called © “exit” to the chief performer. | do you wring your han is, and beat your breast ?] In the io— “Why do weepe soof ? &c. © Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.] The folio 531 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IL God will revenge it. But come, let’s in* To comfort Edward with our company ? * [ Hxeunt. SCENE II.—TZhe same. Enter the Ducunss of Yorx, with a Son and Daughter of CLARENCE. Son. Tell me, good grandam,*is our father dead? Ducu. No, boy. Daven. Why do you wring your hands,” and beat your breast ? And cry—O Clarence, my unhappy son ! Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us—wretches, orphans, castaways, If that our noble father be ¢ alive ? Ducu. My pretty cousins, you mistake me much ;§ I do lament the sickness of the king, As loth to lose him, not your father’s death ; It were lost sorrow, to wail one that’s lost. Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.¢ The king mine uncle is to blame for this : || God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily J prayers all to that effect. [Davex. And so will I.] ¢ Ducu. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caus’d your father’s death. Son. Grandam, we can: for my good uncle Gloster ; Told me, the king, provoked** by the queen, Devis’d impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me go, he wept, And pitied me, and kindly kiss’d my cheek ;° Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his tf child. Ducu. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape, And with a virtuous vizor hide foul guile ! t+ He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. (*) First folio, Come, lords, will you go. (t) Good grandam tell us. (t) First folio, were. (§) First folio, both. (||) First folio, i. (4) First folio, earnest. (**) First folio, provok’d to it. (++) First folio, a. (tt) First folio, deepe vice. reads,—‘‘ Then you conclude, (my grandam) he is dead.” d And so will I.] Omitted in the quartos. e And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And pitied me, and kindly kiss’d my cheek ;] The quartos tamely read,— «¢ And when he told me so he wept, And hugd me in his arms and kindly kist my cheeke.” MM 2 Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandam ? Ducu. Ay, boy. Son. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this ? Enter QuEEN Exizanetu, distractedly, with her hair dishevelled ; Rivers and Dorset fol- lowing her. Q. Ex1z. Who,* who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I’ll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. Dvucu. What means this scene of rude im- patience ? Q. Ex1z. To make an act of tragic violence :— (*) First folio, Ah ! a Why grow the branches when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?—] The quartos, less musically, read,— ‘“‘ Why grow the branches, now the roote is withred ? Why wither not the leaves, the sap being gone?” 532 Edward, my lord, your* son, our king, is dead.— Why grow the branches when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap ?—' If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, _ | That our swift-winged souls may catch the king’s Or, like obedient subjects, follow him | To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. | Ducu. Ah, so much interest have It in th sorrow, As I had title in thy noble husband ! | I have bewept a worthy husband’s death, And liv’d with looking on his images : But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack’d in pieces by malignant death ; And I for comfort have but one false glass, Whicht grieves me whea I see my shame in hin Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left : b } (*) First folio, thy. (+) First folio omits, J. (t) First folio, That. b To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.] So the quarto. T) folio has,— ; ‘To his new kingdom of nere-changing night.” aot it.) But death hath snatch’d my husband* fiom mine arms, And pluck’d two crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence, and Edward. O, what cause have I, (Thine being but a moiety of my moan,) ‘Lo over-go thy plaints,* and drown thy cries ? _ Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father’s | death! * How can we aid you with our kindred tears ? Daveu. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan’d ; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept ! Q. Ex1z. Give me no help in lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth complaints :f All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern’d by the wat’ry moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world ! Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward ! Cut. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence ! Ducu. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and ; Clarence ! Q. Ex1z. What stay had I but Edward? and he’s gone. Cum. What stay had we but Clarence? and he’s gone. Ducu. What stays had I but they? and they are gone. Q. Exiz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss ! _ Cutz. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss ! _ Dvucu. Was never mother, had so dear a Joss ! Alas! I am the mother of these moans ! Their woes are parcell’d, mine are § general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; I for a Clarence weep,|| so doth not she : These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: I for an Edward weep, so do not they :—” ‘Alas! you three, on me threefold distress’d, Pour all your tears, I am your sorrow’s nurse, ‘And I will pamper it with lamentation. [Dors. Comfort, dear mother ; God is much displeas’d, | That you take with unthankfulness his doing : In common worldly things, ’tis call’d ungrateful, With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent ; Much more, to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. Rrv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, SE (*) First folio, woes. (+) Quartos, laments. ({) First folio, Greefes. (§) First folio, és. (||) First folio, weepes. h, a My husband—] The quartos erroneously read, ‘‘ My chil- ren.” | 2 These babes for Clarence weep, and so dol: I for an Edward weep, so do not they :—] The folio text, through an oversight of the compositor, occasioned by the reeurrence of the same word in both lines, reads,— KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE It. Of the young prince your son: send straight for him, Let him be crown’d ; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward’s grave, And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne.°] Enter Guovucester, BucxinaHam, STANLEY, Hastines, Ratrcurrr, and others. Guo. Sister, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star ; But none can cure their* harms by wailing them.— Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy, I did not see your grace :—humbly on my knee i crave your blessing. Ducu. God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! Guo. Amen; [Aszde. | and make me die a good old man !— That is the butt-end of a mother’s blessing. I marvel why7 her grace did leave it out. Bucx. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other’s love : Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high swoln hearts, ¢ But lately splinted,§ knit, and join’d together, Must gently be preserv’d, cherish’d, and kept : Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch’d || Hither to London, to be crown’d our king. [ Riv. Why with some little train, my lord of Buckingham ?* Bucx. Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal’d wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous, By how much the estate is green, and yet un- govern’d : Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. (*) First folio, helpe our. (+) First folio, that. ({) First folio, hates. (§) First folio, splinter’d. (||) First folio, fet. ‘‘ These Babes for Clarence weepe, so do not they.” c In living Edward’s throne.] This, and the preceding speech, are omitted in the quartos. d Why with some little train, &c.] These speeches, down to where Hastings replies, ‘‘ And so say I,” are omitted in the quartos. 533 mee —- LIA Ey 7 be si | ni yi At ‘ 1 Guo. I hope the king made peace with all of us, And the compact is firm, and true, in me. Riv. And so in me, and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which, haply, by much company might be urg’d Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. Hasr. And so say I.]* Guo. Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.* Madam,—and you my mother,+—will you go To give your censures in this weighty business ? Boru. With all our hearts.” [Lxeunt all except Buckincuam and GLOUCESTER. Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince For God’s sake, let not us two be behind :§ For, by the way, I’ll sort occasion, (*) First folio, London. ] ; (+) First folio, sister. ({) First folio omits, weighty. (§) First folio, stay at home. 2 And so say I.] The foregoing, ? and some other passages omitted in the quartos, are invariably assumed to be additions made to the play subsequent to the publication of the early quartos. We have already—in the Introductory Notice—ex- pressed our dissent to this postulate; and we have only to add that, in the present instance, as in another—Act IV. Se. 4, where in one speech, there are no less than fifty-five lines not found in 534 b) As index to the story we late talk’d of, To part the queen’s proud kindred from th prince. Gro. My other self, my counsel’s consistory, My oracle, my prophet !—My dear cousin, | I, as a child, will go by thy direction. . | Toward Ludlow* then, for we’ll not stay behind. , Lxeunt. | SCENE IIl.—The same. A Street. | Enter two Citizens, meeting. ; 1 Crr. Neighbour, well met :f whither away s¢ fast ? I promise you, I scarcely know myself. Hear you the news abroad? Ay, that the king is dead. | Bad § news, by’r lady; seldom comes th« better : ° I fear, I fear, ’t will prove a giddy world. 2 Crr. 1 Crr. 2 Crr. tCrr; } (*) First folio, London. ] (+) First folio, Good morrow, Neighbour. (t) First folio, Yes. (§) First folio, Iz. the quartos—not only is there no indication whatever of interpo’ lation, but the lines supposed to be added appear, to us at least absolutely essential to the integrity of the dialogue. b With all our hearts.] This line is not in the folio. | . ¢ Seldom comes the better:] A proverbial saying, of whic) examples are abundant in our early writers. | \OT II. } Enter another Citizen. 3 Crr. Good morrow, neighbours. Doth this news hold® of good king Kdward’s death ? 1 Cir. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while ! Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. No, no; by God’s good grace his son shall reign. Woe to that land that’s govern’d by a child ! 2 Crr. In him there is a hope of government, Which, in his nonage, council under him, ‘And, in his full and ripen’d years, himself, No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 1 rr. So stood the state, when Henry the sixth | Was crown’d in Paris but at nine months old. 8 Orr. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends, God wot ; For then this land was famously enrich’d With politic grave counsel ; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. - 10Crr. Why, so hath this, both by his father | and mother. 3 Crr. Better it were they all came by his father ; Or by his father there were none at all : For emulation, now who shall be nearest, Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. O, full of danger is the duke of Gloster ; ‘And the | proud :® ‘And were they to be rul’d, and not to rule, This sickly land might solace as before. _ 1Crr. Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will be well. 3 Crr. When clouds appear,* wise men put on their cloaks ; ‘When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night ? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth : Ali may be well; but, if God sort it so, Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 2 Cir. Truly, the souls} of men are full of dread : £ You cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily, and full of fear.§ 3 Crr. 1 Crr. 3 Crr. | | | (*) First folio, are seen. (t) First folio, feare. | ® Doth this news hold—] In the folio the colloquy on the entrance of the third citizen runs :— ‘© 3. Neighbours, God speed. 1. Give you good morrow, Sir. 8. Doth the newes hold,” &c. b And the queen’s sons and brothers haught and proud:] So the folio. The quartos, unmetrically,— ‘“‘ And the queenes kindred hautie and proude.” & Last night, I heard, they lay at Northampton, At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night: (+) First folio, hearts. (§) First folio, dread. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. queen’s sons and brothers haught and : (SCENE Iv. 3 Crt. Before the times* of change, still is it so: By a divine instinct men’s minds mistrust Ensuing tf danger ; as, by proof, we see The waters swell before a boist’rous storm. But leave it all to God. Whither away ? 2 Crr. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 3 Crr. And so was I; I’ll bear you company. [ Haeunt. SCENE IV.—The same. Palace. A Room in the Enter the AncusisHor of York, the young Duxe of York, Queen Euizapetu, and the Ducusss of Yorx. Arcu. Last night, I heard, they lay at North- ampton, At Stony-Stratford will they be £ to-night :° To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. Ducu. I long with all my heart to see the prince ; I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. Q. Ex1z. But I hear, no; they say, my son ot York Hath almost overta’en him in his growth. Yorx. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so. Ducu. Why, my young§ cousin, it is good to grow. York. Grandam, one night as we did sit af supper, | My uncle Rivers talk’d how I did grow More than my brother: Ay,quoth my uncle Gloster, Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace: And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste. Ducu. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee: He was the wretched’st thing when he was young So long a growing and so leisurely, That, if this were a rule, he should be gracious.* Arc. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam.° Ducn. Ihope, he is; but yet let mothers doubt. Yorr. Now, by my troth, if I had been re- member’d, I could have given my uncle’s grace a flout, (*) First folio, dayes. (t) First folio, they do rest (+) First folio, Pursuing. (§) First folio, good. In the folio the places are reversed; a clear though minute indf- cation that the quarto text was in parts a corrected one. See Malone’s note in the Variorum edition, xix. pp. 88—9. 4 That, if this were a rule, &c.] The folio reads,— ‘‘ That if his rule were true.” e The quartos have,— ‘‘ Why madame, so no doubt he is.” 535 ff; Yj aay | ts i Y j Wl Way LS i} (Dl Ws Wh bi OV i iat a Hi bit ait S\N M That should have nearer touch’d his growth than he did mine.* Ducu. How, my pretty * York ? I pr’ythee let me hear it. Yorx. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old ; *T was full two years ere I could get a tooth. Grandam, this would have been a biting” jest. Ducu. I pr’ythee, pretty York, who told thee this ? Yorx. Grandam, his nurse. Dvucu. His nurse! why she was.dead ere thou wast born. Yorx. If ’twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. Q. Ex1z. A*parlous boy :—go to, you are too shrewd. Arcu. Good madam, be not angry with the child. Q. Exiz. Pitchers have ears. Arco. Here comes your son,° lord marquis Dorset. (*) First folio, yong. a That should, &c.] The folio reading is,— ‘*To touch his growth, neerer then he toucht mine.” b A biting jest.] The quartos spoil the jest by reading, prettie. ¢ Here comes your son, &c.] In the folio we read as follows :— ‘* Enter a Messenger. ArcH. Here comes a Messenger. What Newes? Mes. Such newes my Lord, as greeves me to report. Qu; How doth the Prince? : 536 Enter Dorset. What news, lord marquis ? | Dors. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold. | Q. Ex1z. How fares the prince ? | Dors. Well, madam, and in health. Dtcx. What is the news then ? | Dors. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey,* are sent to Pomfret, With* them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. Ducu. Who hath committed them ? Dors. The mighty dukes, Gloster and Buckingham. ARcH. For what offence ? Dors. The sum of all I can, I have disclos’d: Why or for what, these nobles were committed, Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord. | Q. Ex1z. Ay me, I see the downfall of ourt house ! | The tiger now hath seiz’d the gentle hind ; | Insulting tyranny begins to jet§ (+) First folio, the. | (*) First folio, And with. (§) First folio, Iutt. (ft) First folio, rwine of my. Mes. Well Madam, and in health. Dut. What is thy Newes?” | d Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey, &c.] Perhaps Capell’s rhythmica: arrangement of these lines might be adopted with advantage. ‘* Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, Are sent to Pomfret, prisoners ; and with them, Sir Thomas Vaughan.” Jpon the innocent and awless throne :— Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre ! see, as in a map, the end of all. Duocu. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, Tow many of you have mine eyes beheld ! (ly husband lost his life to get the crown ; And often up and down my sons were toss’d, Jor me to joy, and weep, their gain and loss: And being seated, and domestic broils Jean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors, ake war upon themselves ; brother to brother, 3lood to blood, self against self :—-O, preposterous (nd frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen ; Yr let me die, to look on death* no more ! (*) First folio, earth. a Maden, farewell. BUCH.” Stay, I will go with you. Q. Exiz. You have no cause.] cae) KING RICHARD THE THIRD. ecermtre Q. E11z. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanctuary.— Madam, farewell. Docu. Stay, I will go with you. Q. Exiz. You have no cause.* ARCH. My gracious lady, go, [Zo the QuEEN. And thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I’ll resign unto your grace The seal I keep ; and so betide to me, As well I tender you and all of yours! Come,* I’ll conduct you to the sanctuary.(2) [ Lccwnt, (*) First folio, Go. In the quartos the dialogue run thus :— “Qu. Come, come, my hoy, we will to sanctuarie, Dur. Jle go along with you.” sd PN // Ni | tt ~~ = ASC Ll > SCENE I.—London. A Street. Trumpets sound. Enter the Prince of WatzEs, Guo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thougls GLoucESTER, BucxrneHaM, CaRpDINAL sovereign : Bovurcurer, and others. The weary way hath made you melancholy. Princz. No, uncle; but our crosses on the \ Bucr. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to | Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy: | your chamber.(1) I want more uncles here to weleome me. 50 538 ACT IIL] Gro. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your ears Hath not yet div’d into the world’s deceit ; Nor* more can you distinguish of a man, Than of his outward show; which, God he knows, Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. Those uncles which you want were dangerous ; Your grace attended to their sugar’d words, But look’d not on the poison of their hearts : God keep you from them, and from such false | friends ! _ Privncz. God keep me from false friends! bu | they were none. . _ Gto. My lord, the mayor of London comes to | greet you. Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train. May. God bless your grace with health and happy days! Prince. I thank you, good my lord ;—and | thank you all._—* [ thought my mother, and my brother York, Would long ere this have met us on the way :— Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not To tell us whether they will come or no! Buck. And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord. Enter Hastras. | Prince. Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come ? ,__ Hasr. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, The queen your mother, and your brother York, ave taken sanctuary : the tender prince Would fain have come with me to meet your | grace, But by his mother was perforce withheld. _ Bucx. Fie, what an indirect and peevish I, course ‘8 this of hers !—Lord cardinal, will your grace 2ersuade the queen to send the duke of York Jnto his princely brother presently ? £ she deny,—lord Hastings, go with him, And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. _ Can. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak ! oratory Jan from his mother win the duke of York, Anon expect him here: but if she be obdurate (*) First folio, No. _* And thank you all.) Here, in all modern editions, we find Stage direction, “ Exeunt Mayor, &c.;” but query, upon what uthority, and with what necessity, is this important official so bruptly dismissed ? b Too senseless-obstinate,—1 ’ss-obstinate, A misprint probably for needs- KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE L. To mild entreaties, God in heaven* forbid We should infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this Jand Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate,” my lord, Too ceremonious, and traditional, Weigh it but with the grossness°* of this age : (2) You break not sanctuary in seizing him ; . The benefit thereof is always granted To those whose dealings have deserv’d the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place : This prince hath neither claim’d it, nor deserv’d ie And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : Then, taking him from thence that is not there, You break no privilege nor charter there. Oft have I heard of sanctuary-men ; But sanctuary-children, ne’er till now. Car. My lord, you shall o’errule my mind for once.— Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me? Hast. I go, my lord. Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. [ Hxeunt Carpinat and Hasrinas. Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation ? Gio. Where it seems ¢ best unto your royal self. If I may counsel you, some day or two, Your highness shall repose you at the Tower : Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit For your best health and recreation. Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place :— Did Julius Cesar build that place, my lord ? Gio. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place ; Which since succeeding ages have re-edified. Prince. Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it ? Bucx. Upon record, my gracious lord. Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register’d; Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As *t were retail’d to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending$ day. Guo. [Aside.] So wise, so young, they say, do ne’er live long. Prince. What say you, uncle ? Gio. I say, without characters, fame lives long.— (*) First tolio omits, im heaven. (t) First folio, think’st. (§) First folio, generall ending day. (t) First folio, great. ¢ Grossness of this age:] The quarto, 1622, reads, ‘‘ greatness of his age; Warburton, ‘‘the greenness of his age;”? and Mr. Col- lier’s annotator, ‘“‘the goodness of his age.” See note on the passage in the Illustrative Comments to Act III. 539 ACT III} Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word.* [ Aside. Princr. That Julius Cesar was a famous man ; With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live : Death makes no conquest of this* conqueror ; For now he lives in fame, though not in life.— I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham— Bucx. What, my gracious lord ? Prince. An if I live until I be a man, T°ll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I liv’d a king. Guo. [Aside.] Short summers lightly» have a forward spring. Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke of York. Enter Yorx, Hasttnas, and the CarpinaL. Prince. Richard of York! how fares our loving f brother ? York. Well, my dread ¢ lord; so must I eall you now. Prince. Ay, brother,—to our grief, as it is ours : Too late® he died, that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty. Guo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York? York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. Guo. He hath, my lord. Yor«K. And therefore is he idle ? Gro. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. Yorx. Then he is more beholden to you than I? Gio. He may command me as my sovereign ; But you have power in me as in a kinsman. York. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. Gio. My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart. Prinoz. A beggar, brother? Yorx. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give ; And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. Gro. A greater gift than that I’ll give my cousin. (*) First folio, his. - (+) First folio, Noble. (t) First folio, deare. a _ Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word.] On what expression does the equivocation of Gloucester depend ? Johnson thinks he alludes to the line,— ‘* So wise, so young, they say, do ne’er live long.” In which he conceals under a proverb, his design of hastening the Prince’s death. Mason conceives the ambiguity to lie in the words ‘‘live long,” and Warburton adopts the extraordinary change of,— 540 i formal-wise Antiquity” ! KING RICHARD THE THIRD. | [SCENE 1 Yorn. A greater gift! O, that’s the swori) to it? Gro. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. . York. O then, I see, you’ll part but wit light gifts ; In weightier things you ’ll say a beggar nay. Gro. It is too weighty for your grace to wear.’ Yorx. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier, Gio. What, would you have my weapon, little lord ? Yorx. I would, that I might thank you as* you call me. | | Gio. How? York. Little. Prince. My lord of York will still be cross ir talk ;— Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. Yorxk. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me :— | | | Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ; Because that I am little, like an ape, He thinks that you should bear me on you shoulders. Buck. With what a sharp provided* wit hi reasons ! | To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself: So cunning and so young is wonderful. | Guo. My lord, will’t please you pass along? Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham, Will to your mother, to entreat of her, To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. | York. What, will you go unto the Tower, m lord ? Prince. My lord protector needs} will hay it 80. York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tove Guo. Why, what should you fear ? York. Marry, my uncle Clarence’ angry ghost My grandam told me he was murder’d there. Prince. I fear no uncles dead. Guo. Nor none that live, I hope. Prince. An if they live, I hope I need not fea But come, my lord, and with a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. [Sennet. Exeunt Priycz, York, Hastina CarDINAL, and Attendants. ) (*) First folio repeats, as. (+) First folio omits, needs. May he not refer to the double sense of the word characte which signifies both the signs by which we communicate ide and the good or evil qualities which distinguish us? For account of the Vice, see note (5), p. 658, Vol. I. b Lightly—] Commonly, usually. ¢ Too late—]' That is, too recently, too lately. 4 d Provided wit—] A wit furnished him beforehand. Bucki> ham suspects the young prince had been instigated by the Qui to mock his uncle Gloucester,— «Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle mother, To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously jact 111.] } Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle mother, To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ? Gro. No doubt, no doubt: O, ’tis a parlous boy ; Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable ; He’s all the mother’s, from the top to toe. | Buck. Well, let them rest.—Come hither, | Catesby, Thou ’rt sworn as deeply to effect what we intend, As closely to conceal what we impart: Thou know’st our reasons urg’d upon the way ;— What think’st thou ? is it not an easy matter [o make William lord Hastings of our mind, For the instalment of this noble duke (n the seat royal of this famous isle ? , Carr. He for his father’s sake so loves the prince, [hat he will not be won to aught against him. Bucx. What think’st thou then of Stanley ? will not he ? * Cars. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. ' Bucx. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle / Catesby, And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings, ow he doth stand affected to our purpose ; And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, Co sit about the coronation. ] * f thou dost find him tractable to us, @neourage him, and showt him all our reasons : 'f he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, 3e thou so too, and so break off your? talk, ind give us notice of his inclination : or we to-morrow hold divided councils,(?) Vherein thyself shalt highly be employ’d. Gio. Commend me to lord William ; tell him, Catesby, Tis ancient knot of dangerous adversaries ‘‘o-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ; And bid my friend,§ for joy of this good news, tive mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. | Bucx. Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly. Carz. My good lords both, with all the heed IT may.|| Guo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep ? (+) First folio, teZd. (§) First folio, Lord. (\|) First folio, can. (*) Quartos, what will he. (t) First folio, the. & About the coronation.] These two lines are only found in the lio. In the quartos, the speech is in other respects slightly | aried,— “* Well, then no more but this: Go, gentle Catesby, and as it were afarre off, Sound thou lord Hastings how he stands affected | Unto our purpose, if he be willing, Encourage him,” &c. b Chop off his head, man;—somewhat we wil] do.—] This is ae spirited version of the quarto text: the folio sadly mars | KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IL Carr. You shall, my lord. Gio. At Crosby-place,* there shall you find us both. [Heit Carrspy. Becx. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive William lord Hastings will not yield to our complots ? Guo. Chop off his head, man ;—somewhat we will do :—® And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables Whereof the king my brother stood$ possess’d. Buck. Ill claim that promise at your grace’s hand. Gro. And look to have it yielded with ail willingness. || Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form. [ Hxeunt, SCENE II.—Before Lord Hastings’ House. Enter a Messenger. What ho! My lord !— [ Knocking. | Within.| Who knocks at the door? A messenger from the lord Stanley.° [ Within.] What is’t o’clock ? Upon the stroke of four. Mgss. Hast. Mess. Hast. Mgss. Enter Hastinas. Hast. Cannot thy master] sleep these tedious nights ? So it should seem** by that I have to say. First, he Esaagae him to your noble self.f¢f Hast. And tt then? Muss. Then certifies your lordship, that this night He dreamt the boar had rased off his helm : Besides, he says, there are two councils held ; $$ And that may be determin’d at the one, Which may make you and him to rue at the other. Therefore he sends to know your lordship’s pleasure,— If you will presently take horse with him, Mass. (*) First folio, Crosby-House. (t+) First folio omits, William. (t) First folio inserts, ad. (§) First folio, was. (||) First folio, kindness. (4) First folio, my lord Stanley Quartos, lordship. (**) First folio, appeares. (+t) (&§) First folio, kepé. (tt) First folio, What. Gloucester’s energy by reading,— ‘“‘ Chop off his head; Something wee will determine.” c A messenger from the lord Stanley.] In the folio, the scene begins, — ‘¢ Mess. My Lord, my Lord. Hast. Who knockes? Mess. One from the Lord Stanley.” 541 ACT III.] And with all speed post with him toward the north, To shun the danger that his soul divines. Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord ; Bid him not fear the separated councils : * His honour and myself are at the one ; And at the other is my good friend Catesby ; Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us, Whereof I shall not have intelligence. Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting} instance : And for his dreams, I wonder he’s so fond ¢ To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers : To fly the boar, before the boar pursues, Were to incense the boar to follow us, And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. Go, bid thy master rise and come to me; And we will both together to the Tower, Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. Muss. My gracious lord, I’ll§ tell him what you say. [ Lav. Enter CATESBY. Catz. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! Hast. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring : What news, what news, in this our tottering state ? Carr. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; And, I believe, will never stand upright, Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. Hast. How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown ? Carr. Ay, my good lord. Hast. I’ll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders, Fre I will || see the crown so foul misplac’d. But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? Carr. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward Upon his party, for the gain thereof : And thereupon he sends you this good news,— That this same very day your enemies, The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still my enemies :] But that I’ll give my voice on Richard’s side, To bar my master’s heirs in true descent, God knows I will not do it to the death. (*) First folio, Cowncell. (f) First folio, without. (t) First folio, simple. (§) First folio, Ile goe, my Lord, and. (||) First folio, Before Ile. (%) First folio, adversaries. a I tell thee, Catesby,—] In the folio there is no break in Hastings’ speech, which stands,— ‘‘ Well, Catesby, ere a fort-night make me older, Ile send,” &c. b As dear as you do yours ;] The quartos’ reading, which cer- tainly expresses the speaker’s meaning more lucidly than the curt lection of the folio,— ‘* My Lord, I hold my Life as deare as yours.” 542 : KING RICHARD THE THIRD. | SOENE II, Carr. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind ! Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,— | That they, who* brought me in my master’s hate, I live to look upon their tragedy. | I tell thee, Catesby,°— | CaTE. What, my lord. | Hast. Ere a fortnight make me older, T’ll send some packing that yet think not on’t, Cats. ’Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepar’d, and look not for it, — Hast. O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls | t | | | | it out With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so ’twill do With some men else, that think themselves as safe As thou and I, who, as thou know’st, are dear To princely Richard and to Buckingham. Cats. The princes both make high account o/ you,— [ Aside.] For they account his head upon the bridge Hast. I know they do; and I have wel desery’d it. | Enter STANLEY. Come on, come on,f where is your boar-spear, man‘ Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided ? Sran. My lord, good morrow ;—good morrow Catesby ;— . | You may jest on, but by the holy rood, I do not like these several councils, I. Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as you do yours ;° | And never, in my life I do protest, = | Was it more precious to me than® ’tis now: Think you, but that I know our state secure, | I would be so triumphant as I am? Sran. The lords at Pomfret, when they rod. from London, | Were jocund, and suppos’d their states were sure And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust ; But yet, you see, how soon the day o’ercast ; This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt ; Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward ! But come, my lord, shall we to the Tower? Hast. I go; but stay, hear you not the news? This day those men you talk of are beheaded. _ (*) First folio, which. (+) Quartos, What my L. ¢ And never, in my life I do protest, Was it more precious to me than ’t is now:] The folio has,— ‘* And never in my dayes, I doe protest, Was it so precious to me, as ’t is now.” d Hear you not the news?] The folio reads,— ‘‘ What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent. Hast. Come, come, have with you: Wot you what, my Lord, To-day the Lords you talke of, are beheaded.” | AQT III. | Sran. They, for their truth, might better wear their heads, Than some that have accus’d them wear their hats.— But come, my lord, let’s away. Enter a Pursuivant. Hast. Go you before, I’ll follow presently. | [Hxeunt Sranuey and Caressy. Well met!* how goes the world with thee ? Pours. The betterthat your lordship please toask. - Hasr. I tell thee, man, ’tis better with me now, [han when I met thee* last where now we meet : [hen was I going prisoner to the Tower, By the suggestion of the queen’s allies ; But now, I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,) This day those enemies are put to death, And I in better state than ere I was. ' Purs. God hold it to your honour’s good content ! - Hast. Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me. [Throwing him his purse. Pours. I thank your honour. [ ant. Enter a Priest. _ Pr. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your : honour. [my heart. _ Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all am beholden to you for your last exercise ;° Jome the next sabbath, and I will content you.° Enter BucxineHaM., Bucx. How now, lord chamberlain, what, talk- | ing with a priest ?* four friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest ; Zour honour hath no shriving work in hand. _ Hast, Good faith, and when I met this holy | man, ‘hose men you talk of came into my mind.— Nhat, go you to the Tower, my lord? Buck. I do, but long, my lord, I shall not stay :° | shall return before your lordship thence. (*) First folio, thow met’st me. '® Well met!] The folio has,— } “€Goe on before, Ile talke with this good fellow.” . i} your last exercise;] This is given somewhat differently in le folio,— _“ Prizst. Well met, my Lord, I am glad to see your Honor. Hasr. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. _ Tam in your debt, for your last Exercise,” &c. © I willcontent you.] In the folio, we have,— “Priest. [le wait upon your Lordship ;” ut as the words are immediately after given to Hastings, /heobald, Malone, and others conceive, what is highly probable, |ey were inserted twice by mistake. How now, lord chamberlain, what, talking with a priest?] ‘he folio has,— “What, talking with a Priest, Lord Chamberlaine? ” A What, go you to the Tower, my lord? (+) First folio, The. | KING RICHARD THE THIRD. (SCENE ILI. Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. Bucx. [-Aside.] And supper too, although thou know’st it not. Come, shall we go along ? * [ ELasr. T’ll wait upon your lordship. ]* | Haeunt. SCENE III.—Pomfret. Before the Castle. Tinter Rarcurr, with a guard, conducting Rivers, Grey, and VauGuHan to execution. Rar. Come, bring forth the prisoners.® Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this,— To-day shalt thou behold a subject die, For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. Grey. God keept the prince from all the pack of you! A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.® Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret ! O thou bloody prison, Fatal and ominous to noble peers! Within the guilty closure of thy walls, Richard the second here was hack’d to death : And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, We give thee upt our guiltless blood to drink. Grey. Now Margaret’s curse is fallen upon our heads, [When she exclaim’d on Hastings, you, and I, ]' For standing by when Richard stabb’d her son. Rrv. Then curs’d she Richard, then curs’d she Buckingham, Then curs’d she Hastings :—O, remember, God, To hear her prayer for them, as now for us ! And for my sister and her princely sons, Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, Which, as thou know’st, unjustly must be spilt ! Rar. Come, come, dispatch, the limit of your lives is out.* Riv. Come, Grey,—come, Vaughan,—let us all§ embrace : And take our leave until we meet in heaven. [ Lxeunt. (*) First folio, will you goe? (+) First folio, blesse. ({) First folio, to thee. (§) First folio, here. Buck. I do, but long, my lord, I shall not stay :] In the folio we read,— ‘‘ What, goe you toward the Tower? Buc. I doe, my Lord, but long I cannot stay there.” f I’ll wait upon your lordship.] A line omitted in the quartos. g Come, bring forth the prisoners.] This line is not in the folio. h Blood-suckers.] After this, in the folio, are the following lines :— ‘““Vaueu. You live, that shall cry woe for this heereafter. Rat. Dispatch, the limit of your Lives is out.” i When she exclaim’d on Hastings, you, and I,—] A line not found in the quartos. k Come, come, dispatch, &c.} The foiio has,— ‘‘ Make haste, the houre of death is expiate,” 1 And take our leave until we meet in heaven.| The folio reads —‘‘ Farewell, until we meet againe in Heaven.” 543 tH Hit AAS iy Ni} th nC ae Ny ‘Nh i hi SE ; Wl ‘i HH 1 SS = = SCENE IV.—London. A Room in the Tower. ea ceed SranuEy, Hasrinas, the BisHop Exy, Carressy, Lovet, and others, witting at a table: Officers of the oe attending. Hast. My lords, at once,* the cause why we are met Is, to determine of the coronation : In God’s name, say, when is this royal day? Buck. Are§ all Me fitting || for thatt royal time ? Stan. They are; 7] re wants but nomination. Ezy. To-morrow then I guess a happy time.** (*) First folio, Now Noble Peeres. (+) First folio, speake. (t) First folio, the. (§) First folio, Zs. (||) First folio, ready. (7) Old text, It is. (**) First folio, I judge a happie day. a Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.] This line is thus lamely printed in the quartos :— 544 Buck. Who knows the lord protector’s mind herein ? Who is most inward with the noble duke ? Exy. Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.* Bucx. Who? I, my lord? we know each other’ faces ; ) But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, Than I of yours ; nor I no more of his, than you of mine : »— : Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. | Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well ; | But, for his purpose in the coronation, | | / fr her not sounded him, nor he delivered ‘* Why you my Lo: me thinks you should soonest know his mind. - b — than you of mine :—] In the folio, the foregoing stands al follows :— ‘‘ We know each others Faces: for our Hearts, ; } He knowes no more of mine, then I of yours, Or I of his, my Lord, then you of mine.” ACT 11] His gracious pleasure any way therein: But you, my noble* lords, may name the time, And in the duke’s behaif I’ll give my voice, Which, I presume, he’ll take in gentle part. Ezy. Now in goody time, here comes the duke himself. . Enter GLOUCESTER. Gio. My noble lords and cousins all, good | morrow : _T have been long a sleeper; but, I trust, _ My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded. | Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, | William lord Hastings had pronoune’d your part,— I mean your voice,—for crowning of the king. Guo. Than my lord Hastings no man might be bolder ; His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.— My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, ‘I saw good strawberries in your garden there ; Ido beseech you send for some of them. | Exy. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart. [| Hait Evy. Gro. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. [Lakes him aside. Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, \And finds the testy gentleman so hot, That he will lose his head ere give consent, His master’s son, as worshipfully he terms it, ‘Shall lose the royalty of England’s throne. _ Buos. Withdraw yourself awhile, I’ll go with | ou. | Hiciint Guovucsster and BuckIncHam. | Sray. We have not yet set down this day of triumph. To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden ; For I myself am not so well provided, ‘As else I would be, were the day prolong’d. Re-enter Bisuop of Ey. he __Exy. Where is my lord protector ?¢ . have sent for these strawberries. | Hasr. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth | this morning ; | *) First folio, Honorable. (+) First folio, In happie. (t) First folio, the Duke of Gloster. _ & That can less hide—] In the folio,— | “Can lesser hide,” &c. p AY, Pray God he be not, I say.] Aline not found in the lio, ° —what they deserve,—] Thisis lamely printed in the quartos,— ‘“*T pray you all, what do they deserve,” &c. 4 Some see it done;—] The folio has,— “‘Lovel and Ratcliffe, looke that it be done;’’ Vou, 11. 545 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE Iv, There’s some conceit or other likes him well, When he doth bid * good morrow with such spirit. I think there’s ne’er a man in Christendom, That can less hide* his love or hate than he ; For by his face straight shall you know his heart. Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his face, By any likelihood + he show’d to-day ? Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is offended ; For, if he were, he would have shown it in his looks. Stan. Ay, pray God he be not, I say.” Re-enter GLoucEestrer and BuckinauamM. Guo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve,° That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witcheraft ; and that have prevail’d Upon my body with their hellish charms ? Hasr. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this noblet presence To doom the offenders: whosoe’er they be, I say, my lord, they have deserved death. Guo. Then be your eyes the witness of this ill,§ See || how I am bewitch’d; behold mine arm Is, like a blasted sapling, wither’d up: ‘This is that 4] Edward’s wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot, struampet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble lord,— Guo. Jf! thou protector of this damned strumpet, Talk’st thou to me of 2/s /—Thou art a traitor !— Off with his head !—now, by Saint Paul I swear, I will not dine until I see the same !— Some see it done ;—4 The rest, that love me, rise and follow me. [Lxeunt all, except Hastinas, CatTessy, and Love.. Hast. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me ; For I, too fond, might have prevented this. Stanley did dream the boar did rase his helm ;° But I disdain’d it and did scorn to fly. (*) First folio, that he bids. (t) First folio, livelyhood. (t) First folio, princely. (§) First folio, their evil. (||) First folio, Looke. (1) First folio, And this is. but, as Ratcliff was engaged at the time in attending the execution of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, he could not be present in the Tower. The inconsistency is avoided in the quartos; and pro bably arose in the folio from the actor who personated Rat- cliff being cast to ‘‘double’” with that character the part of an attendant on the duke of Glaucester. e Stanley did dream, &c.] The folio reads,— ‘* Stanley did dreame, the Bore did rowse our Helmee, And I did scorne it, and disdaine to flye.” NWN ACT III.] Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, And started when he look’d upon the Tower, As loth to bear me to the slaughter-house. O, now I need the priest that spake to me: I now repent I told the pursuivant, = As ’twere* triumphing at mine enemies, How they ¢ at Pomfret bloodily were butcher’d, And I myself secure in grace and favour. O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head. Carr. Dispatch, my lord ;§ the duke would be at dinner : : Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! Who builds his hope in air of your fair || looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep. [Lov. Come, come, dispatch ; *tis bootless to exclaim. Hast. O, bloody Richard!—miserable England! T prophesy the fearfull’st time to thee, That ever wretched age hath look’d upon.— |* Come, lead me to the block ; bear him my head : They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.(#) [ Hxeunt. SCENE V.—The same. The Tower Walls. Enter Guoucester and Bucxineuam, wm rusty armour,(5) marvellous il-favoured. Gio. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour, Murder thy breath in middle of a word,— And then again begin, and stop again, As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror ? Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tra- gedian ; Speak and look back, and pry on every side ; (‘Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, |? Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks Are at my service, like enforced smiles ; And both are ready in their offices, To grace my stratagems,—° Guo. Here comes the mayor ! ~ (*) First folio, too. (t) First folio, To-day. (||) First folio, good. (+) First folio, how. (§) First fo'to, Come, come, dispatch. (7) First folio, were. a That ever wretched age hath look’d upon.—] This and the three lines preceding it are found only in the folio. b Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,—] A line not given in the quartos. ¢ To grace my stratagems,—] The folio reads, “ At any time to grace,” &c.; and adds, ‘* But what, is Catesby gone?” to which Gloucester replies, ‘‘ He is, and see he brings the Maior aloug.” 546 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE Y. Enter the Lord Mayor and Catrssy, Buck. Let me alone to entertain him. Lord mayor !— Guo. Look to the drawbridge there ! Bucx. The reason we have sent for you— Guo. Catesby, overlook the walls. | Bucr. Hark! I hear a drum. 7 Gio. Look back! defend thee,—here are enemies ! Buck. God and our innocency defend us ! Guo. Be patient; they are friends: Ratcliff and Lovel.@ Enter Lovet and Rarcuirr, with Hastings’ — head. Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, | The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. Guo. So dear I lov’d the man, that I must ; weep. I took him for the plainest harmless man, That breath’d upon this* earth a christian ; Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded The history of all her secret thoughts: So smooth he daub’d his vice with show of virtue, That, his apparent open guilt omitted,— I mean his conversation with Shore’s wife,— He liv’d from all attainder of suspect. Bucx. Well, well, he was the covert’st shelter’d — traitor | That ever liv’d.— Would you imagine, or almost believe, Wer’t not, that by great preservation We live to tell it, that the subtle traitor This day had plotted, in the council-house, To murder me and my good lord of Gloster? May. Had he done so? Guo. What! think ye we are Turks, or infidels ? Or that we should, against the form of law, Proceed thus rashly in the villain’s death, But that the extreme peril of the case, The peace of England and our persons’ safety, | Kinfore’d us to this execution ? | May. Now, fair befall you! he desery’d his | death ; [ceeded, | And you, my good lords,t both, have well’ pro- To warn false traitors from the like attempts. [: - ee ee eee se (*) First folio, the. (+) First folio, suspects. | (t) First folio, your good Graces. d Be patient; they are friends: Ratcliff and Lovel.] This short episode with the Lord Mayor is thus varied in the folio :— j “* Buck. Lord Maior. Ricu, Looke to the Draw-Bridge there. Buck. Hearke, a Drumme. Ricu. Catesby, o’re-looke the Walls. Bucx. Lord Maior, the reason we have sent. Ricu. Looke back, defend thee, here are Enemies. Buck. God and our Innocencie defend, and guard us ” | See — ACT III. | I never look’d for better at his hands, After he once fell in with mistress Shore. Gro. Yet had not we determin’d he should die, Until your lordship came to see his end ; Which now the loving haste of these our friends, Somewhat* against our meaning,* hath + pre- vented : _ Because, my lord, we would have had you heard The traitor speak, and timorously confess The manner and the purpose of his treasons ; That you might well have signified the same - Unto the citizens, who haply may Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. May. But, my good lord, your grace’s word t shall serve, | As well as I had seen, and heard him speak : And do not doubt, right noble princes both, But [ll acquaint our duteous citizens Gro. And to that end we wish’d your lordship here, To avoid the censures of the carping world. Bucx. But§ since you come too late of our intent, With all your just proceedings in this case. | | | | Yet witness what you hear we did intend: we bid farewell. [Hat Lord Mayor. __ Guo. Go after, after, cousin Buckizgham. |The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all . ost :— | There, at i meet’st advantage|| of the time, Infer the bastardy of Edward’s children : Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen, Only for saying he would make his son Heir to the crown ; meaning, indeed, his house, Which, by the sign thereof, was termed go. Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, And bestial appetite in change of lust ; ‘Which stretch’d unto their servants, daughters, | wives, Even where his lustful] eye, or savage heart, Without control, listed** to make a prey. Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person :— ‘Tell them, when that my mother went with child Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York My princely father then had wars in France ; And, by true computation of the time, found that the issue was not his begot ; Which well appeared in his lineaments, Being nothing like the noble duke my father : Buttt touch this sparingly, as *twere far off ; S3ecause you know, my lord, my mother lives. And so, my good lord mayor, | (*) First folio, ] Something—meanings. (t+) Old text, have. (t) First folio, words. (§) First folio, Which. () First folio, meetest vantage. (%) First folio, raging. **) First folio, lusted, (tt) First folio, Ye#. | & Were for myself.] The folio adds,— ‘* And so, my Lord adue.” |? At Baynard’s castle.] This and the two foregoing Jines are not 547 | | } ; | KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE VII. Buck. Fear* not, my lord, Ill play the orator. As if the golden fee for which I plead, Were for myself.* Guo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard’s castle, Where you shall find me well accompanied, With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops. Bucx. I go; and, towards three or four o’clock, Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. [ Hatt. [Guo. Go, Lovel, with all speed to doctor Shaw,— Go thou [Zo Caressy.] to friar Penker ;+—bid them both Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s castle.] ° [Hxeunt Lover, Rarcurrr, and Carrssy. Now will I in,$ to take some privy order To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ; And to give notice,$ that no manner of person Have any time recourse unto the princes. [ Leet. SCENE VI.—The same. A Street. Enter a Scrivener. Scriv. This|| is the indictment of the good lord Hastings, Which in a set hand fairly is engross’d, That it may be this day ¥] read o’er in Pauls. And mark how well the sequel hangs together :— Eleven hours I** spent to write it o’er, For yesternight by Catesby was it broughttf me ; The precedent was full as long a doing, And yet within these five hours Hastings liv’d, (6) Untainted, unexamin’d, free, at liberty. Here’s a good world the while !—Why +t who’s SO gross, That cannot see this palpable device ? Yet who so blind,$$ but says he sees it not? Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. [ Heit. SCENE VII.—The same. Court of Baynard’s Castle. Enter Guoucester and Buckinauam, meeting. Gio. How now, how now! 7" : what say the citizens ? (*) First folio, Doubt. (t) First folio, goe. (||) First folio, Here. (**) First folio inserts, have. (tt) First folio omits, Why. in the quartos. ¢ That no manner of person—] In the folio,—** No manne person.” (t+) First folio, Peuker. (§) First folio, order. (1) First folio, to day. (tt) First folio, sent. (§§$) First folio, bold. NN2 ACT IIT.] Buck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, The Citizens are mum, say not a word. Guo. Touch’d you the bastardy of Edward’s children ? Bucx. I did; with [his contract with lady Lucy, And his contract by deputy in France : |* The unsatiate greediness of his desire, And his enforcement of the city wives ; His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,— As being got, your father then in France ; [And his resemblance, being not like the duke. |” Withal, I did infer your lineaments,— Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind : Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ; Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose, Untouch’d, or slightly handled, in discourse. And, when my oratory drew toward end, I bade* them, that did love their country’s good, Cry—God save Richard, England’s royal king | Guo. And did they so? Bucx. No, so God help me, they spake not a word ;° But, like dumb statuas, or breathing stones, Gaz’dt on each other, and look’d deadly pale. Which when I saw, 1 reprehended them ; And ask’d the mayor what meant this wilful silence: His answer was,—the people were not wontt To be spoke to but by the recorder. Then he was urg’d to tell my tale again ;— | Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr’d ; | But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own, At lower end of the hall, hurl’d up their caps, And some ten voices cried, God save king Richard ! [And thus I took the vantage of those few,—]* | Thanks, gentle citizens and friends, quoth I; This general applause and cheerful shout, Argues your wisdom and your love to Richard : And even here brake off, and came away. Gio. What tongueless blocks were they ! would they not speak ? Buck. No, by my troth, my lord.° Gro. Will not the mayor then, and his brethren, come ? Buck. The mayor is here at hand; intend’ some fear ; (*) First folio, bid. (+) First folio, Star’d. (t) First folio, wsed. a His contrAct with lady Lucy, And his contract by deputy in France :] Omitted in the quartos. b And his resemblance, being not like the duke.] This line also is found only in the folio. © —they spake not a word;] Omitted in the quartos. 4 And thus I took the vantage of those few,—] A line omitted in the quartos. @ No, by my troth, my lord.] Only in the quartos. 548 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. (SCENE VIL Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit: And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, And stand between two churchmen, good my lord For on that ground I’ll build* a holy descant: And be not easily won to our requests ; Play the maid’s part, still answer nay, and take it. Guo. I go; and if you plead as well for them, As I can say nay to thee for myself, | No doubt we bring it to a happy issue. | Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord mayor | knocks. [ Heit GLOUCESTER. | | | Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. | Welcome, my lord: I dance attendance here ; . | I think the duke will not be spoke withal.— | Enter CatTEsBy. Now, Catesby,—what says your lord to my re- quest? & Carn. He doth entreat your grace, my noble | lord, | To visit him to-morrow, or next day: . He is within, with two right reverend fathers, | again ; Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens,§ Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward ! He is not lolling|| on a lewd day-bed,4] But on his knees at meditation ; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines ; Not sleeping to engross his idle body, But praying to enrich his watchful soul : Happy were England, would this virtuous prince Take on his grace the sovereignty thereof ; But, sure," I fear, we shall not win him to it. (*) First folio, make. (t) First folio, the gracious Duke. (||) Old text, Zulling. (+) First folio, swites. (§) First folio, Aldermen. ({) First folio, Love-Bed. f Intend—] That is, pretend. | g Now, Catesby,—what says your lord to my request 2] So the folio. Inthe quartos, Buckingham is made to say,— { ‘“‘ Here comes his servant: how now Catesby, what sayes he?” h But, sure, I fear,—] Mr. Collier’s annotator reads very plausibly,— | ‘But sore! fear.” ——— . AcT XIiI.] May. Marry, God forbid* his grace should say us nay! Bucx. I fear, he will: here Catesby comes again ;— Re-enter CATESBY. Now, Catesby, what says his grace ? Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled Such troops of citizens to come to hin, His grace not being warn’d thereof before : He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. Buck. Sorry I am my noble cousin should Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : By heaven, we come to him in perfect love ; And so once more return and tell his grace. [Lait CaTESBY. When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, ’tis much to draw them thence ; So sweet is zealous contemplation. Enter Guovucester in a gallery above, between two Bishops. CaTEsBy returns. May. See, where he stands between two clergy- men !* Bucx. Two props of virtue for a christian prince, To stay him from the fall of vanity : [And, see, a book of prayer in his hand, True ornaments to know a holy man.—]” Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favourable ear to our requests ; And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion and right christian zeal. Guo. My lord, there needs no such apology ; | Trather do beseech you pardon me, ° ! Who, earnest in the service of my God, Neglect} the visitation of my friends. But, leaving this, what is your grace’s pleasure ? Bucx. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, And all good men of this ungovern’d isle. Gro. I do suspect I have done some offence, That seems disgracious in the city’s eye ; And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. Buck. You have, my lord: would it might please your grace, On our entreaties, to amend your fault! Guo. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land ? [resign Bucx. Know then, it is your fault that you (*) First folio, defend. (t) First folio, Deferr’d. 4 See, where he stands between two clergymen !] The folio slightly varies this to,— ‘See where his Grace stands, tweene two Clergiemen !” - b And, see, &.] The lines in brackets are found only in the ‘olio. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE vii The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The scepter’d office of your ancestors, [Your state of fortune and your due of birth, } The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemish’d stock : Whiles, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, Which here we waken to our country’s good, The noble isle doth want her* proper limbs ; Her* face defac’d with sears of infamy, Her* royal stock graft with ignoble plants, And almost shoulder’d in the swallowing gulf Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. Which to recure, we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the charge And kingly government of this your land ;— Not as protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another’s gain ; But as successively, from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your empery, your own. For this, consorted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just suit? come I to move your grace. Gro. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof, Best fitteth my degree or your condition : [If, not to answer,—you might haply think, Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which fondly you would here impose on me ; If to reprove you for this suit of yours, So season’d with your faithful love to me, Then, on the other side, I check’d my friends. Therefore,—to speak, and to avoid the first ; And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,— Definitively thus I answer you. ]° Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert Unmeritable, shuns your high request. First, if all obstacles were cut away, And that my path were even to the crown, As the ripe revenue and due of birth ; Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, That I would rather hide me from my greatness,— Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,— Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother’d. But, God be thank’d, there is no need of me ; (And much I need to help you, were there need.) The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, mellow’d by the stealing hours of time, Will well become the seat of majesty, (*) First folio, His. (t+) First folio, Cause e I rather do beseech you pardon me,—] So the quartos: the folio reads, I doe beseech your Grace to pardon me. d Your state of fortune and your due of birth,—] A line omitted in the quartos. © Definitively thus I answer you.] This and the preceding nine lines are not in the quartos. 549 ——— SS —————___ —- ——— ‘f / \ 1 ‘ TANNIN Q INNA Wa RMA NN NUR ‘i N nN —= SS << \\ Stang NURI WINANS And make, no aoubt, us happy by his reign. On him I lay that you would Jay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars ; Which God defend that I should wring from him! Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace ; But the respects thereof are-nice and trivial, All circumstances well considered. You say that Edward is your brother’s son ; So say we too, but not by Edward’s wife : For first was he contract to lady Luey,— Your mother lives a witness to his vow,— And afterward by substitute betroth’d ® Loath’d bigamy:] Bigamy, Blackstone remarks, which dif- fered from polygamy, or having two wives at once, consisted in either marrying two virgins successively, or once marrying a 550 aaa ates | To Bona, sister to the king of France. These both put off, a poor petitioner, A care-craz’d mother to a many sons, A beauty-waning and distressed widow, iiven in the afternoon of her best days, Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, Sedue’d the pitch and height of his degree To base declension and loath’d bigamy :* By her, in his unlawful bed, he got This Edward, whom our manners call—the prince. More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. widow, and was made unlawful and infamous by a canon of the Council of Lyons, a.p. 1274. ACT 11T.] Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This proffer’d benefit of dignity : Tf not to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry From the corruption of abusing times, Unto a lineal true-derived course. [ you. May. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat Bucx. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer’d love. Cats. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit ! Gro. Alas, why would you heap those cares* on me? I am unfit for state and majesty : I do beseech you, take it not amiss, I cannot nor I will not yield to you. Bucx. If you refuse it,—as in love and zeal, Loth to depose the child, your brother’s son ; As well we know your tenderness of heart, And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, Which we have noted in you to your kindred, And equally, indeed, to all estates,— _ Yet know, whé’r you accept our suit or no, _ Your brother’s son shall never reign our king ; But we will plant some other in the throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house. And, in this resolution, here we leave you ;— Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.* [Haeunt Buck. and Cit. Catz. Call them again, sweet prince, accept | their suit ; If you deny them, all the land will rue it. Guo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? Call them again; I am not made of stone, (*) First folio, this Care. (+) First folio, him. (t) First folio, Stones. ' & Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.] The quartos give this line with an oath :— ‘* Come citizens, zounds Ile intreat no more.” KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE VII. But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Heit Caressy. Albeit against my conscience and my soul.— Re-enter Buckineuam, and the rest. Cousin of Buckingham,—and sage, grave men,— Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burden, whé’r I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load: But if black scandal or foul-fac’d reproach, Attend the sequel of your imposition, Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me From all the impure blots and stains thereof ; For God he knows,* and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire of this. May. God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it. Guo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Bucx. Then I salute you with this royal title,— Long live king Richard, England’s worthy king! Att. Amen. Bucx. To-morrow may it please you to be crown’d ? Gio. Even when you please, since} you will have it so. Bucx. To-morrow then we will attend your grace ; And so, most joyfully, we take our leave. Guo. Come, let us to our holy work again :— [ Zo the Bishops. Farewell, my cousin ;+—farewell, gentle friends. [ Hxeunt. (*) First folio, doth know. (t) First folio, for. (t) First folio, Cousins. To which Richard answers, “ O do not sweare, my lord of Buckingham.” S — LSSS—— ZY, ~ ne [ey ait aH Hy qi i Hi hy SS eee “ Saasee = Saat —S = LIZ A Ces SCENE I.—London. Enter, on one side, QuEEN ExizapetTu, the Dvcusss of Yorr, and Marquis of Dorset; on the other, ANNE DucueEss 0f GLOUCESTER, leading Lavy Marearet PLANTAGENET, CLARENCE’s young daughter. @ Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet?] The opening of this scene is thus exhibited in the folio text :— “ Ducnu. YorKE. Who meets us heere? My Neece Plantagenet, Led in the hand of her kind Aunt of Gloster ? Now, for my Life, shee’s wandring to the Tower, 552 Before the ‘Tower. Ducu. Who meets us here? my niece Plan- tagenet ?°* Q. Ex1z. Sister, well met ! whither away so fast? Anne. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, On pure hearts iove, to greet the tender Prince. Daughter, well met. ANNE. God give your Graces both, a haprie And a ioyfull time of day. Qu. As much to you, good Sister: whither away? Anne. No farther then the Tower,” &c, act Iv.] Upon the like devotion as yourselves, To gratulate the tender* princes there. Q. Ex1z. Kind sister, thanks; we’ll enter all together : And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.— Enter BRAKENBURY. Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, How fares the prince ? * Brax. Well, madam, and in health; but by your leave, I may not suffer you to visit him ; The king hath straightly charg’d the contrary. Q. Exiz. The king / who’s that? Brax. I ery you mercy,f I mean the lord pro- tector. Q. Ex1z. The lord protect him from that kingly title ! Hath he set bounds betwixt + their love and me? Iam their mother; who should keep$ me from them ? Ducu. I am their father’s mother, and|| will see them. Awne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother ; ‘Then fear not thou; I’ll bear thy blame,” And take thy office from thee, on my peril. Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so ; Tam bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Hart Brax. Enter STantEy. Sran. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I?ll salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.— Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, [Zo the Ducuxrss of GLoucESTER. There to be crowned Richard’s royal queen. Q. Ex1z. O,9] cut my lace asunder! That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.° Dors. Madam, have comfort: how fares your grace ? (*) First folio, gentle. (t) First folio, betweene. (||) First folio, Z. (t) First folio omits, Z cry you mercy. (§) First folio, shall barre. ({) First folio, Ah. a How fares the prince? &c.] So the quartos; the corresponding Passage in the folio reads :— “ How doth the Prince, and my young sonne of Yorke? Liev. Right well, deare Madame: by your patience, I may not suffer you to visit them, The King hath strictly charg’d the contrary.” © Then fear not thou;] The folio reads, Then bring me to their sights, ; ¢ Orelse I swoon with this dead-killing news.] In the folio, Anne here exclaims, — KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE I. Q. Ex1iz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence,* Death and destruction dog thee at thet heels ; Thy mother’s name is ominous to children : If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, Lest thou increase the number of the dead ; And make me die the thrall of Margaret’s curse,— Nor mother, wife, nor England’s counted queen. Sran. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam :— Take all the swift advantage of the time ; ¢ You shall have letters from me to my son To meet you on the way and welcome you: * Be not ta’en tardy by unwise delay. Ducu. O ill-dispersing wind of misery !— O my accursed womb, the bed of death ; A. cockatrice hast thou hatch’d to the world, Whose unavoided eye is murderous ! Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent. Anne. And I in § all unwillingness will go.— O, would to God that the inclusive verge Of golden metal that must round my brow, Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ! | Anointed let me be with deadly poison, 9] And die, ere men can say—God save the queen, Q. Exiz. Alas!** poor soul, I envy not thy glory ; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why?—When he that is my husband now, Came to me, as I follow’d Henry’s corse ; When scarce the blood was well wash’d from his hands, Which issu’d from my other angel husband, And that deadt} saint which then I weeping fol- low’d ; O, when, I say, I look’d on Richard’s face, This was my wish,—Be thou, quoth I, accurs’d, For making me, so young, so old a widow ! And, when thou wedd’ st, let sorrow haunt thy bed ; And be thy wife (uf any be so mad) Astt miserable by the lifeS§ of thee, As|\|| thow hast made me by my dear lord’s death . Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, (1) (*) First folio, gone. (+) First folio, thy. (t) First folio, howres. (§) First folio, with. (||) First folio, Braines. (4) First folio, Venome (**) First folio, Goe, goe. (tt) First folio, deare. (tt) First folio, More. (§§) Quartos, death. (|||) First folio, Then. ‘* Despightfull tidings, O unpleasing newes.” And Dorset resumes,— ‘‘ Be of good cheare: Mother, how fares your Grace?” d To meet you on the way, and welcome you:] So the quartos. in the folio,— “ In your behalfe, to meet you on the way.” 553 ACT Iv.] E’en in so short a space,* my woman’s heart Grossly grew captive to his honey words, And prov’d the subject of mine own soul’s curse : Which ever since hath kept? mine eyes from rest ; For never yet one hour in his bed Have I enjoy’dt{ the golden dew of sleep, But have been waked by his timorous dreams.* Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; And will, no doubt,$ shortly be rid of me. Q. Exiz. Alas, poor soul! I pity thy com- plaints.” Anne. No more than from || my soul I mourn for yours. Q. Ex1z. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory ! Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak’st thy leave of it! Ducu. Go thou to Richmond, and good for- tune guide thee !— [Zo Dorset. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee !— [Zo ANNE. Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee ! [Zo Q. ExvizaBeru. I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! Kighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour’s joy wreck’d with a week of teen. [Q. Ex1z. Stay yet;° look back with me unto the 'Tower.— Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, Whom envy hath immur’d within your walls! Rough cradle for such little pretty ones ! Rude ragged nurse, old sullen play-fellow For tender princes, use my babies well ! So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. | [ Laeunt. SCENE II.—The same. A Room of State in the Palace. Flourish of trumpets. Ricwarp, crowned ; * BucKincHaM, CatTssBy, a Page, and others. K. Rien. Stand all apart.—Cousin of Buck- ingham,® Give me thy hand. _—‘[Ricn. ascends the throne. Thus high, by thy advice (*) First folio, Within so small a time. (+) First folio, hitherto hath held.~ (t) First folio, Did I enioy. (§) Quartos omit, no dowbi. (||) First folio, with. a But have been waked by his tim.orous dreams.] In the folio,— ‘‘ But with his timorous Dreames was still awak’d.” b Alas, poor soul! I pity thy complaints.] So the quarto: the folio version reads,— ‘“* Poore heart adieu, I pittie thy complaining.” ¢ Stay yet; &c.] This speech is omitted in the quartos. d RicHARD, crowned;] ‘‘ Enter Richard in pompe” is the stage direction of the folio. e Cousin of Buckingham,—j The folio adds,— “ Buck. My gracious Soveraigne.” 554 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE iI. | And thy assistance, is king Richard seated :— But shall we wear these honours®™ for a day, Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? Buck. Still live they, and for ever may they+ last ! K. Rrcu. O,t Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold indeed :-— Young Edward lives ;—think now what I would say.§ Buck. Say on, my gracious sovereign.‘ K. Rrcu. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king. Bucx. Why so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. || K. Rick. Ha! am I king? Edward lives. Bucx. True, noble prince. K. Ricox. O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live, —true, noble prince [— Cousin, thou wert 4] not wont to be so dull :— Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead ; And I would have it suddenly perform’d. What say’st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief. Bucx. Your grace may do your pleasure. K. Ricu. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kind- ness freezeth : Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord,® Before I positively speak herein :** I will resolve your grace immediately.” °"T is so :—hbut [Lait Buex. Cats. The king is angry; see, he bites tf his lip. [ Aside. K. Ricu. I will converse with iron-witted fools, [Descends from his throne. And unrespective boys; none are for me, That look into me with considerate eyes :— High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.— Boy,— Paes. My lord? K. Rice. Know’st thou not any whom cor- rupting gold Wouldt+ tempt unto a close exploit of death? Paces. I know a discontented gentleman, ) First folio, Glories. es (+) First folio, let them. (ft) First folio, Ah. ( * ! i (§) First folio, speake. \l) First folio, Lord. (7) First folio, wast. (**) First folio, in this. (tt) First folio, grawes. (tt) First folio, Wid. f Say on, my gracious sovereign.] The folio reads,— ** Say on my loving Lord.” & Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord,—] So the quarto: the folio has,— ‘© Give me some litle breath, some pawse, deare Lord.” h J wild resolve your grace immediately.] In the folio,— ‘JT will resolve you herein presently,” ‘Whose humble means match not his ' mind : * Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. _ K. Ricu. What is his name ? Paar. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. K. Ricu. Go, call him hither presently.*— | [Lait Page. ‘The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel :f haughty | ! _ (*) First folio, spirit. (t) First folio, counsailes. ,1 Go, call him hither presently.] That is, immediately. The lee has, “I partly know the man: goe call him hither, Boy.” |. ow now, what news with you?] The abrupt exclamation of phe quarto: the folio reads, How now, Lord Stanley, what’s the “sews? But Stanley’s answer in the latter edition seems preferable Hath he so long held out with me untir’d, And stops he now for breath ?* Enter STANLEY. How now, what news with you?” STAN. Know, my loving lord, The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. K. Ricu. Catesby ? (*) First folio adds, Well, be it so. to the quarto, which has,— ‘« My lord, I hear the marquesse Dorset Is fled to Richmond, in those parts beyond the seas where he abides.” 555 ACT 1v.] Cats. My lord? K. Ricu. Rumour it abroad,* That Anne, my wife, is sick, and like to die; I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean born* gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence’ daughter :-— The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.—(2) Look, how thou dream’st !—I say again, give out, That Anne my wifey is sick, and like to die : About it; for it stands me much upon, To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.— [Heit CaTEsBy. I must be married to my brother’s daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass :— Murder her brothers, and then marry her! Uncertain way of gain! But [ am in So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.— Re-enter Page, with TyrrE.. Ts thy name Tyrrel? Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. K. Ricu. Art thou, indeed ? A bree Prove me, my gracious sovereign.t K. Ricu. Dar’st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine ? Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two enemies. K. Ricu. Why, then thou hast it; two deep enemies, Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep’s disturk ers Are they that I would have thee deal upon :—- Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I’ll rid you from the fear of them. K. Ricu. Thou sing’st sweet music. Come § hither, Tyrrel ; Go, by this token :—rise, and lend thine ear : [ Whispers. There is no more but so :—say, it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.” Tyr. Tis done, my gracious lord. First folio, Queene. (*) First folio, poore. t) §) First folio, Hearke, come. = { ({) First folio, Lord. ( a K. Ricu. Catesby ? CaTE. Ka Rien- Rumour it abroad, That Anne, my wife, is sick, and like to die;] So the quarto: the folio reads,— ** Ricn. Come hither Catesby, rumor it abroad, That Anne my Wife is very grievous sicke.” i b And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.] The folio reads, ‘preferre thee for if;” and in place of the three lines tha’; follow makes Tyrrel answer only,— “T will dispatch it straight.” My lord ? 556 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE It. K. Rrew. Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep ? Tyr. You sball, my lord. [ Haut. Re-enter Buck1NnGHAM. Buck. My lord, I have consider’d in my mind The late request that you did sound me in. K. Ricu. Well, let that pass.* Dorset is fled to Richmond. Buck. I hear that news, my lord. K. Ricu. Stanley, he is your wife’s son:— well, look to£ it. Bucx. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, For which your honour and your faith is pawn’d; The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, The which you promised I should possess.* (3) K. Rrcu. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. Bucx. What says your highness to my just demand ?§ K. Ricu. As I remember ||—Henry the sixth Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king !—perhaps—perhaps— 9] Bucx. My lord,—* K. Ricz. How chance the prophet could not at that time | Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? | Bucx. My lord, your promise for the earl-_ dom,— K. Ricu. Richmond !—When last I was at. Exeter, The mayor in courtesy showed me the castle, | And call’d it—Rouge-mont; at which name, I) started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once, T should not live long after I saw Richmond. Bucx. My lord,— K. Ricu. Ay, what’s o’clock ? Bucx. I am thus bold to put your grace in’ mind | Of what you promis’d me. K. Ricu. Well, but what’s o’clock ? (*) First folio, rest. (t) First folio, the. (t) First folio, wnto. (§) First folio, request. (|) First folio, I doe remember me. j ({) First folio, perhaps, once only. t ¢ The which you promised I should possess.] In the folio,— [ ‘* Which you have promised I shall possesse.” a Buck. My lord,—] The characteristic and dramatic portion) of the scene that follows is entirely omitted in the folio, where Buckingham is made to say,— . | ‘‘ May it please you to resolve me in my suit! ’-- and the King immediately answers,— ‘* Thou troublest me,” &c. eI a [a _ Bucx. Upon the stroke of ten. pemek.. Kicr. Well, let it strike. Buck. Why let it strike ? _ K. Ricu. Because that, like a jack, thou ; keep’st the stroke _ Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. _ Lam not in the giving vein to-day. _ Bucs. Why, then resolve me whé’r you will, | or no. , KK. Ricu, Tut, tut,* thou troublest me; I am | not in the vein. 7 [Haeunt K. Ricwarp and Train. __ Buck. Isit even so?* repays he my true service » With sucht contempt ? made I him king for this ? _ O, let me think on Hastings ; and be gone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on! ) [ Lait. ) SCENE III.—7he same. Enter Tyree. Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody deed$ is done,— The most arch-act || of piteous massacre, (*) First folic omits, Tut, tut. (+) First folio, deepe. | (t) Quartos insert, deepe. (§) First folio, Act. (||) First folio, deed. 8 Isitevenso?] The folio reads, ‘‘ And is it thus?” |! » Their lips like four red roses on a stalk, Which, in their summer beauty, kiss’d cach other. | That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this ruthless* piece of butchery, Albeit they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs, Melting ¢ with tenderness and mild compassion, Went like two children in their death’s sad story. Lo, thus, quoth Dighton, lay those tender t babes, — Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another Within their innocent alabaster§ arms: Their lips like four red roses on a stalk, Which, in their summer beauty, kissd each other.(4)° A book of prayers on their pillow lay ; Which once,|| quoth Forrest, almost chang’d my mind ; But, O, the devil—there the villain stopp’d ; When Dighton thus told on,—we smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation eer she fram’d.— Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse They could not speak ; and so I left them both, To bear this tidings to the bloody king. And here he comes :— (*) First folio, peece of ruthfull. ({) First folio, the gentle. (§) First folio, Alablaster innocent. (+) First folio, Melted. (||) First folio, one. The folio lection is,— ‘« Their lips were foure red Roses on a stalke, 4nd in their Summer Beauty kist each other, 557 AcT IV. Enter Kina Ricuarp. All hail,* my sovereign liege ! + K. Riou. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news ? [charge Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done, my lord. K. Ricu. But didst thou see them dead ? Tyr. I did, my lord. K. Ricu. And buried, gentle Tyrrel ? Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them ; But how, or in what place,* I do not know. K. Ricu. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at§ after- supper, And |j thou shalt tell the process of their death. Mean time but think how I may do thee good, And be inkeritor of thy desire. Farewell, till then. (Tyr. I humbly take my leave. ]” [Lait Tyrren. K. Riou. The son of Clarence have I pent up close ; His daughter meanly have I match’d in marriage ; The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother’s daughter, And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. Enter CaTESBY. Carr. My lord,— K. Ricx. Good news or bad,** that thou com’st in so bluntly ? [ Richmond ; Cats. Bad news, my lord: Ely tf is fled to And Buckingham, back’d with the hardy Welsh- men, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. K. Ricu. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near, Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.t Come,—I have heard§$§ that fearful commenting Ts leaden servitor to dull delay ; Delay leads |||| impotent and snail-pac’d beggary : Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove’s Mercury and herald-for a king ! Go muster men: my counsel is my shield ; We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. [ Laeunt. +) First folio, Lord. §) First folio, and. (4) First folio, this. (++) First folio, Mourton. (§§) First folio, learn’d. (||) First folio, leds. (*) First folio, health. ( (I) First folio omits, my lord. ( (|}) First folio, When. ‘**) First folio, Good or bad newes. (tt) Quarto, army. &@ But how, or in what place,—] In the folio, But where (to say 558 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. (SCENE IY. SCENE IV.—The same. Before the Palace. Enter QurEN MAarGareEtT. Q. Mar. So; now prosperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk’d, To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France ; hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical._— Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret; who comes here ? [ Retires. Enter QuEEN EuizaBetH and the Ducuzss of Yor«. Q. Exiz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes ! My unblown* flowers, new-appearing sweets ! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, And be not fix’d in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings, And hear your mother’s lamentation ! Q. Mar. [Aside.] Hover about her! say, that night for right Hath dimm’d your infant morn to aged night. Ducu. So many miseries have craz’d my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute— Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Q. Mar. [Aside.] Plantagenet doth quit Plan- tagenet. Kdward, for Edward, pays a dying debt. Q. Ex1z. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done ? Q. Mar. [Aside.] When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. Ducu. Blind sight, dead life,t poor mortal- living ghost, Woe’s scene, world’s shame, grave’s due by life usurp’d, [Brief abstract and record of tedious days, | ° Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth, [Sitting down. Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! Q. Exiz. O,t that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave, As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ! (*) First folio, undlowed. (+) First folio, Dead life, blind sight. (t) First folio, 4h. the truth.) b I humbly take my leave.] Omitted in the quartos. , ¢ Brief abstract and record of tedious days,—] “This line 1s omitted in the quartos. | \ | j h ' | Se ACT Iv.] Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here ! O,* who hath any cause to mourn but I? F [Setting down by her. Q. Mar. [Coming Jorward.| If ancient sorrow be most reverent, Give mine the benefit of seniory, t And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them. Tell o’er your woes again by viewing mine :—* T had an Edward, till a Richard kill’d him ; Thad a Henry,§ till a Richard kill’d him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill’d him ; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill’d him. Ducu. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill hin ; I had a Rutland too, thou holp’st || to kill him. Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, till J Richard kill’d him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood ; That foul defacer of God’s handy-work ;” Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our grayes.— O upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur _ Preys on the issue of his mother’s body, And makes her pew-fellow with others’ moan ! Ducu. O, Harry’s wife, triumph not in my woes ! - God witness with me, I have wept for thine. Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for . revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb’d** my Edward ; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match +7 not the high perfection of my loss. Thy Clarence he is dead that kil’dtt+ my Edward ; _ And the beholders of this tragic$$ play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother’d in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer ; Only reserv’d their factor, to buy souls, And send them thither: but at hand, at hand, (*) First folio, Ah. (ft) First folio, signeurie. (|) First folio, hop’st. (**) First folio, Aill’d. (It) First folio, stab’d. (+) First folio, wee. (§) First folio, Husband. (1) First folio, And. (tt) First folio, Matcht. ($$) First folio, franticke. ® Tell o’er your woes again by viewing mine:] This line is omitted in the folio. b That foul defacer of God’s handy-work;] Here, in the folio, follow these two lines— “That reignes in gauled eyes of weeping soules: That excellent grand Tyrant of the earth.” a breath, a bubble; A sign of dignity, a garish flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot;] c _ The folio text arranges these lines thus :— KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IV. Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : Karth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly convey’d from hence :— Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, That I may live to* say, The dog is dead ! Q. Kriz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back’d toad. Q. Mar. I call’d thee then, vain flourish of my fortune ; I call’d thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; The presentation of but what I was, The flattering index of a direful pageant, One heay’d a-high, to be hurl’d down below : A mother only mock’d with two sweet babes ; A dream of what thou wast; a breath, a bubble ;¢ A sign of dignity, a garish flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot ; A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers ? Where be thy children ?+ wherein dost thou joy ? Who sues to thee and cries*—God save the queen ? Where be the bending peers that flatter’d thee ? Where be the thronging troops that follow’d thee ? Decline all this, and see what now thou art. For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; For joyful mother, one that wails the name ; For queen, a very caitiff crown’d with care : ° For one being sued to, one that humbly sues ; For one commanding all, obey’d of none. For one that scorn’d at me, now scorn’d of me; Thus hath the course of justice wheel’d§ about, And left thee but a very prey to time ; Having no more but thought of what thou wert, || To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow ? Now thy proud neck bears half my burden’d yoke ; From which even here I slip my weary neck,{] And leave the burden of it all on thee. Farewell, York’s wife, and queen of sad mischance ; These English woes shall make me smile in France. (*) First folio, and. (t) First folio, two Sonnes. (|) Old text, art,—wast. (+) First folio, faire. (§) First folio, whirl’d. (1) First folio, wearied head. 6 a garish Flagge To be the ayme of every dangerous Shot A signe of Dignity, a Breath, a Bubble.” d Whosues to thee and crigs—] In the folio, ‘‘ Who sues, and kneeles and sayes.” e For queen, a very caitiff crown’d with care: &c.] The folio reads :— ‘*‘ For one being sued too, one that humbly sues: For Queene, a very Caytiffe, crown’d with care: For she that scorn’d at me, now scorn’d of me: For she being feared of all, now fearing one: For she commanding all, obey’d of none.” 559 ACT Iv.]| Q. Exiz. O thou well skill’d in curses, stay awhile, And teach me how to curse mine enemies. Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day ; Compare dead happiness with living woe ; Think that thy babes were fairer* than they were, And he, that slew them, fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse ; Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. Q. Ex1z. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine ! Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [ Hxit Q. Marearet. Ducu. Why should calamity be full of words ? Q. Ex1z. Windy attorneys to their client} woes, Airy succeeders of intestatet joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope; though what they do§ impart Help not at all,|| yet do they ease the heart. Ducu. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let’s smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother’d. I hear his drum,§]—be copious in exclaims. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Kine Ricwarp and his Train, marching. K. Ricu. Who intercepts me in my expedition ? Ducu. O, she that might have intercepted thee,— By strangling thee in her accursed womb,— From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. Q. Ex1z. Hid’st thou that forehead with a golden crown, [right, Where** should be graven,ff if that right were The slaughter of the prince that ow’d that crown, And the dire death of my poortt sons and brothers? Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children ? Ducu. Thou toad! thou toad! where is thy brother Clarence ? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son ? *) First folio, sweeter. t) First folio, intestine. ||) First folio, nothing els. q) First folio, The Trumpet sounds. (**) First folio, Where't. (tt) First folio, branded. (ti) Quartos, two. (+) First folio, Clients. (§) First folio, wiZd. Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?] This inquiry is distributed in the folio between the two ladies :— “Qu. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Gray ? Dur. Where is kinde Hastings? ” b Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.] The following unimportant lines here occur in the folio :— ** Dut. O let me speake. Ricu. Do then, but Ile not beare.” +S In anguish, pain, and agony.) In the folio, ‘in torment and tx agony.” 550 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE Iv Q. Exiz. Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey ? ° K. Ricu. A flourish, trumpets !—strike alarum, drums ! Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord’s anointed: strike, I say !— [Flourish. Alarums. Hither be patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations. Ducu. Art thou my son? K. Ricu. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself. Ducu. Then patiently hear my impatience. K. Riou. Madam, I have a touch of your condition, Which* cannot brook the accent of reproof.” Ducu. I will be mild and gentle in my speech. K. Riou. And brief, good mother, for I am in haste. : Ducu. Art thou so hasty ? I have stay’d for thee, God knows, in anguish, pain, and agony.° K. Rrcw. And came I not at last to comfort you? Ducu. No, by the holy rood! thou know’st it well, Thou cam’st on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me ; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ; Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious ; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and ven- turous ; Thy age confirm’d, proud, subtle, bloody, treach- erous,* What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever grac’d me int thy company? K. Rioux. ’Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, () that call’d your grace To break fast once, forth of my company. If I§ be so disgracious in your sight, || Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.— Strike up the drum. Ducu. O, hear me speak ; for I shall never see thee more.° (*) First folio, That. (+) First folio, words. ({) First folio, with. (§) Quartos, it. (||) First folio, eye. d Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, bloody, treacherous,—] The fvlio reads, ‘* subtle, s/ye, and bloody,” and adds a line,— ‘* More milde, but yet more harmfull ; Kinde in hatred.” e Ducu. O, hear me speak ; for I shall never see thee more. K. Rica. Come, come, you are too bitter.] In the folio :— ‘“‘ Dut. I prythee heare me speake. Ricu. You speake too bitterly. Dut. Heare me a word: For I shall never speake to thee againe.” } i } | ’ uN athe \ 4) Ni F(A Bars RAY AW WY 4) rae Tl i, te 9, Fai) ee es TN * NN NOH <=: sSe = = = S Ses == PPI —— SS hy Nga i) NANA Mi iit } = Hil, AA) hal HAN i il 1 i 4 By 4 sit an var aia) allel ea i it yf Ha Ai Mies ut ies it ih i if i | 4 Htc ! th it | Se K. Ricu. Come, come, you are too bitter. Ducu. Hither thou wilt die, by God’s just ordinance, [7 ° Ure from this war thou turn a conqueror ; Prt with grief and éxtreme age shall perish, And never look upon* thy face again. | (*) First folio, never more behold. “herefore, take with thee my most heavy f curse ; (+) First folio, grecvous. VOL, I. d61 a = Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more, Than all the cémplete armour that thou wearst ! My prayers on the adverse party fight ; And there the little souls of Edward’s children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies, And promise them success and victory. Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. 0 O | Hacit. ACT Iv.] Q. Exiz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say Amen to all.* [Gowng. K. Ricu. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you. Q. Exzz. I have no more sons of the royal blood, For thee to murder:~ for my daughters, Richard,— They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens ; And therefore level not to hit their lives. K. Ric. You have a daughter call’d Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. Q. Ex1zz. And must she die for this? O, let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty ; Slander myself as false to Edward’s bed ; Throw over her the veil of infamy : So she may live unscarr’d from § bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward’s daughter ! K. Ricu. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.* Q. Exiz. To save her life, I’ll say she is not so. K. Riou. Her life is only || safest in her birth. Q. Ex1z. And only in that safety died her brothers. K. Ricu. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite. | Q. Ex1z. No, to their lives bad] friends were contrary. K. Rion. All unavoided? is the doom of destiny. Q. Ex1z. True, when avoided grace makes destiny : My babes were destin’d to a fairer death, If grace had bless’d thee with a fairer life. [K. Rica. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins. Q. E1z. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen’d Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hands soever lanc’d** their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt, Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys, Till that my nails were anchor’d in thine eyes ; And I, in such a desperate bay of death, Like a poor bark, of sails‘and tackling reft, Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. ]|* K. Ricu. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize, And dangerous success of bloody wars, (*) First folio, her. (t+) First folio, talke. (t) First folio, slaughter. (§) First folio, of. (||) First folio, safest onely. ({) First folio, 777. (**) Old text, Zanch’a. . & She is of royal blood.] So the quarto; the folio has, “ She ie a Royall Princesse.” b All unavoided is the doom, &c.] That is, All wnavoidab’e. 562 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. a SS _ [SCENE IV. As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours were by me wrong’d!* Q. Ex1z. What good is cover’d with the face ot heaven, To be discover’d, that can do me good ? K. Rion. The advancement of your children, gentle t lady. Q. Ex1z. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads ? K. Riou. No, to thet dignity and height of honour,$ The high imperial type of this earth’s glory. Q. Exiz. Flatter my sorrows|| with report of it; Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine ? K. Riou. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, Which thou supposest I have done to thee. : Q. Ex1z. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness’ date. K. Ricu. Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter. Q. Ex1z. My daughter’s mother thinks it with her soul. K. Ricx. What do you think? Q. Exiz. That thou dost love my from thy soul : So, from thy soul’s love, didst thou love her brothers ; And, from my heart’s love, I do thank thee for it. K. Rrcw. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning : a I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, And do intend to make her queen of England. Q. Exzz. Say] then, who dost thou mean shall be her king ? = | K. Riou. Even he that makes her queen; who _ else should be? Q. Ex1z. What, thou? | | daughter, K. Ricu. Even so: how think youofit? Q. Ex1z. How canst thou woo her? K. Ricu. That would I** learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour. Q,. Exiz. And wilt thou learn of me? | K. Ricu. Madam, with all my heart. Q. Ezz. Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave, (*) First folio, and yours by me were harm’d. (+) Quartos, mightie. (t) First folio, Unto the. (§) First folio, Fortune. (||) First folio, sorrow. |: ({) First folio, Well. (**) First folio, I wouid. i ¢ Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.) The lines within brackets are not in the quartos. i | a = - ACT Iv.] Hdward and Yerk ; then, haply, will she weep : Therefore present to her,—as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steep’d in Rutland’s blood,— A handkerchief ; [which, say to her, did drain _ The purple sap from her sweet brother’s body, | * | And bid her dry* her weeping eyes therewith.t If this inducement force t her not to love, » Send her a story of thy noble acts ; > Tell her, thou mad’st away her uncle Clarence, ' Her uncle Rivers; yea,§ and, for her sake, Mad’st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. K. Ric. You mock me, madam; this is not the way To win your daughter. Q. Exrz. There is no other way ; ' Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this. [K. Riou. Say, that I did all this for love of her ? Q. En1z. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose t but hate° thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. | K. Ric. Look, what is done cannot be now amended : Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, ‘Which after-hours gives leisure to repent. If did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, I’ll give it to your daughter. TfT have kill’d the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. A grandam’s name is little less in love, Than is the doting title of a mother ; They are as children but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; Jfall one pain, save for a night of groans Endur’d of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, 3ut mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss you have is but a son being king, And by that loss your daughter is made queen. K cannot make you what amends I would, ‘herefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset your son, that, with a fearful soul, “eads discontented steps in foreign soil, ‘his fair alliance quickly shall call home Yo high promotions and great dignity : “he king, that calls your beauteous daughter, wife, ‘'amiliarly shall call thy Dorset, brother ; ‘gain shall you be mother to a king, and all the ruins of distressful times vepair’d with double riches of content. (*) First folio, wipe. (+) First folio, withall. (t) First folio, move. (§) First folio, Z. a =—-— which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother’s body,—] lese words are omitted in the quartos. > A story of thy noble acts;] So the quartos: the folio has, a Letter of thy Noble deeds,” © Sheeannot choose but hate thee,—] A misprint probably, as 563 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE Iv. What! we have many goodly days to see: The liquid drops of tears that you have shed, Shall come again, transform’d to orient pearl ; Advantaging their loan, * with interest Of ten-times-double gain of happiness. Go then, my mother, to thy daughter 20 ; Make bold her bashful years with your experience ; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale ; Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the princess With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys : And when this arm of mine hath chéstised The petty rebel, dull-brain’d Buckingham, Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed ; To whom I will retail my conquest won, And she shall be sole victress, Ceesar’s Cesar. Q. Ex1z. What were I best to say ? her father’s brother Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle ? Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles ? Under what title shall I woo for thee, That God, the law, my honour, and her love, Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ?]4 K. Ricu. Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance. Q. Ex1z. Which she shall purchase with still- lasting war. K. Ries. Say that the king, which may com- mand,° entreats. Q. Exiz. That at her hands, which the king’s King forbids. K. Ric. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen. Q. Exiz. To wail? the title, as her mother doth. K. Rron. Say I will love her everlastingly. Q. Ex1z. But how long shall that title, ever, last ? K. Ricu. Sweetly in force unto her fair life’s end. Q. Ex1z. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last ? K. Ricu. Sot long as heaven and nature lengthens it. Q. Exrz. As long as hell and Richard likes of it. K. Ricu. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love.§ Q. Ex1z. But she, your subject, loaths sucl sovereignty. K. Rrcx. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Q. Ex1z. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. (*) Old text, Zoue. (t) First folio, vaile. (ft) First folio, As. (§) First folio, low. | Mason and Steevens surmised, for ‘* —have thee,” or, as Tyrwhitt conjectured, for ‘‘ —/ove thee.” d Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?] The fifty-five lines inclosed in brackets are found only in the folio. See note (4), p. 534, and the Introductory Notice. ' © Say that the king, which may command,—] In the folio,— Tel] her, the King that may command,—” &c. 002 ACT Iv.] K. Ricu. Then, in plain terms, tell her* my loving tale. Q. Ex1z. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. K. Rrcu. Madam,‘ your reasons are too shallow and too quick. Q. Exzz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead ;— Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. K. Rrew. Harp not on that string, madam ; that is past. Q. Ex1z. Harp on it still shall I, till heart- - strings break.* K. Rion. Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,— Q. Ex1z. Profan’d, dishonour’d, and the third usurp’d. K. Ricu. I swear— Q. Exiz. By nothing ; for this is no oath. Thy George, profan’d, hath lost his holy £ honour ; Thy garter, blemish’d, pawn’d his knightly virtue ; Thy crown, usurp’d, disgrac’d his kingly glory :§ If something thou wilt || swear to be believ’d, Swear then bysomething that thou hast not wrong’d. K. Ricu. Now by the world,— Q. Eviz. ’Tis full of thy foul wrongs. K. Ricu. My father’s death,— Q. Ex1z. Thy life hath that @] dishonour’d. K. Ricu. Then, by myself,— Q. Ex1z. Thyself thyself mis-usest.” K. Ricxw. Why then, by God,**— Q. Exiz. God’s** wrong is most of all. If thou hadst fear’dft to break an oath by tt Him, The unity the king thy brother® made, Had not been broken, nor my brother slain. If thou hadst fear’d to break an oath by Him, The imperial metal, circling now thy brow, $$ Had grac’d the tender temples of my child ; And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two? tender play-fellows |||| for dust, Thy broken faith hath made a] prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now ?° K. Ricu. | The time to come. t) First folio, with. |||) First folio, Bed-fellowes. (%1) First folio, the. a Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break.] In the folio, the Queen’s answer precedes Richard’s speech, which is acci- dentally omitted in the guartos. b K. Ricu. Then, by myself,— Q. Exiz. Thyself thyself mis-usest.] In the folio, which reads, ‘‘ Thy Selfe, is selfe misus’d,” this oath and the Queen’s repartee immediately follow the line,— ‘‘ Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong’d.” & The unity the king thy-brother made, Had not been broken, ner my brother slain.] in the quartos, thy, in the first line, is misprinted my: the folio reads,— 564 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. ee ee [SCENE Ty, Q. Ex1z. That thou hast wronged in the time o’er-past 5 For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past wrong’d by thee, The children live, whose parents * thou hast slaughter’d, Ungovern’d youth, to wail it int their age: The parents live, whose children thouhast butcher’d, Old wither’d+ plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast Misus’d ere us’d, by times mis-us’d 0’er-past.§ K. Rrow. As I intend to prosper, and repent! So thrive I in my dangerous attempt || Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! [Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours !*] Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! Be opposite all planets of good luck } To my proceeding! if, with pure] heart’s love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter ! In her consists my happiness and thine ; Without her, follows to this land and me, To thee, herself, and many a christian soul,® Death,** desolation, ruin, and decay : It cannot be avoided but by this ; It will not be avoided but by this. | Therefore, dear} mother, (I must call you so,) » Be the attorney of my love to her. Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : | Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish-fond tt in great designs, Q. Ex1z. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?) K. Rieu. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good. Q. Exiz. Shall I forget myself to be myself? | K. Ricu. Ay, if your self’s remembrance wrong. yourself. Q. Ex1z. But§§ thou didst kill my children, K. Ric. But in your daughter’s womb [ll] (| bury them: Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall] breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. Q. Exiz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? . (*) First folio, Fathers. (+) First folio, with. (t) First folio, barren. (§) First folio, él/-ws’d repast. — (||) First folio, Affayres. ({) First folio, deere. (**) Quarto, Sad. (tt) Quarto, good. (tt) First folio, peevish found. (§§) First folio, Yet. (||) First folio, Z bury. (91) First folio, wild. 17 a “ The unity the King my husband made : Thou had’st not broken, nor my Brothers died.” b d Two tender play-feilows—] Two in this passage is unques: F tionably an error for foo. | e What canst thou swear by now?] Omitted in the quartos. — f Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!] This line is nol in the quarto. g Without her, follows to this land and me, To thee, herself, and many a christian soul,—}J ; In the folio, the arrangement is slightly altered .— ‘¢ Without her, followes to my selfe, and thee; Her selfe, the Land,” Xe. ; ACT Iv.] K. Ricu. And be a happy mother by the deed. Q. Exiz. I go.—Write to me very shortly, [And you shall understand from me her mind. |* K. Ricu. Bear her my true love’s kiss, and so farewell. Kissing her. Hxit Q. EvizaBEetTu. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman ! Enter Ratcuirr ; Catrssy following. [How now! what news ?]” [coast Rar. My gracious* sovereign, on the western Rideth a puissant navy; to the shoret Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm’d, and unresolv’d to beat them back : Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral ; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. K. Riou. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk :— Ratcliff, thyself,—or Catesby ; where is he ? Oatr. Here, my good lord. K. Ricx. Catesby, fly to the duke. (Cars. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. K. Ricu. Ratcliff,t come hither:]|°* post to Salisbury ; | | ‘When thou com’st thither—Dull unmindful villain, [Zo CaTESBY. | Why stay’st thou here, and go’st not to the duke ?. Cars. First, mighty liege, tell ) highness’ pleasure, What from your grace I shall deliver § him. K. Ricu. O, true, good Catesby ;—bid him | levy straight The greatest strength and power || he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. Catz. I go. [ Lait. Rar. What, may it please you, shall I do | at Salisbury ? K. Ric. Why, what wouldst thou do there, before I go? Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. K. Ricu. My mind is chang’d.— me your Enter STANLEY. ‘Stanley, what news with you ? _ Sran. None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing ; Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. K. Ricu. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! : (*) First folio, Most mightie. (+) First folio, our shores. (I) Old text, Catesby. (§) First folio inserts, éo. (||) First folio inserts, that. @ And you shall understand from me her mind.] The quartos omit this line. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IV. What need’st thou run so many miles about, When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way ? Once more, what news ? STAN. Richmond is on the seas. K. Ricu. There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-liver’d runagate! what doth he there ? Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. K. Ricu. Well, as you guess ? Stan. Stirr’d up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Ricu. Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway’d ? Is the king dead? the empire unpossess’d ? What heir of York is there alive but we ? And who is England’s king but great York’s heir ? Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas ? Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. K. Ricu. Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes? Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. Stan. No, mighty liege;* therefore mistrust me not. K. Ric. Where is thy power then, to beat him back ? Where be thy tenants and thy followers ? Are they not now upon the western shore, Safe-cénducting the rebels from their ships ? Sran. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. [the north, K. Ricx. Cold friends to me: what do they in When they should serve their sovereign in the west ? [king : Sran. They have not been commanded, mighty Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, I’ll muster up my friends, and meet your grace, Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. K. Ricu. Ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond : But I'll not trust thee. STAN. Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful ; T never was, nor never will be false. K. Ricu. Go then, and muster men: leave behind Your son, George Stanley: look your heart be firm, Or else his head’s assurance is but frail. Sran. So deal with him as I prove true to you. [ Hait Sranuey, but (*} First folio, my good Lord. b How now! what news?] Omitted in the quarto. c { will, my lord, with all convenient haste. K. Ricu. Ratcliff, come hither:] Not in the quartos. 563 ACT Iv.] Enter a Messenger. Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devon- shire, As I by friends am well advértised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more* confederates, are in arms. Exter a second Messenger. 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in arms ; And every hour more competitors Flock to the-rebels, and their power grows strong. Enter a third Messenger. 3 Muss. My lord, the army of great Buck- ingham— K. Ricu. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death ? [Striking him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham’s army is dispers’d and scatter’d ; And he himself wander’d away alone, No man knows whither. K. Rieu. I cry thee mercy : There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim’d Reward to him that brings the traitor in? 3 Mzss. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.f Enter a fourth Messenger. 4 Mess, Sir Thomas Lovel and lord marquis Dorset, ’T is said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort bring I to your highness,— The Bretagne navy is dispers’d by tempest : Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks, If they were his assistants, yea, or no ; Who answer’d him, they came from Buckingham Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, Hois’d sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. (*) First folio, moe. (t) First folio, Lord. a Sir Christopher Urswick.] Chaplain to Margaret, countess of Richmond, and afterwards grand almoner to Henry the Seventh, by whom he was held in great esteem. He died in 1521, at Hackney, of which place he was rectcr, where a monument still 566 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE y. K. Ricu. March on, march on, since we are up in arms ; . If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. Re-enter CATESBY. Cats. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken, That is the best news; that the earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, Is colder news, but yet they must be told. K. Ricu. Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost :— Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury ;—-the rest march on with me. [ Flourish. Haeunt. SCENE V.—A Room in Lord Stanley’s House. Enter STANLEY and Sir CorIstoPHER UrRswIckK.® | Sran. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me :— | That, in the sty of this most bloody * boar, My son George Stanley is frank’d up in hold ; If I revolt, off goes young George’s head ; The fear of that withholdst my present aid. So get thee gone; commend me to thy lord : Tell him ¢ the queen hath heartily consented He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? Curis. At Pembroke, or at Ha’rford-west, in Wales. Sran. What men of name resort to him? Curis. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ; Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ; And many more of noble fame § and worth: And towards London do they bend their power, If by the way they be not fought withal. Sran. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand : These letters || will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. [ Hxeunt. (*) First folio, the most deadly. (+) First folio, holds off. (t) First folio, Withall say, that. (§) First folio, other of great name. (||) First folio, My Letter. remains to his memory. _ Enter the Sheriff, and the Guard, with Bucx1ne- HAM, led to execution. Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him ? Suer. No, my good lord; therefore be patient. Bucx. Hastings, and Edward’s children, Rivers, - Grey,* | Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice, | If that your moody discontented souls _ Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction !— This is All-souls’ day, fellows,+ is it not? Suer. It is, my lord.¢ Bucx. Why, then All-souls’ day is my body’s | doomsday. | This is the day which, in king Edward’s time, (*) First folio, Gray and Rivers. (+) First folio, Fellow. (t) First folio omits, my lord. * Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame,—] The folio | Teading is,— “* Come leade me Officers,” &c. SCENE I.—Salisbury. <= RSS ACT V. An open Place. I wish’d might fall on me, when I was found False to his children or* his wife’s allies : This is the day wherein I wish’d to fall By the false faith of him I trusted most ; T This, this All-souls’ day to my fearful soul, Is the determin’d respite of my wrongs. That high Al]-seer which I dallied with, Hath turn’d my feigned prayer on my head, And given in earnest what I begg’d in jest. Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points ont their masters’ bosom :§ Now|| Margaret’s curse falls heavy on my neck,— When he, quoth she, shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess.— Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame,* Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of _ blame. [ Hxewnt. (*) First folio, and. ({) First folio, in. (+) First folio, whom most I trusted. (§) First folio, bosomes. ‘\|) First folio, Thus. 567 AOT Y.| SCENE II.— ~~ SS \ RS) hy v3 HEREIN Shh In temtintiney t" NUM TOYA TINS ISN 4 iS EN i we NY THe) . at} i NIN THAY i ne wy AVN AY A weal N WSs ‘i ae ht i WHI aN Ti a ‘N SX VC Nees Se RY SS oS Wess The Ghost of Kine Henry the SrxtH rises. — Guosr. [Zo K. Ricu.] When I was mortal, my anointed body By thee was punched full of deadly * holes: [Zo Rrcumonp.| Be cheerful, Richmond, for the wronged souls Of butcher’d princes fight in thy behalf: King Henry’s issue, Richmond, comforts thee. ee AcT v.} Think on the Tower and me; despair, and die! Harry the sixth bids thee despair and die !— [Zo Ricumonp.] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king, Doth comfort thee in thy* sleep; live, and flourish ! The Ghost of CLARENCE rises. Guost. [ Zo K. Ricu.] Let me sit heavy on} thy soul to-morrow ! I, that was wash’d to death with fulsome wine ; Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray’d to death ! To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword ; despair, and die !— [Zo Ricumonp.] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ; Good angels guard thy battle! live and flourish ! The Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and VaucHaNn rises : Riv. [Zo K. Rrcu.] Let me sit heavy ont thy _ goul to-morrow, _ Rivers, that died at Pomfret! despair, and die! Grey. [7o K. Ricu.] Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair ! | and, with guilty fear, Let fall thy lance !* despair, and die !— Aux. [Zo Ricumonp.] Awake! and think our wrongs in Richard’s bosom Will conquer him !—awake, and win the day ! The Ghost of Hastines rises. Guost. [Zo K. Ricu.] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake ; And in a bloody battle end thy days! Think on lord Hastings ; despair, and die !— [%o Ricumonv.] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, | awake ! Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England’s sake! The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. Guosts. [70 K. Ricu.] Dream on thy cousins smother’d in the Tower ; Let us be lead + within thy bosom, Richard, » And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death ! Thy nephews’ souls bid § thee despair and die !— | (+) First folio, in. (*) First folio omits, thy. (§) First folio, soule bids. (t) First folio, laid. 4 Let fall thy lance!] Mr. Collier’s annotator reads, we believe KING RICHARD THE THIRD. {SCENE III. [Zo Ricumonp.] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy ; Good angels guard thee from the boar’s annoy ! Live, and beget a happy race of kings! Edward’s unhappy sons do bid thee flourish ! The Ghost of QuEEN ANNE rises. Gnost. [Zo K. Ricu.] Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife, That never slept a quiet hour with thee,(2) Now fills thy sleep with perturbations : To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword; despair, and die !— [Z’o Ricumonp.| Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep ; Dream of success and happy victory ; Thy adversary’s wife doth pray for thee! The Ghost of BuckrncHam rises. Guost. [70 K. Ricu.] The first was I that help’d thee to the crown ; The last was I that felt thy tyranny : O, in the battle think on Buckingham, And die in terror of thy guiltiness ! Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death ; Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath !— Vaven. [Zo K. Rrcw.] Think upon anit | [Zo Ricumonp.| I died for hope ere I could lend AUGH. F : x oh thee aid: But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay’d : God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side ; And Richard fall in height of all his pride! [The Ghosts vanish. Kaine Ricnarp starts out of nis dream. K. Ricu. Give me another horse!—bind up my wounds !— Have mercy, Jesu !—Soft! I did but dream.— O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me !— The lights burn blue.—lIt is now* dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What, do I fear myself? there’s none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No ;—yes; I am: Then fly. What, from myself? great reason: why ? Lest I revenge. What, myself, upon myself? Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? for any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no! alas, I rather hate myself, For hateful deeds committed by myself! I am a villain: yet I lie, I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well :—fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, (*) First folio, not. rightly,— a ‘* Let fall thy pointless lance!” &c. 571 And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury,* in the high’st degree, Murder, stern murder, in the dir’st degree ; All several sins, all us’d in each degree, Throng} to the bar, crying all,—Guilty! guilty! I shall despair :—there is no creature loves me ; And if I die, no soul shall pity me :— Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself. Methought the souls of all that I had murdered Came to my tent; and every one did threat To-morrow’s vengeance on the head of Richard. (*) First folio, perjury, once only. (+) First folio inserts, aJ/. a My lord; ’tis 1.] The old texts read,—“‘ Ratcliffe, my Lord, 572 Enter RaTcuiF¥. Rat. My lord,— K. Ricw. Who’s there? Rar. My lord; ’tis I. The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn ; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 4 a ; ‘ K. Ricu. O, Ratcliff, I have dream’d a fearful — dream !— What thinkest thou? will our friends prove all ; true ? Rat. No doubt, my lord.” ‘tis I.” Capell expelled the redundant word; but it has been reinserted by subsequent editors. Fs, ; b No doubt, my lord.] Richard’s speech, and Ratcliff’s answer, are omitted in the folio. } a Ss —»--— AcT V.] K. Ricx. O Ratcliff, I fear, 1 fear,— Rar. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. K. Riou. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond ! It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; Under our tents I’ll play the eaves-dropper,* To hear if any mean to shrink from me. [Hxeunt Kine Ricuarp and Ratouirr. Enter Oxrorp and others. Lorps. Good morrow, Richmond ! Ricum. Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentle- men, That you have ta’en a tardy sluggard here. Lorps. How have you slept, my lord ? Ricum. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams, That ever enter’d in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure, had, my lords. Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard murder’d, Came to my tent, and cried on victory.* I promise you, my heart is very jocund In the remembrance of so fair a dream. How far into the morning is it, lords ? Lorps. Upon the stroke of four. Ricum. Why, then ’tis time to arm, and give direction.— [Advances to the Troops. More than I have said, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,— God and our good cause fight upon our side ; The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, Like high-rear’d bulwarks, stand before our faces ; _ Richard except, those whom we fight against, _ Had rather have us win than him they follow. For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant and a homicide ; 7 One. rais’d in blood, and one in blood establish’d ; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughter’d those that were the means to help hin ; A base foul stone, made precious by the foil} Of England’s chair, where he is falsely set ; One that hath ever been God’s enemy : Then, if you fight against God’s enemy, God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers ; If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; (*) First folio, Ease-dropper. (+) First folio, soy/e. (t) First folio, sweare. _ & And cried on victory.] This has been needlessly changed to “eried out victory,” or printed, ‘‘—cried—On! victory!” To ery on anything was a familiar expression formerly; thus, in KING. RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE IIL. If you do fight against your country’s foes, Your country’s fat shall pay your pains the hire ; If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall weleome home the conquerors ; If you do free your children from the sword, Your children’s children quit it in your age. Then, in the name of God, and all these rights, Advance your standards, draw your willing swords: For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth’s cold face ; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound, drums and trumpets, bold* and cheerfully ; God, and Saint George! (3) Richmond, and victory! [Laxeunt. Re-enter Kina Ricuarp, Rarorirr, Attendants, and Forces. K. Rrow. Whatsaid Northumberland as touching Richmond ? Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. K. Ricu. He said the truth; and what said Surrey then ? [ purpose. Rar. He smil’d and said, Zhe better for our K. Ricu. He was ’ the right; and so, indeed, it is. [Clock strikes. Tell the clock there.—Give me a calendar.— Who saw the sun to-day ? Rat. Not I,.my lord. K. Rieu. Then he disdains to shine; for, by the book, He should have brav’d the east an hour ago: A black day will it be to somebody.— Rateliff,— Rar. My lord? K. Ricu. The sun will not be seen to-day ; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me, More than to Richmond ? for the self-same heaven That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. Enter NorFrouk. Nor. Arm, arm, my lord! the foe vaunts in the field. K. Riou. Come, bustle, bustle ;—caparison my herse ;— Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power :— I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be ordered.— My forward shall be drawn out allt in length, Consisting equally of horse and foot ; (*) Old text, boldly. (+) First folio omits, owt all. ‘“‘ Hamlet,” Act V. Sc. 2, ‘‘ This quarry cries on havoc;” and in ‘‘ Othello,’ Act V. Sc. 1, ‘‘—whose noise is this that cries on murder?” 573 AcT v.] Our archers shall be placed in the midst : John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, Shall have the leading of the foot and horse. They thus directed, we will follow In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. This, and Saint George to boot !—What think’st thou, Norfolk ? Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign.— This found I on my tent this morning. [Giving a scroll. K. Ricu. [Reads. ] Jockey of Norfolk, be not too* bold, For Dickon thy master is bought and sold. A thing devised by the enemy.— Go, gentlemen, every mau unto his charge : Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls ; | Conscience is but a word that cowards use,* Devis’d at first to keep the strong in awe ; | Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. | March on, join bravely, let us to’t pell-mell ; If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.— | What shall I say more than I have inferr’d ? Remember whom you are to cope withal ;— A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and run-aways, A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants, Whom their o’er-cloyed country vomits forth To desperate venturest and assur’d destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring to you§ unrest ; You having lands, and bless’d with beauteous wives, They would restrain the one, distain the other. And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, Long kept in Bretagne at our mother’s cost ? A. milk-sop, one that never in his life Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow ? Let’s whip these stragglers o’er the seas again ; Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, These famish’d beggars, weary of their lives ; Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, For want of means, poor rats, had hang’d them- selves : If we be conquer’d, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Bretagnes, whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten, bobb’d,and thump’d, And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands ? lie with our wives ? Ravish our daughters ?—Hark ! I hear their drum. [Drum afar off. Fight, || gentlemen of England!—fight, bold 4] yeomen !(4) Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head !— Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ;— Amaze the welkin with your broken staves !— (*) First folio, so. (t) Old text, Adventures. (||) First folio, Right. (+) First folio, fo. (§) First folio, you to. (9) Old text, boldly. a Conscience is but a word that cowards use,—] The folio reads, ** For conscience is a word,” &c, 574 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. Enter a Messenger. What says lord Stanley ? will he bring his power? Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. K. Ricu. Off with his son George’s head ! Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass’d the marsh; After the battle let George Stanley die. K. Ricu. A thousand hearts are great within my bosom: Advance our standards! set upon our foes ! Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.* [ H'xeunt, SCENE IV.—Another part of the Field. Alarum. Excursions. Enter Norroux, and Forces; to him CaTEsBy. Carr. Rescue! my lord of Norfolk, rescue! rescue ! The king enacts more wonders than a man, _ Daring an opposite to every danger ; His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death: Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost ! Alarum. Enter Kine RicHarp. K. Ricu. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Carre. Withdraw, my lord, I’ll help you to a horse. K. Ricu. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die ! I think there be six Richmonds in the field ; Five have I slain to-day instead of him :— A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! [ Laeunt. SCENE V.—Another part of the Field. Alarums. Enter, from opposite sides, Kine Ricuarp and Ricumonp; they fight, and exeunt fighting. Retreat and flourish. Then re-enter RicHMonp»D, with STan.eEy bearing the crown, and divers other Lords, and Forces. Ricum. God and your arms be prais’d, victorious friends ; . The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead ! (4) Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee ! Lo here this} long-usurped royalty, (*) First folio, helpes. (+) First folio, these. (t) Old text, Royalties. b At our mother’s cost?] It should be, ‘our brother's cost.” Shakespeare fell into the error by following a particular edition of Holinshed, wherein brother is misprinted moother. [SCENE y. ACT V.] From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck’d off, to grace thy brows withal ; Wear it, enjoy it,* and make much of it. Ricum. Great God of Heaven, say A men to all !— But, tell me is young George Stanley living ? Sran. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us,” Ricum. What men of name are slain on either side? Sran. John dukeof Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. Ricum. Inter their bodies as becomes? their births. Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, That in submission will return to us ; And then, as we have ta’en the sacrament, We will unite the white rose and the red :— Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, That long hath{ frown’d upon their enmity !— (*) First folio omits, enjoy it. (t) Old text, become. (t) First folio, have. ® Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.] The folio reads,— ‘* Whither (if you please) we may withdraw us.” b Mr. Collier, upon the authority of his MS. annotator, changes | “Abate” to Rebate, and lauds the ‘‘emendation” as indisputable. KING RICHARD THE THIRD. [SCENE Y. What traitor hears me, and says not,—A men ? England hath long been mad, and scarr’d herself ; The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood, The father rashly slaughter’d his own son, The son, compell’d, been butcher to the sire ; All this divided York and Lancaster, Divided, in their dire division. — O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true succeeders of each royal house, By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together ! And let their* heirs (God, if thy will be so,) Enrich the time to come with smooth-fae’d peace, With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days ! Abate” the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again, And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! Let them not live to taste this land’s increase, That would with treason wound this fair land’s peace! Now civil wounds are stopp’d, peace lives agen ; That she may long live here, God say Amen ! [ Haeunt. (*) First folio, thy. This, however, is only one of innumerable instances where the “‘old corrector,” by the needless ejection of an ancient and appropriate word, betrays the modern character of his handy- work. ‘‘ Abate” here means, to blunt, to disedge. So Florio, in voce, ‘‘Spontare,”—‘‘to abate the edge or point of any thing or weapon, to blunt, to unpoint.” ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. q ACI (1) Scenn I.-—Zxter GLOUCESTER.] In the broad out- lines of Richard’s person and character, Shakespeare hag closely adhered to the description of the usurper, by Sir Fhomas More, as he found it in the Chronicles of Hall end Holinshed. “€ Richarde the third sonne [of Richard Plantagenet duke of York}, of whom we now entreate, was in witte and courage egall with either of them, in bodye and prowesse farre under them both [his brothers Edward and Clarence], litle of stature, ill fetured of limmes, croke backed, his left shoulder much higher then his right, hard favoured of visage, and such as is in states called warlye, in other menne otherwise ;* he was malicious, wrathfull, envious, and from afore his birth ever frowarde. It is for trouth reported, that the Duches his mother had so muche a doe in her travaile, that she coulde not bee delivered of hym uncutte, and that hee came into the worlde with the feete forwarde, as menne bee borne outwarde, and (as the fame runneth) also not untothed : whether menne of hatred reporte above the trouthe, or elles that nature chaunged her course in hys beginnynge, whiche in the course of his lyfe many thynges unnaturallye committed. None evill captaine was hee in the warre, as to whiche, his disposicion was more metely then for peace. Sundrye victories hadde he, and sometime overthrowes, but never in defaulte as for his owne persone, either of hardinesse or polytike order. Free was he called of dispence, and sommewhat above his power liberall, with large giftes he get hym unstedfaste frendeshippe, for whiche hee was faine to pil and spoyle in other places, and get hym stedfast hatred. He was close and secrete, a deepe dissi- muler, lowlye of counteynaunce, arrogant of heart, out- wardely coumpinable where he inwardely hated, not letting to kisse whom he thoughte to kyll, dispitious and crueil, not for evill will alway, but ofter for ambicion and either for the suretie or encrease of his estate. Frende and fooe was muche what indifferent, where his advauntage grewe, he spared no mannes deathe whose life withstode his purpose. He slewe with his owne handes king Henry the sixt, being prisoner in the Tower as men constantly saye, and that without commaundemente or knowledge of the kyng, which woulde undoubtedly yf he had entended that thing, have appointed that bocherly office to some other, then his owne borne brother. Some wise menne also wene, that his drifte covertly convayde lacked not in helpyng furth his brother of Clarence to his death, whiche he resisted openly, howbeit somewhat (as menne demed) more faintly then he that wer hartely minded to his welth. And they that thus deme, think that he long time in king Edwardes life, fore-thought to be kyng in case that the king his brother (whose life he looked that evil dyete shoulde shorten) shoulde happen to decease (as in dede he did) while his chyldren were yonge. And thei deme that for thys intente he was gladde of his brothers death the Duke of Clarence, whose life must nedes have hindered him so entendynge, whither the same Duke of * “Such as in estates is called a warlyke visage, and emonge common persones a crabbed face.””—Hatt, 576 — ——— Clarence hadde kepte him true to his Nephew the yonge | king or enterprised to be kyng himselfe. But of al this pointe is there no certaintie and whoso divineth uppon con- iectures, may as wel shote to farre as to short.”—SIR T, More, Life of kyng Rycharde the thirde. Lond. fo, 1587, fo. 37. | (2) Scenz II.— Dead Henrys wounds Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh. | { An allusion to the once prevalent superstition that the | body of a murdered person always bled at the touch or on. the approach of the murderer :—‘‘ For as in a_seeret murther, if the deade carcase be at any time thereafter handled by the muwrtherer, it wili gush out of bloud, as if | the blud wer crying to the heaven for revenge of the; murtherer.”—K. JAMES, Demonologie, 4to. 1597, p. 80, At Hertford assizes, 4 Car. I. the following was taken) by Sir John Maynard, serjeant-at-law, from the depo-) sition of the minister of the parish where a murder was committed :—‘‘ That the body being taken out of the grave thirty days after the party’s ceath, and lying on the grass, | and the four defendants (suspected of murdering her); being required, each of them touched the dead body, whereupon the brow of the dead, which before was of a livid and carrion colour, began to have a dew or gentle sweat arise on it, which increased by degrees, till the sweat ran down in drops on the face, the brow turned to, a lively and fresh colour, and the deceased opened one of. her eyes and shut it again three several times; she like- wise thrust out the ring or marriage finger three times and pulled it in again, and the finger dropt blood on the: grass.” —See the Gentleman's Magazine, Sept. 1731. : 4 (3) Scenr II.—Crosby-place.] So called because built by Sir John Crosby, grocer and woolman, upon ground leased to him in 1466, for ninety-nine years by Alice Ashfield, prioress of St. Helen’s. In the year 1470, being then an alderman, he was elected sheriff, and in that character went out to meet Edward IV. on that monareh’s coming to London, 21st May, 1471. On this occasion he received the honour of knighthood. His effigy in the neighbouring church of St. Helen bears the Yorkish collar of roses and suns; and his attachment to that house explains why Gloucester held his ‘divided councils” 10 Crosby-place. <‘‘ For by little and little,” says Holinshed, ‘all folke with drewe from the Tower, and drew unt¢ Crosbies in Bishopsgate Street, where the Protector Kept his household.” The mansion was spacious and very beautiful. It: noble hall, still existing, is fifty feet long, twenty-sevel broad, and forty feet high, and its roof is considered to be one of the finest specimens of timber-work known. Amon the distinguished possessors of Crosby-place, was Si Thomas More, who here wrote his “ Life of King Richar¢ the Third.” | (4) Scent IV.—I’Ull chop thee in the malmsey-butt ui the next room.] Though tke ancient chroniclers concur ! f } ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. alleging Clarence to have been drowned in a butt of malmsey wine, the story is now believed to be apocryphal. In the “‘ Mirror for Magistrates,” he is made to relate his - murder thus :— ‘* And, covertly, within the tower they calde A guest to geve such verdite as they should: Who, what with feare and what with favour thralde, Durst not pronounce but as my brethren would: And though my false accusers never could Prove ought they sayd, I guiltlesse was condemned: Such verdites passe where iustice is contemned. This feat atchived, yet could they not for shame Cause mee bee kild by any common way, But like a wolfe the tyrant Richard came, (My brother nay my butcher I may say) Unto the tower when all men were away, Save such as were provided for the feate: Who in this wise did strangely mee entreate. His purpose was with a prepared string To strangle mee: but I bestird mee so, That by no force they could mee therto bring, Which caused him that purpose to forgo: Howbeit they bound mee, whether I would or no, And in a but of malmsey standing by, Newe christned mee, because I should not cry.” (5) Scenzr IV.— How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done /] The authority upon which Shakespeare imputed to Richard the murder of his brother Clarence, was not merely the popular tradition of his own day, but the statements of the old chroniclers upon whom he relied for historic information. Walpole conjectured, from a passage ‘in the ‘‘Chronicle of England,” that the real cause of 'Gloucester’s animosity to Clarence was the latter’s un- willingness to share with him that moiety of the estate of the great Earl of Warwick, to which Gloucester became entitled on his marriage with the younger sister of the ‘Duchess of Clarence. Mr. Sharon Turner, however, ob- ‘serves that there is a Patent Roll which records “great \grievances” at this time existing between Clarence and the 'Queen’s brother, Lord Rivers. The Act of his Attainder charges him with purposing treason against the Queen and her son and great part of the nobles of the land; and his (confiscated estates were chiefly given to Lord Rivers, and ‘the stewardship and marriage of his heir to the Queen’s son, the Marquis of Dorset. The parties, therefore, who most profited by Clarence’s death, were really the friends of the Queen and the political opponents of the Duke of ‘Gloucester, “In the .xvii. yere of kyng Edward, there fel a sparcle ‘of privy malice, betwene the kyng and his brother, the duke of Clarence. Whether it rose of old grudges before tyme passed, or were it newly kyndled and set a fyre : : | | | _ (1) Sczye I.—T thank my God for my humility.] Milton, -n his “Tconoclastes,” has this observation :— “The deepest policy of a Tyrant hath bin ever to counterfet Religious. And Aristotle in his Politics, hath nentiond that special craft among twelve other tyrannical Doplasms. Neither want wee examples. * * * From Stories of this nature both Ancient and Modern which abound, the E oets also, and som English, have bin in this point so mindfull of Decorwm, as to put never more pious words n the mouth of any person, then of a Tyrant. I shall not lee a an abstruse Author, wherein the King might be b —— SS conversant, but one whom wee well know was VOL. II, 577 by the Quene or her bloud, which were ever mistrustyng and prively barkynge at the kynges lignage, or were he desirous to reigne after hys brother: to men that have thereof made large inquisicion, of suche as were of no small authoritie in those dayes, the certayntie therof was hyd, and coulde not truely be disclosed, but by coniec- tures, which as often deceyve the imaginacions of fantas- tical folke, as declare treuth to them in their conclusion. The fame was that the kyng or the Quene, or bothe, sore troubled with a folish Prophesye, and by reason therof, began to stomacke and grevously to grudge agaynst the duke. The effect of which was, after king Edward should reigne, one whose first letter of hys name shoulde be a G., and because the devel is wont with such wytchcraftes to wrappe and illaqueat the myndes of men, which delyte in such develyshe fantasyes, they sayd afterward that that Prophesie lost not hys effect, when after kyng Edward, Glocester usurped hys kyngdome. Other allege this to be the cause of his death: That of late, the old rancor betwene them beyng newly revived (The which betwene no creatures can be more vehement then betwene bretherne, especially when it is fermely radi cate), the duke beyng destitute of a wyfe, by the meanes of lady Margaret duches of Burgoyn, hys syster, procured to have the lady Marye, daughter and heyre to duke Charles her husbande, to bee geven to hym in matrimony : which mariage kynge Edward (envyenge the felicitie of hys brother) bothe agaynesayed and ‘disturbed. Thys privy displeasure was openly appeased, but not inwardly for- gotten, nor outwardly forgeven, for that, not withstandyng a servaunt of the Dukes was sodainly accused (I can not say of treuth, or untruely suspected by the Dukes enemyes) of poysonyng, sorcery, or inchauntment, and thereof condempned, and put to taste the paynes of death. The duke, whiche myght not suffer the wrongfull con- demnacion of hys man (as he in his conscience adiudged) nor yet forbere, nor paciently suffer the unjust handelyng of hys trusty servaunt, dayly dyd oppugne, and wyth yll woordes murmur at the doyng thereof. The king much greved and troubled with hys brothers dayly querimonye, and continuall exclamacion, caused hym to be appre- hended, and cast into the Towre, where he beynge taken, adjudged for a Traytor, was prively drouned in a But of Malvesey. But sure it is, that although kyng Edward were con- sentyng to his death and destruccion, yet he muche did bothe lamente hys infortunate chaunce, and repent hys sodayne execucion. In asmuche, that when any person sued to hym for Pardon or remission, of any malefactor condempned to the punyshment of death, he woulde accus- tomably saye, and openly speke, O infortunate brother for whose lyfe not one creatoure woulde make intercession, openly spekyng, and apparantly meanynge, that by the meanes of some of the nobilitie, he was circumvented, and brought to his confusion.” —HALL. MOM BE the Closet Companion of these his solitudes, William Shakespeare ; who introduces the Person of Richard the third speaking in as high a strain of pietie and mortifi- cation, as is utterd in any passage of this Book; and sometimes to the same sense and purpose with some words in this place, J intended, saith he, not onely to oblige my Freinds, but mine Enemies. The like saith Richard, Act, 2. Scen. 1. . I doe not know that Englishman alive, With whom my soule is any jott at odds, More then the Infant that rs borne to-night ; 1 thank my God for my humilitie. ite ae ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. Other stuff of this sort may be read throughout the whole Tragedie, wherein the Poet us’d not much licence in departing from the truth of History, which delivers him a deep dissembler, not of his affections only, but of Religion. EIKONOKAAZTES. The Author I. M., Lond. 4to. 1649, p. 11. (2) Scunz IV.—Come, I’ll conduct you to the sanctuary. | ‘<'These tidynges came hastely to the quene before myd- aighte, by a very sore reporte that the kynge her sonne was taken and that her brother and her other sonne and other her frendes were arested and sent, no man wyste whether. With this heavy tidynges the quene bewayled her chyldes ruyne, her frendes mischaunce, and her owne infortune, curssyng the tyme that ever she was persuaded to leave the gatherynge of people to brynge up the kynge with a great powre, but that was passed, and therfore now she toke her younger sonne the duke of Yorke and her doughters, and went out of the palays of Westminster into the sanctuary, and there lodged in the abbotes place, and she and all her chyldren and compaignie were reges- tred for sanctuarye-persons. The same night there came to doctor Rotheram Archebyshop of Yorke and lorde Chauncelour, a messenger from the lorde Chambrelayne to Yorke place besyde Westminster: the messenger was broughte to the bisshoppes bedsyde and declared to him that the dukes were gone backe with the young kyng to Northampton, and declared further, that the lorde Has- tynges his maister sent hym worde that he shoulde feare nothyng, for all should be well. (Wel quod the Arche- ACT (1) Sonne I.— Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.) London was anciently called Camera Regis ;—a name of which Buckingham took advantage in his speech to the citizens upon the death of Hastings :—‘‘ The prince by this noble citye as his special chamber, and the well renowned citye of this realme, much honorable fame re- ceiveth among all other nacions.”* The best explanation of the term is given in Ben Jonson’s ‘‘ Part of King James’s Entertainment in passing to his coronation, through the City of London, on Thursday the 15th of March 1603 :— At Fen-Church. The scene presented it self in a square and flat upright, like to the side of a city: the top thereof, above the vent and crest, adorned with houses, towers and steeples, set off in prospective. Upon the battlements in a great capital letter was inscribed, LONDINIUM : According to Tacitus, Annal. lib. 14. * * * Beneath that in a less and different character, was written CAMERA REGIA, which title immediately after the Norman conquest it began to have; and by the indulgence of successive rinces, hath been hitherto continued. In the frieze over the gate it seemeth to speak this verse: ParR DOMUS HAC C&LO, SED MINOR EST DOMINO. Taken out of Martial (lib. 8. epig. 36) and implying that though this city (for the state and magnificence) might by hyperbole be said to touch the stars, and reach up to heaven, yet was it far inferior to the master thereof, who * Sir Thomas More’s Life of King Richard III, fo. 63. 578 bishop) be it as wel as it wyl, it wyll never be so wel as we have sene it, and then the messenger departed. Wher- upon the bishop called up all his servauntes and toke with hym the great seale and came before day to the quene, about whom he found much hevynesse, rumble, haste, | busynesse, conveighaunce, and cariage of her stuffe into | sanctuarye, every man was busy to carye, beare and con- — veigh stuffe, chestes and fardelles, no man was unoccupied, | and some caried more then they were commaunded to another place. The quene sat alone belowe on the rushes all desolate and dismayde, whom the Archebishoppe comforted in the best maner that he coulde, shewyng her that the matter was nothyng so sore as she tooke it for, and that he was — putte in good hope and out of feare by the message sent | to hym from the lord Hastynges. ‘A wo worth hym’ quod the quene, ‘for it is he that goeth about to destroy me and my blodde.’ ‘Madame,’ quod he, ‘be of good comforte and I assure you, yf they croune any other kynge then your sonne whom they now have, we shal on — the morow croune his brother whom you have here with you. And here is the greate seale, which in likewyse as — your noble husband delivered it to me, so 1 deliverit to you | to the use of your sonne,’ and therwith delivered her the greate seale and departed home in the dawning of the day, — And when he opened his wyndowes and loked on the Temys, he might see the river full of boates, of the duke of Gloucester his servauntes watchyng, that no person should go to sanctuary, nor none should passe unserched.” —HALL. III. was his Majesty ; and in that respect unworthy to receive him. The highest person advanced therein, was | MoNARCHIA BRITANNICA 5 and fitly; applying to the abovementioned title of the city, THs Kine’s CHAMBER, and therefore here placed as in the proper seat of the empire.” (2) ScEeNE I.— You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, { Too ceremonious, and traditional, Weigh it but with the grossness of this age. : { Buckingham’s reasons against the young duke of York’s | right to enjoy the privilege of sanctuary, were firstae | forth by Sir Thomas More, and were copied by Hall and Hoos from one or other of whom the poet took’ them :— “¢ ¢ Womanish feare, naie womanish frowardnes’ (quod | the duke of Buckingham) * * * ‘I ensure you fe | for my mynde, I will rather (maugre her stomacke) fetche hym away then leave him there till her frowardnesse or fond feare conveie him awaye. And yet will I break no’ sanctuary, for verely sithe the privilege of that place and | other of that sorte have so long continued, I would not; goe about to breake it, but if they were now to begynne! I would not be he that should make them. Yet wyll not: I say nay but it is a deede of pitie that such men as the | chaunce of the sea or their evill debters have brought into’ pores should have some place of refuge to kepe in their odies out of the daunger of their cruell creditours. And: if it fortune the croune to come in question, as it hath done before this tyme, while eche parte taketh other for. traytours, I thinke it necessarye to have a place of refuge for bothe : But as for theves and murtherers whereof these: places be full, and whiche never falle from their crafte after. they once falle therunto, it is pytee that ever Sanctuary ! ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. should serve them, and in especiall wylful murtherers whom God commaundeth to be taken from the aulter and to be put to death. * * * Nowe loke how fewe sanctuary menne there be whome necessitie or misfortune compelled to go thether. And then see on the other syde what a sort there be commonly therein of suche whome wylful un- thriftynes hath brought to naught? What arable of theves, murtherers, and malicious heinous traitours be, and that in twoo places specially ; the one at the elbow of the cytee and the other in the very bowels. I dare well a vowe it, if you waye the good that they do, with the hurt that - commeth of them, ye shall finde it muche better to lose bothe then to have bothe. And this I saye, although they were not abused (as they now be and so long have bene) - that I feare me ever they will be, while men be afeard to _ set to their hands to the amendmente, as though God and saincte Peter were the patrons of ungracious livynge. Nowe unthriftes riot and ronne in debte upon boldnes of ' these places; yea, and riche men ronne thyther with poore mens goodes: there they buylde, there they spend and bid their creditours goo whystle. Mens wyves ronne thither ' with their husbandes plate and saye they dare not abyde with their husbandes for betynge; theves brynge thither stollen goodes and lyve thereon. There devise they new robberies nightely, and steale out and rob, reave and _ kylle menne, and come againe into those places as though those places gave them not onely a savegard for the harme _ that they have dooen but a licence also to do more mischief. *** Where a manne is by lawfull meanes in peril there nedeth he the tuition of some speciall privilege which is the onely grounde of all sanctuaries ; from which necessitee this noble prince is farre, whose love to his kynge, nature and kinred proveth: whose innocencie to all the worlde, his _ tender youth affirmeth, and so sanctuarye, as for hym is _ not necessary, ner none he can have. Men come not to sanctuary as they come to baptisme, to require it by his _ godfathers; he must aske it himselfe that must have it; and reason, sithe no maune hath cause to have it but whose _ conscience of his owne faute maketh him have nede to _ require it. What will then hath yonder babe, which yf _ he had discretion to require it, if nede were, I dare say * would be now right angry with them that kepe him there. _*** And if nobody may be taken out of sanctuary _ because he saieth he will abide there, then yf a child will | take sanctuary because he feareth to go to schoole, his master must lette him alone. And as simple as that ex- _ ample is, yet is there lesse reason in our case then in it, _ for there, though it be a childish feare, yet is there at the least some feare, and hereinis nofeare atall. And verily LT have hearde of sanctuary menne, but I never hearde before _ of sanctuary children : and therefore as for the conclusion of my minde, whosoever may deserve to have nede of it, if thei thynke it for their suretee, let them kepe it. * * * | And he that taketh one out of sanctuarye to doe him goode, I saie plainly, he breaketh no sanctuary.’ ”—HALL. (3) Scene I—for we to-morrow hold divided councils.] This is correspondent with historical fact :— | “And when they were thus at a point betweene them- selves [Richard and Buckingham] they went about to pre- ‘eek for the coronation of the young king, as they would Veitseeme. And that they might turne both the eies and minds of men from perceiving of their drifts other- where, the lords being sent for from all parts of the realme, came thicke to that solemnitie. But the protector and the duke, after that they had sent the lord cardinall, the arch- bishope of Yorke then lord chancellor, the bishop of Elie, the lord Stanleie, and the lord Hastings then lord cham- berlaine, with manie other noble men to common and devise about the coronation in one place, as fast were they in an other place, contriving the contrarie, and to make the pro- ‘tector king. _ To which councell albeit there were adhibited verie few, ‘and they were secret : yet began there here and there ‘abouts, some maner of muttering among the people, as though all should not long be well, though they neither list what they feared, nor wherefore ; were it, that before ‘such great things, mens hearts of a secret instinct of na- / 579 | | | | ture misgive them ; as the sea without winde swelleth of himselfe sometime before a tempest; or were it that some one man, happilie somewhat perceiving, filled manie men with suspicion, though he shewed few men what he knew, Howbeit somewhat the dealing it selfe made men to muse on the matter, though the councell were close, For by little and little all folke withdrew from the Tower, and drew unto Crosbies in Bishops gates street, where the pro- tector kept his houshold. The protector had the resort, the king in maner desolate. While some for their businesse made sute to them that had the dooing, some were by their freends secretlie warned, that it might happilie turne them to no good to be too much attendant about the king without the pro- tectors appointment, which remooved also diverse of the princes old servants from him, and set new about him. Thus manie things comming togither, partlie by chance, partlie of purpose, caused at length not common people onelie, that woond with the wind, but wise men also, and some lords eke to marke the matter and muse thereon ; so farre foorth that the lord Stanleie that was after earle of Derbie, wiselie mistrusted it, and said unto the lord Hastings, that he much misliked these two severall councels. ‘For while we’ (quoth he) ‘ talke of one matter in the tone place, little wot we wherof they talke in the tother place.’ ””—HOLINSHED, (4) Scenz IV.— Come, lead me to the block ; bear hom my head: They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. | The leading incidents connected with the sudden im- peachment and execution of Hastings, are borrowed, pro- bably through Holinshed, from the following relation of them by-8ir Thomas More :— Many Lordes assembled in the tower, and there sat in counsaile, devising the honourable solempnite of the kinges coronacion, of which the time appointed then so nere approched ; that the pageauntes and suttelties were in makmg day and night at Westminster, and much vitaile killed therfore, that afterward was cast away. These lordes so sytting togyther comoning of thys matter, the protectour came in among them, fyrst aboute ix. of the clock, saluting them curtesly, and excusing hymself that he had bene so long, saieng merely that he had bene a slepe that day. And after a little talking with them, he sayd unto the Bishop of Elye: my lord you have very good strawberies at your gardayne in Holberne, I require you let us have a messe of them. Gladly my lord, quod he, woulde God I had some better thing as redy to your pleasure as that. And therewith in al the hast he sent hys servant for a messe of strauberies. The protectour sette the lordes fast in comoning, and thereupon prayeng them to spare hym for a, little while, departed thence, And sone after one hower betwene x. and xi. he returned into the chamber among them, al changed with a wonderful soure angrye countenaunce, knitting the browes, frowning and froting and knawing on hys lippes, and so sat hym downe in hys place: al the lords much dis- maied and sore merveiling of this manner of sodaine chaunge, and what thing should him aile. Then when he had sitten still a while, thus he began: what were they worthy to have, that compasse and ymagine the distruccion of me, being so nere of blood unto the kyng and protectour of his riall persone and his realme. At this question, al the lordes sat sore astonied, musyng much by whome thys question should be ment, of which every man wyst himselfe clere. Then the lord chamberlen, as he for the love betwene them thoughte he might be boldest with him, aunswered and sayd, that thei wer worthye to bee punished as heighnous traitors whatsoever they were. And al the other affirmed the same. That is (quod he) yonder sorceres my brothers wife and other with. her, meaning the quene. At these wordes many of the other Lordes were gretly abashed that favoured her. But the lord Hastings was in his minde better content, that it was moved by her, then by any other whom he loved better. Albeit hys harte somewhat grudged, that he was not afore, Pree ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. made of counsell in this mater as he was of the takyng of | her kynred, and of their putting to death, which were by his assent before, devised to bee byhedded at Pountfreit this selfe same day, in which he was not ware that it was by other devised, that himself should the same day be behedded at London. Then said the protectour: ye shal al se in what wyse that sorceres and that other witch of her counsel, Shoris wife wyth their affynite, have by their sorcery and witchcraft wasted my body. And therwyth he plucked up hys doublet sleve to his elbow upon his left arme, where he shewed a werish withered arme and small, as it was never other, And therupon every mannes mind sore misgave them, well perceiving that this mater was but a quarel. For wel thei wist, that the quene was to wise to go about any such folye. And also if she woold, yet wolde she of all folke leste make Shoris wyfe of coun- saile, whom of al women she most hated, as that concubine whom the king her husband had most loved. And also no man was ther present but wel knew that his arme was ever such since his birth. Natheles the lorde Cham- berlen (which from the death of king Edward kept Shoris wife, on whom he somewhat doted in the kinges life, saving as it is said he that while forbare her of reverence towarde hys king, or els of a certaine kinde of fidelite to hys frend) aunswered and sayd: certainly my lorde if they have so heinously done, thei be worthy heinouse punishmente. What, quod the protectour, thou servest me I wene with ¢ffes and with andes, I tel the thei have so done, and that I will make good on thy body, traitour. And therwith as in a great anger, he clapped his fiste upon the borde a great rappe. At which token given, one cried treason without the chambre. Therwith a dore clapped, and in come ther rushing men in harneys as many as the chambre might hold. And anon the protectour sayd to the lorde Hastinges: I arest the, traitour. What me, my Lorde, quod he. Yeathe, traitour, quod the pro- tectour. And a nother let flee at the Lorde Standley which shronke at the stroke and fel under the table, or els his hed had bene clefte to the tethe ; for as shortely as he shranke, yet ranne the blood about hys eares. Then were they al quickly bestowed in diverse chambres, except the lorde Chamberlen, whom the protectour bade spede and shryve hym a pace, for by saynt Poule (quod he) I wil not to dinner til I se thy hed of. It boted him not to aske why, but hevely he toke a priest at adventure, and made a short shrift, for a longer would not be suffere1, the protectour made so much hast to dyner: which he might not go to til this wer done for saving of his othe. So was he brought forthe into the grene beside the chappel within the tower, ACU Ve (1) Scene I.— Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain I] The ancient mode of punishing a regicide, or one who attempted to deprive a lawful monarch of his realm, was to crown him with a coronet of iron made red-hot. In Goulart’s «¢ Adinirable and Memorable Histories,” 1607, it is related that John, the son of Waivode Stephen, after defeating the army of Hungarian peasants, called Croisadoes, in 1514, caused their general to be stript naked, and the executioner to set a crown of ‘‘ hot burning iron” upon his head. Other instances of this horrible torture, which was, probably, first derived from the Northern nations, are referred to in the notes to the Variorum Shakespeare, Edit. 1821, p. 153, Vol. XIX. (2) Scene Il.—The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.) Edward, Earl of Warwick, the unhappy son of Clarence, was imprisoned by Gloucester at Sherif-hutton Castle ; whence, the day after the battle of Bosworth, he was re- moved, by the order of Richmond, to the Tower. There he remained in captivity until the year 1499, when he was barbarously executed on Tower Hill. Owing to his long 580 ie and his head laid down upon a long log of tymbre, and there striken of, and afterward his body with the hed entred at Windsore beside the body of kinge Edward, whose both soules our lord pardon.” —MORE. (5) Scene V.—Hnter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, in rusty armour, marvellous ill-favowred.| An historical | fact. ‘“* Nowe flewe the fame of thys lordes death through the cytie and farther about, lyke a wynde in every mans eare, but the Protectour immediately after dyner (en- tendyng to set some colour upon the matter) sent in all the haste for many substancial men out of the cytie into | the Towre, and at their comming him selfe with the Duke ~ of Buckyngham stode, harnessed in olde evill favoured briganders, such as no man would wene that they would have vouchesafed to have put on their backes, excepte | some sodeyne necessitie had constraigned them. Then the lord protector shewed them, that the lord Hastynges and other of his conspiracy had contrived to have sodeynly. destroyed hym and the Duke of Buckyngham there the same daie in counsail, and what they entended farther, was yet not well knowen, of whiche their treason he had never knowlege before .x. of the clocke the same fore- none, which sodeyn feare drave them to put on suche harnesse as came next to their handes for their defence, and so God holpe them, that the mischiefe turned upon them that woulde have done it, and thus he required them to report. Every man answered fayre, as though no man eee the matter, which of trueth no man beleved.” —HALL. (6) ScunEr VI.—And yet within these five hours Hastings | livd.] So Hall, who follows Sir Thomas More :—‘‘ Nowe | was thys proclamacion made within twoo houres after he | was beheaded, and it was so curiously endyted and so ! fayre writen in Parchment in a fayre sette hande, and therewith of it selfe so long a processe, that every chyld might perceyve that it was prepared and studyed before » (and as some men thought, by Catesby) for all the tyme © betwene hys death and the proclamacion proclaimyng, | coulde skant have suffyced unto the bare wrytyng alone, albeit that it had bene on paper and scribeled furthe in | haste at adventure. So that upon the proclaimyng thereof, | one that was scolemayster at Paules standyng by and : comparyng the shortenesse of the tyme with the length | of the matter sayed to theim that stoode aboute hym, here is a gaye goodly cast, foule cast awaye for hast. And a marchaunte that stoode by hym sayed that it was wrytten | by inspiracyon and prophesye.”—HALL. - confinement, and the consequent neglect of his education, | he is said by the historians to have become idiotic at the time of his death :—‘‘ Edouardus Varvici comes in carcere | ab incunabulis extra hominum ferarumque conspectum ; nutritus, qui gallinam ab ansere non facile internoscerit, | cum nullo suo delicto supplicium queerere posset, alieno | ad id tractus est.”—POLYDORE VIRGIL. q (8) ScznE II.— I : The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, The which you promised I should possess. | ’ z ‘¢ At Northhampton the duke met with the protector bim« selfe with three hundred horses, and from thence still } continued with him partner of all his devises, till that) after his coronation, they departed (as it seemed) vere, great freends at Glocester. From whense as soone as the | duke came home, he so lightlie turned from him, and 80° highlie conspired against him, that a man would marvel | whereof the change grew. And surelie the occasion of their variance is of diverse men diverselie reported. ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. Some have I heard say, that the duke a little before his coronation, among other things, required of the protector the duke of Hereford’s lands, to the whiche he pretended himselfe just inheritor, And forsomuch as the title which he claimed by inheritance, was somewhat interlaced with the title to the crowne by the line of King Henrie before deprived, the protector conceived such indignation, that he rejected the dukes request with many spitefull and minatorie words. Which so wounded his heart with hatred and mistrust, that he never after coulde endure to ooke aright on king Richard, but ever feared his owne life.” —HOLINSHED. (4) Scene IIT.— Their lips like four red roses on a stalk, Which, in their summer beauty, kiss’d each other. | It is thought that Shakespeare had here in his mind an old ballad of ‘‘ The most cruel Murther of Edward V.” ‘&e. which is printed in ‘‘ The Golden Garland of Princely Delight :”— ‘* When these sweet children thus were Jain in bed, And to the Lord their hearty prayers had said, Sweet slumbring sleep then closing up their eyes Each folded in the other’s arms then lies.” ; (5) Scunze [V.—Humphrey Hour.] This expression has been controverted ; Steevens conjectured the poet designed to mark the hour at which the good Duchess was as hungry as the followers of Duke Humphrey, and he quotes a passage from Decker’s pamphlet, ‘“‘ The Guls Horn- booke,” 1609, in explanation of the phrase, ‘‘ dining with Duke Humphrey,” the meaning of which it now familiar to everybody. Malone supposes Humphrey Hour ‘‘is merely used in ludicrous language for hour, like Tom Troth, for truth, and twenty more such terms.” We apprehend Steevens’s surmise is nearer the true solution, and that Humphrey hour was nothing more than a cant phrase for eating hour. ICOM AY (1) Scrnz ITT.— Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, Be executed in his father’s sight. } “The lorde Stanleie was afraid, least if he should seeme openlie to be a fautor, or aider to the earle his sonne in law, before the day of the battell, that king Richard, which yet utterly did not put him in diffidence and mistrust, would put to some cruell death his sonne and heir apparant, George lord Strange, whome king Richard (as you have heard before) kept with him as a pledge or hostage, to the intent that the lord Stanleie his father should attempt nothing prejudiciall to him.” —HOLINSHED. (2) Scenz III.— Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife, That never slept a quiet hour with thee.] Malone observes that Shakespeare was probably thinking of Sir Thomas More’s animated description of Richard :— ‘‘T have heard by credible report of such as were secrete with his chamberers, that after this abhominable deede done, he never hadde quiet in his minde, hee never thought himself sure. Where he went abrode, his eyen whirled about, his body privily fenced, his hand ever on his dager, his countenance and maner like one alway ready to strike againe, he tooke ill rest a nightes, lay long wakyng and musing, sore weried with care and watch, _ rather slumbred then slept, troubled wyth fearful dreames, ' sodainly sommetyme sterte up, leape out of his bed and _ runne about the chamber, so was his restles herte con- tinually tossed and tumbled with the tedious impression om stormy remembrance of his abhominable dede.”— ORE. (3) Scenz III.—God, and Saint George !] “‘ Saint George was the common cry of the English soldiers when they charged the enemy. The author of the old Arte of _ Warre, printed in the latter end of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, formally enjoins the use of this cry among his _ Mnilitary laws, p. 84:— ‘ Item, that all souldiers entring into battaile, assault, skirmish, or other faction of armes, shall have for their _ common cry and word, Saint George, forward, or upon | them, Saint George, whereby the souldiour is much com- forted, and the enemy dismaied by calling to minde the ancient valour of England, which withthatname has so often been victorious; and therefore he, who upon any s?nister zeale, shall maliciously omit so fortunate a name, shall be severely punished for his obstinate erroneous heart, and perverse mind.’” (4) Sc—nE V.—The day is owrs, the bloody dog zs dead !] The old chroniclers furnish a very long but spirited account of the decisive battle which terminated Richard’s career. We append some extracts :— ‘*In the meane ceason kyng Richard (whiche was appoynted nowe to finyshe his last laboure by the very devine justice and providence of God, whiche called hym to condigne punyshement for his scelerate merites and myscheveous desertes) marched to a place mete for twoo battayles to encountre by a village called Bosworth, not farre from Leycester, and there he pitched his felde, refreshed his souldioures and toke his rest. The fame went that he had the same night a dreadfull and a terrible dreame, for yt semed to hym beynge a slepe, that he sawe diverse ymages like terrible develles whiche pulled and haled hym, not sufferynge hym to take any quyet or rest. The whiche straunge vision not so sodenily strake his heart with a sodeyn feare, but it stuffed his hed, and troubled his mynde with many dreadfull and busy Ima- ginacions. For incontynent after, his heart beynge almost damped, he pronosticated before the doubtfull chaunce of the battaile to come, not usynge the alacrite and myrth of mynde and of countenaunce as he was accustomed to do before he came toward the battaile. And leaste that it might be suspected that he was abasshed for feare of his enemyes, and for that cause looked so piteously, he recyted and declared to his famylyer frendes in the morenynge hys wonderfull visyon and terrible dreame. But I thynke this was no dreame, but a punction and pricke of his synfull conscyence.” After detailing the speeches first of king Richard, and then of Richmond, Hall proceeds :— ‘‘He had scantly finyshed his saienge, but the one armye espyed the other, lord how hastely the souldioures buckled their healmes, how quikly the archers bent ther bowes and frushed their feathers, how redely the byllmen shoke their bylles and proved their staves, redy to approche and joyne when the terrible trompet should sound the bluddy blast to victorie or deathe. Betwene both armies ther was a great marrysse which therle of Richemond left on his right hand, for this entent that it should be on that syde a defence for his parte, and in so doyng he had the sonne at his backe and in the faces of his enemies. When kynge Richard saw the earles_com- aignie was passed the marresse, he commaunded with al ast to sett upon them, then the trompettes blew and the 581 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. souldiours showted, aud the kyngs archers couragiously let fly there arrowes ; the erles bowmen stode noé still but paied them home againe. The terrible shot ons passed, the armies joyned, and came to hand strokes, where nother swerde nor byll was spared, at whiche encounter the lord Stanley joyned with therle. The earl of Oxforde in the meane season feryng lest while his compaignie was fightyng, thei should be compassed and circumvented with the multitude of his enemies, gave commaundement in every ranke that no man should be so hardy as go above .x. fote from the standard, whiche commaundement ons knowen thei knyte themselves together, and ceased a littel from fightyng. *%* * While the two forwardes thus mor- tallye fought, eche entendyng to vanquishe and convince the other, kyng Richard was admonished by his explorators and espialles, that therle of Richmond accompaignied with a small nomber of men of armes was not farre of, and as he approched and marched toward him, he perfitely knew his personage by certaine demonstracions and tokens whiche he had learned and knowen of other. And being inflamed with ire and vexed with outrageous malice, he put his spurres to his horse, and rode out of the syde of the range of his battaile, levyng the avant gardes fightyng, and lyke a hungery lion ran with spere in rest toward bym. Therle of Richmonde perceyved wel the king furiusly commyng towarde hym, and by cause the whole hope of his welth and purpose was to be determined by battaill, he gladlye proferred to encountre with him body to body and man to man. Kyng Richard sett on so sharpely at the first brount that he overthrew therles standarde, and slew Sir William Brandon his standarde bearer (whiche was father to Sir Charles Brandon by kynge Hery the . VIII. created duke of Suffolke) and matched hand to hand with Sir Jhon Cheinye, a man of great force and strength which would have resisted hym, and the saied Jhon was by hym manfully overthrowen, and so he makyng open passage by dent of swerde as he went forwarde, therle of Richmond withstode his violence and kept hym at the swerdes poincte without avantage longer than his com- paignions other thought or judged, which beyng almost in dispaire of victorie, were sodainly recomforted by Sir Wil- liam Stanley, whiche came to succours with .iii. thousande tall men, at whiche very instant kynge Richardes men were dryven backe and fiedde, and he him selfe manfully fyghtynge in the mydell of his enemies was slaine and eee to his death as he worthely had deserved,”— ALL. 582 CRITICAL OPINIONS ON KING RICHARD THE THIRD “Tux part of ‘Richard IIL’ has become highly celebrated in England from its having been filled by excellent performers, and this has naturally had an influence on the admiration of the piece itself, for many readers of Shakspeare stand in want of good interpreters of the poet to understand him properly This admiration is certainly in every respect well founded, though I cannot help thinking there is an injustice in considering the three parts of ‘ Henry the Sixth’ as of little value compared with ‘ Richard the Third’ These four plays were undoubtedly composed in succession, as is proved by the style and the _ spirit in the handling of the subject: the last is definitely announced in the one which precedes it, and is also full of references to it: the same views run through the series; in a word, the whole make together _ only one single work. Even the deep characterization of Richard is by no means the exclusive property of the piece which bears his name: his character is very distinctly drawn in the two last parts of ‘ Henry the Sixth ;’ nay, even his first speeches lead us already to form the most unfavourable anticipations of his future conduct. He lowers obliquely like a dark thunder-cloud on the horizon, which gradually approaches nearer and nearer, and first pours out the devastating elements with which it is charged. when it hangs over the heads of mortals. Two of Richard’s most significant soliloquies which enable us to draw the most important conclusions with regard to his mental temperament, are to be found in ‘The Last Part of Henry the Sixth’ As to the value and the justice of the actions to which passion _ impels us, we may be blind, but wickedness cannot mistake its own nature ; Richard, as well as Tago, is _ would not be softened by benevolence and openness? He, however, considers it as an iniqu _ of nature, which justifies him in taking his revenge on that of excluding him. Hence these sublime lines: | Wickedness is nothing but selfishness designedly unconscientious ; howeve | without the form at least of morality, as this is the law of all thinking beings, @ villain with full consciousness. That they should say this in so many words, is not perhaps in human nature: but the poet has the right in soliloquies to lend a voice to the most hidden thoughts, otherwise the form of the monologue would, generally speaking, be censurable.* Richard’s deformity is the expression of his internal malice, and perhaps in part the effect of it: for where is the ugliness that itous neglect human society from which it is the means And this word love, which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not inme. I am myself alone ry it can never do altogether —it must seek to found —— ow himself a villain to his confidants, is most * What, however, happens in so many tragedies, where a person is made to av under damning names, but as something that is decidedly unnatural. He will, indeed, announce his way of thinking, not, however, understood of itself, and is equally approved of by others. 583 CRITICAL OPINIONS. its depraved way of acting on something like principles. Although Richard is thoroughly acquainted — with the blackness of his mind and his hellish mission, he yet endeavours to justify this to himself by a sophism: the happiness of being beloved is denied to him; what then remains to him but the © happiness of ruling? All that stands in the way of this must be removed. This envy of the enjoy- ment of love is so much the more natural in Richard, as his brother Edward, who besides preceded him — in the possession of the crown, was distinguished by the nobRiness and beauty of his figure, and was an almost irresistible conqueror of female hearts. Notwithstanding his pretended renunciation, Richard places his chief vanity in being able to please and win over the women, if not by his figure at least by — his insinuating discourse. Shakspeare here shows us, with his accustomed acuteness of observation, that — human nature, even when it is altogether decided in goodness or wickedness, is still subject to petty - infirmities. Richard’s favourite amusement is to ridicule others, and he possesses an eminent satirical wit. He entertains at bottom a contempt for all mankind: for he is confident of his ability to deceive them, whether as his instruments or his adversaries. In hypocrisy he is particularly fond of using religious forms, as if actuated by a desire of profaning in the service of hell the religion whose blessings he had inwardly abjured. “So much for the main features of Richard’s character. The play named after him embraces also the latter part of the reign of Edward IV., in the whole a period of eight years. It exhibits all the machi- | nations by which Richard obtained the throne, and the deeds which he perpetrated to secure himself in its possession, which lasted, however, but two years. Shakspeare intended that terror rather than com- passion should prevail throughout this tragedy: he has rather avoided than sought the pathetic scenes which he had at command. Of all the sacrifices to Richard’s lust of power, Clarence alone is put to death on the stage: his dream excites a deep horror, and proves the omnipotence of the poet’s fancy: his conversation with the murderers is powerfully agitating; but the earlier crimes of Clarence merited death, although not from his brother’s hand. The most innocent and unspotted sacrifices are the two princes: we see but little of them, and their murder is merely related. Anne disappears without our learning any thing farther respecting her: in marrying the murderer of her husband, she had shown a weakness almost incredible. The parts of Lord Rivers, and other friends of the queen, are of too secondary a nature to excite a powerful sympathy; Hastings, from his triumph at the fall of his friend, forfeits all title to compassion ; Buckingham is the satellite of the tyrant, who is afterwards consigned by him to the axe of the executioner. In the background the widowed Queen Margaret appears as the fury of the past, who invokes a curse on the future: every calamity which her enemies draw down on each other, is a cordial to her revengeful heart. Other female voices join, from time to time, in the lamentations and imprecations. But Richard is the soul, or rather the demon, of the whole tragedy. He fulfils the promise which he formerly made of leading the murderous Machiavel to school. Not- withstanding the uniform aversion with which he inspires us, he still engages us in the greatest variety of ways by his profound skill in dissimulation, his wit, his prudente, his presence of mind, his quick activity, and his valour. He fights at last against Richmond like a desperado, and dies the honourable death of a hero on the field of battle. Shakspeare could not change this historical issue, and yet it is by no means satisfactory to our moral feelings, as Lessing, when speaking of a German play on the same subject, has very judiciously remarked. How has Shakspeare solved this difficulty ? By a wonderful invention he opens a prospect into the other world, and shows us Richard in his last moments already branded with the stamp of reprobation. We see Richard and Richmond in the night before the battle sleeping in their tents; the spirits of the murdered victims of the tyrant ascend in succession, and pour out their curses against him, and their blessings on his adversary. These apparitions are properly but the dreams of the two generals represented visibly. It is no doubt contrary to probability that their tents should only be separated by so-small a space; but Shakspeare could reckon on poetical spectators who were ready to take the breadth of the stage for the distance between two hostile camps; if for such indulgence they were to be recompensed by beauties of so sublime a nature as this series of 584 CRITICAL OPINIONS. spectres and Richard’s awakening soliloquy. The catastrophe of ‘Richard the Third’ is, in respect of the external events, very like that of ‘Macbeth:’ we have only to compare the thorough difference of handling them to be convinced that Shakspeare has most accurately observed poetical justice in the genuine sense of the word, that is, as signifying the revelation of an invisible blessing or curse which hangs over human sentiments and actions.”—ScHLEGEL. “The character of Richard the Third, which had been opened in so masterly a manner in the ‘Concluding Part of Henry the Sixth,’ is, in this play, developed in all its horrible grandeur. It is, in fact, the picture of a demoniacal incarnation, moulding the passions and foibles of mankind, with superhuman precision, to its own iniquitous purposes. Of this isolated and peculiar state of being Richard himself seems sensible, when he declares— a al = I have no brother, I am like no brother : And this word love, which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, : And not in me; I am myself alone. _ “From a delineation like this, Milton must have caught many of the most striking features of his Satanic portrait. The same union of unmitigated depravity and consummate intellectual energy characterises both, and renders what would otherwise be loathsome and disgusting, an object of _ sublimity and shuddering admiration. “Richard, stript as he is of all the softer feelings, and all the common charities of humanity, possessed of = neither pity, love, nor fear, and loaded with every dangerous and dreadful vice, would, were it not for his unconquerable powers of mind, be insufferably revolting. But, though insatiate in his ambition, envious and hypocritical in his disposition, cruel, bloody, and remorseless in all his deeds, he displays such an extraordinary share of cool and determined courage, such alacrity and buoyancy of spirit, such constant self-possession, such an intuitive intimacy with the workings of the human heart, and such matchless skill in rendering them subservient to his views, as so far to subdue our detestation and abhorrence of his villany, that _ we at length contemplate this fiend in human shape with a mingled sensation of intense curiosity and grateful terror. “The task, however, which Shakspeare undertook was, in one instance, more arduous than that which Milton subsequently attempted; for, in addition to the hateful constitution of Richard’s moral _ Character, he had to contend also against the prejudices arising from personal deformity, from a figure gor sears ~ = curtail’d of it’s fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before it’s time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up. and yet, in spite of these striking personal defects, which were considered, also, as indicatory of the ' depravity and wickedness of his nature, the poet has contrived, through the medium of the high “mental endowments just enumerated, not only to obviate disgust, but to excite extraordinary _ admiration. “One of the most prominent and detestable vices, indeed, in Richard’s character, his hypocrisy, » connected, as it always is, in his person, with the most profound skill and dissimulation, has, owing to | the various parts which it induces him to assume, most materially contributed to the popularity of this play, both on the stage and in the closet. He is one who can frame his face to all occasions, and accordingly appears, during the course of his career, under the contrasted forms of a subject and a 585 | CRITICAL OPINIONS. monarch, a politician and a wit, a soldier and a suitor, a sinner and a saint; and in all with such apparent ease and fidelity to nature, that while to the explorer of the human mind he affords, by his penetration and address, a subject of peculiar interest and delight, he offers to the practised performer a study woll calculated to call forth his fullest and finest exertions. He, therefore, whose histrionic powers are adequate to the just exhibition of this character, may be said to have attained the highest honours of his profession ; and, consequently, the popularity of ‘Richard the Third,’ notwithstanding the moral enormity of its hero, may be readily accounted for, when we recollect that, the versatile and consummate hypocrisy of the tyrant has been embodied by the talents of such masterly performers as Garrick, Kemble, Cooke, and Kean. “ So overwhelming and exclusive is the character of Richard, that the comparative insignificancy of all the other persons of the drama may be necessarily inferred ; they are reflected to us, as it were, from his mirror, and become more or less important, and more or less developed, as he finds it necessary to act upon them; so that our estimate of their character is entirely founded on his relative conduct, through which we may very correctly appreciate their strength or weakness. | “The only exception to this remark is in the person of Queen Margaret, who, apart from the agency of Richard, and dimly seen in the darkest recesses of the picture, pours forth, in union with the deep tone of this tragedy, the most dreadful curses and imprecations ; with such a wild and prophetic fury indeed, as to involve the whole scene in tenfold gloom and horror. “We have to add that the moral of this play is great and impressive. Richard, having excited a general sense of indignation, and a general desire of revenge, and, unaware of his danger from having lost, through familiarity with guilt, all idea of moral obligation, becomes at length the victim of his own enormous crimes; he falls not unvisited by the terrors of conscience, for, on the eve of danger and of death, the retribution of another world is placed before him ; the spirits of those whom he had murdered reveal the awful sentence of his fate, and his bosom heaves with the infliction of eternal torture.’—DRakn, 586 « Vd ra 4 IPL TY SS 2S, aes Sees mS = Sy ess \ SS Act V. Se. 1. a if - 7 w MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Tuts play was first printed in the folio of 1623, and is supposed, upon the slight foundation of two or three doubtful allusions to contemporary events, to have been written in 1603. The fact of its having been played before the Court on St. Stephen’s night, December 26, 1604, which is gathered from Tylney’s account of the expenses of The Revels from the end of October, 1604, to the end of the same month, 1605 :— ** By his Mates. plaiers, On St. Stivens Night in the Hall, A Play called Mesur for Mesur”— proves it to have been written before that date, and this really is all that is known with certainty respecting the period of its production. The plot appears to have been taken from Whetstone’s drama, in two parts, called “The right excellent and famous Historye of Promos and Cas- sandra,” &c. 1578, of which the “‘ Argument” is as follows :— “In the cyttie of Julio (sometimes ynder the dominion of Coruinus Kinge of Hungarie and Boemia) there was a law, that what man so euer committed adultery should lose his head, and the woman offender should weare some disguised apparel during her life, to make her infamouslye noted. This seuere lawe, by the fauour of some mercifull magistrate, became little regarded yntill the time of Lord Promos auctority ; who conuicting a yong gentleman named Andrugio of incontinency, condemned both him and his minion to the execution of this statute. Andrugio had a very vertuous and beawtiful gentlewoman to his sister, named Cassandra: Cassandra to enlarge her brothers life, submitted an humble petition to the Lord Promos: Promos regarding her good behauiours, and fantasying her great beawtie, was much delighted with the sweete order of her talke : and, doying good that euill might come thereof, for a time he repryw’d her brother ; but, wicked man, tourning his liking ynto vnlawfull lust, he set downe the spoile of her honour raunsome for her brothers life. Chaste Cassandra, abhorring both him and his sute, by no perswasion would yeald to this raunsome : but in fine, wonne with the importunitye of hir brother (pleading for life) vpon these conditions she agreede to Promos ; first that he should pardon her brother, and after marry her. Promos, as feareles in promisse as carelesse in performance, with sollemne vowe sygned her conditions: but worse then any infydel, his will satisfyed, he performed neither the one nor the other ; for, to keepe his aucthoritye vnspotted with fauour, and to preuent Cassandraes clamors, he commaunded the gayler secretly to present Cassandra with her brothers head. The gayler, with the outcryes of Andrugio [stc], abhorryng Promos lewdenes, by the prouidence of God prouided thus for his safety. He presented Cassandra with a felon’s head newlie executed, who (being mangled, knew it not from her brothers, by the gayler who was set at libertie) was so agreeued at this trecherye, that, at the pointe to kyl her selfe, she spared that stroke to be auenged of Promos: and deuisyng a way, she concluded to make her fortunes knowne ynto the kinge. She (executinge this resolution) was so highly fauoured of the king, that forthwith he hasted to do justice on Promos: whose judgement was, to marrye Cassandra to repaire her crased honour ; which donre, for 589 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. his hainous offence he should lose tis head. This maryage solempnised, Cassandra, tyed in the greatest bondes of affection to her husband, became an earnest suter for his life: the kinge (tendringe the generall benefit of the common weale before her special ease, although he fauoured her much,) would not graunt her sute, Andrugio (disguised amonge the company) sorrowing the griefe of his sister, bewrayde his safetye, and ‘craued pardon. The kinge, to renowne the vertues of Cassandra, pardoned both him and Promos. The circumstances of this rare historye in action lyuelye foloweth.” Whetstone was indebted for the story, of which he afterwards introduced a prose narrative in his ‘‘ Heptameron of Civil Discourses ” 1582, to Giraldi Cinthio’s Hecatommithi,—Parte Seconda, Deca. viii. Novella 5 :-— “ Juriste 8 mandato da Massamiano Imperadore in Ispruchi, ove f& prendere un giovane violatore di una vergine, © condannalo a morte: la sorella cerca di liberarlo: Juriste da speranza alla donna di pigliarla per moglie, e di darle libero il fratello: ella con lui si giace, e la notte istessa Juriste f& tagliar al giovane la testa, ela manda alla sorella. Ella ne fd querela all’ Imperadore, il quale f& sposare ad Juriste la donna ; poscia lo fa dare ad essere ucciso: la donna lo libera, e con lui si vive amorevolissimamente.” Persons Represented, VincENTIO, the Duke. | Frotn, a foolish Gentleman. ANGELO, the Deputy. Pompry, Servant to Mistress Overdone, Escauus, an Ancient Lord. ABHORSON, an Executioner. CLAUDIO, a Young Gentleman. BARNARDINE, @ dissolute Prisoner. Lucio, a Fantastic. Two other like Gentlemen. Provost. IsABELLA, Sister to Claudio. T'HomAs, ) Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. Two Friars. PETER, J ~ JuuET, beloved of Claudio. A Justice. Francisca, a Nun. Enpow, a simple Constable. Mistress OVERDONE, a Bawd. Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other Attendants. SCENE—VIENNA. 590 = SS — hS . ” \ Wy 2 uh \\ ) y LZ PE PIAS re 1 F. Sst i the Toe > Ces 1: SCENE I.—An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace. | Enter Duxn, Escatvs, Lords, and Attendants. Dox. Escalus ! Escau. My lord. Dux. Of government the properties to unfold, Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse ; Since I am put to know, that your own science Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice _My strength can give you: then no more remains, But that, to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, And let them work.* The nature of our people, Our city’s institutions, and the terms | ——Then no more remains, But that, to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, And let them work. ] Malone was perhaps right in suspecting some omission here; | thougk the transposition of a single word will] restore the passage For common justice, you’re as pregnant in As art and practice hath enriched any That we remember. There is our commission, [ Giving it. From which we would not have you warp.—Call hither, I say, bid come before us Angelo.— [Hat an Attendant. What figure of us think you he will bear ? For you must know, we have with special soul Elected him our absence to supply, Lent him our terror, drest him with our love, to sense: we might read ‘“«Then no more remains, But that, [ Tendering his Commission.] to your sufficiency, And, as your worth is able, let them work.” 591 AcT I. ] And given his deputation all the organs Of our own power: what think you of it? Escau. If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo such ample grace and honour, It is-lord Angelo. DvuKE. Look where he comes. Enter ANGELO. Ana. Always obedient to your grace’s will, I come to know your pleasure. DvKE. Angelo, There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper, as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, them* on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, ’twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch’d, But to fine issues; nor nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence, But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use.* But I do bend my speech To one that can my part in him advertise: Hold, therefore.—Angelo, Tn our remove be thou at full ourself ; Mortality and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus, Though first in question, is thy secondary : Take thy commission. [Giving tt. ANG. Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp’d upon it. Dux. No more evasion : We have with a leaven’d and prepared choice Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion’d Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, As time and our concernings shall importune, How it goes with us; and do look to know What doth befall you here. So, fare you well: To the hopeful execution do.I leave you Of your commissions. ANG. Yet, give leave, my lord, That we may bring you something on the way. Duxs. My haste may not admit it ; Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do With any scruple: your scope is as mine own, So to enforce or qualify the laws (*) Old text, they. 592 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE It, As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand, I’ll privily away: I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes : Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause, and aves vehement, Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. Ana. The heavens give safety to your purposes! Escat. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness ! Duxer. I thank you. Fare you well. [£zit. Escat. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me To look into the bottom of my place : A power I have, but of what strength and nature T am not yet instructed. Ana. ’T'is so with me. Let us withdraw together, And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point. Escat. T’ll wait upon your honour, Eueunt. SCENE II.—dA Séreet. Enter Lucto and two Gentlemen. Lucro. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition with the king of Hungary, why then, all the dukes fall upon the king. 1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the king of Hungary’s ! 2 Gent. Amen. Lucro. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten Command- ments, but scraped one out of the table. 2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal ? Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 1 Genr. Why, ’twas a commandment to command the captain and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal. There ’s not a soldier of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before — meat, doth relish the petition well that prays for — peace. 2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. Lwucro. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was said. 2 Gent. No? a dozen times at least. 1 Gent. What, in metre ? Lucio. In any proportion or in any language. 1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. Lucro. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy: as for example,—thou thysel art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. a Use.] Use formerly signified interest of money. vali i ae th i mM | Hil en & Hil 4 Hh i a : any HAW y Ny ne A -1Genr. Well, there went but a pair of shears otween us.” ‘Lucio. I grant; as there may between the sts and the velvet: thou art the list. 1Genr. And thou the velvet: thou art good ‘lvet ; thou’rt a three-piled piece, I warrant thee. had as lief be a list of an English kersey, as be led, as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do ‘speak feelingly now ? Lucto. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with ost painful feeling of thy speech: I will out of ‘ There went but a pair of shears between us.] An early overbial saying to the effect, that there was little difference ween them; they were both of a piece. ‘‘ The thanksgiving ” whieh the same speaker refers just before as distasteful to Pry soldier, because it prays for peace, appears to have been >rlooked by all the commentators. It is found in ancient als in the very words of the text, ‘‘ Heaven grant us its ce.” Ard in a collection of devotions, entitled Preces Private, | VOL. II. 593 thine own confession, learn to begin thy health ; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. 1 Gent. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not ? 2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free. Lucio. Behold, behold, where madam Miti- gation comes ! 1 Gent. I have purchased as many diseases under her roof, as come to—? 2 Gent. To what, I pray ? published and established by the authority of Queen Elizabeth in 1564, the title directs that ‘‘the Acts of Thanksgiving in Eating shall always be concluded by these short prayers.’—‘‘ Deus servet Ecclesiam—Regem vel Reginam custodiat—Consiliarios ejus regat—Populum universum tueatur—et Pacem nobis donet perpetuam. Amen.” b I have purchased, &c.] This, in the old copies, forms part cf Lucio’s speech, though it obviously belongs to the first Gentleman QQ acT I.} Lucio. Judge. 2 Gent. To three thousand dollars* a year. 1 Gent. Ay, and more. Lucero. A French crown more. 2 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou art full of error,—I am sound. Lucio, Nay, not as one would say, healthy ; but so sound as things that are hollow : thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast of thee. Enter Mistress OvERDONE. 1 Gent. How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica ? Mrs. Ov. Well, well; there’s one yonder arrested and carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. 2 Gent. Who’s that, I pray thee ? Mrs. Ov. Marry, sir, that’s Claudio ; slgnior Claudio. 1 Gent. Claudio to prison! ’tis not so. Mrs. Ov. Nay, but I know, ’tis so: I saw him arrested ; saw him carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his head to be chopped off. Lvucro. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art thou sure of this ? Mrs. Ov. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting madam Julietta with child. Lucro. Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever pre- cise in promise-keeping. 2 Gunt. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 1 ‘Gent. But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation. Lucio. Away! let’s go learn the truth of it. [Hxeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. Mrs. Ov. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what with the gallows, and what. with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. Enter Pomrey.(1) How now! what’s the news with you ? Pom. Yonder man is earried to prison. Mrs. Ov. Well; what has he done ? Pom. A woman. Mrs. Ov. But what’s his offence ? a To three thousand dollars a year.] The same sorry play on ‘dollar’ and dolour occurs in ‘‘ The Tempest,” Act II. Sc. 1, and in “ King Lear,” Act II. Sc. 4. b All houses in the suburbs, &c.] Some critics would read, “ All bawdy-houses,” &c., needlessly; for ‘‘ suburb houses,” like “« suburb wenches,” were all ‘in an ill name.” c Enter Provost, &c.] This is marked in the folio as a new scene, but wrengly, as there is no change of locality. In the same text, too, Lucio and the two Gentlemen are set down as if entering 594 MHASURE FOR MEASURE, (SCENE Xr, Pom. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river Mrs. Ov. What, is there a maid with child by him ? Pom. No; but there’s a woman with maid by him: you have not heard of the proclamation, have you? Mrs. Ov. What proclamation, man ? Pom. All houses in the suburbs” must be plucked down. Mrs. Ov. And what shall become of those in the city? Pom. They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. Mrs. Ov. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down ? Pom. To the ground, mistress. Mrs. Ov. Why, here’s a change indeed in the commonwealth ! What shall become of me? Pom. Come; fear not you: good counsellors. lack no clients: though you change your place, you need not change your trade; T’ll be your tapster still. Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be considered. | Mrs. Ov. What’s to do here, Thomas Tapster? let’s withdraw. | Pom. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the: provost to prison ; and there’s madam Julie | Haeunt. f | of Vienna Enter Provost, CLaupr1o, Jutret, and Officers.’ | Cravup. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus. to the world? | Bear me to prison, where I am committed. Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, But from lord Angelo by special charge. Cravp. Thus can the demi-god Authority Make us pay down for our offence by weight— | The sword of heaven ;? on whom it will, it will; On whom it will not, so; yet still ’tis just. Re-enter Lucrto and Gentlemen. Lucto. Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint ? - Cravp. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty : | with the Provost, &c.; but this was only in accordance with the. old stage practice of indicating at the beginning of a scene all the: characters required to take part in it. t d The sword of heaven;] The old text reads,—‘‘ The words of heaven ;” but Claudio is apparently contrasting the capricious- ness of earthly punishments with the ever just award of Heaven. | bs ingenious and easy alteration was suggested py Dr. Roberts, of Eton. ACT I.] As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die. Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom, as the morality* of imprison- ment.— What’s thy offence, Claudio ? Craup. What but to speak of would offend again. Lucio. What, is’t murder ? Craup. No. Lucio. Lechery ? Craup. Call it so. Prov. Away, sir! you must go. Ciaup. One word, good friend.—Lucio, a word with you. [Lakes him aside. Lucio. A hundred, if they’ll do you any good,— Is lechery so looked after ? Cuaup. Thus stands it with me :—upon a true contract, I got possession of Julietta’s bed : You know the lady; she is fast my wife, Save that we do the denunciation® lack Of outward order: this we came not to, Only for propagation of a dower . Remaining in the coffer of her friends, From whom we thought it meet to hide our love Till time had made them for us.(2) But it chances, The stealth of our most mutual entertainment With character too gross is writ on Juliet. Lucio. With child, perhaps ? CLavp. Unhappily, even so. And the new deputy now for the duke,— Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, Or whether that the body public be A horse whereon the governor doth ride, Who, newly in the seat, that it may know He can command, lets it straight feel the spur ; Whether the tyranny be in his place, Or in his eminence that fills it up, I stagger in ;—but this new governor Awakes me all the enrolled penalties, Which have, like unscour’d armour, hung by the wall So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, (*) Old text, mortality. & Save that we do the denunciation lack, &c.] Denunciation here means neither more nor less than annunciation or pronunciation. -In Todd’s edition of Johnson's Dictionary, under Denunciation, an example is quoted from Hall’s Cases of Conscience, which places this beyond question ;—‘‘ This publick and reiterated denunciation of banns before matrimony,” &c. b —— for in her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect, &c.] The word prone, in the sixteenth eentury, bore more than one 595 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE ILI. Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Freshly on me :—’tis surely for a name. Lucio. I warrant it is ; and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and appeal to him. Craup. I have done so, but he’s not to be found. I pr’ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service :— This day my sister should the cloister enter, And there receive her approbation : Acquaint her with the danger of my state ; Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him: I have great hope in that ; for in her youth There is a prone” and speechless dialect, Such as moves men; beside, she hath prosperous art When she will play with reason and discourse, And well she can persuade. Lucro. I pray she may: as well for the en- couragement of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I’II to her. Craup. I thank you, good friend Lucio. Lucio. Within two hours. CLAUD. Come, officer; away ! [ Hxeunt. SCENE III.—A Monastery. Enter DuxE and Friar Tomas. Dvuxsr. No, holy father; throw away that thought ; Believe not that the dribbling dart of Love Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth. itrar db May your grace speak of it ? Dux. My holy sir, none better knows than ou How I hee ever loy’d the life remov’d; And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, meaning, which it has now lost. In its primitive sense it signifies bending forward, and metaphorically—to be much inclined to certain actions or passions; but in the ‘‘ Lucrece,” as Malone ob- serves, Shakespeare uses it as equivalent to ardent, headstrong, &c. :— ‘¢O that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!” and again in ‘‘ Cymbeline,”—‘‘I never saw any one so prone,” &c. In the lines we are now considering, however, the poet has ob- viously intended it to imply a power of bending or inclining another by the exertion of a strong yet silent personal influence. QQak Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.* I haye deliver’d to lord Angelo— A man of stricture and firm abstinence— My absolute power and place here in Vienna, And he supposes me travell’d to Poland ; For so I have strew’d it in the common ear, And s0 it is receiv’d. Now, pious sir, You will demand of me why I do this? Fri. T. Gladly, my lord. [laws,— Dux. We have strict statutes and most biting The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,—* Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep ;f Even like an o’ergrown lion in a cave, That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, Having bound up the threat’ning twigs of birch, Only to stick it in their children’s sight For terror, not to use, in time the rod Becomes” more mock’d, than fear’d; so our decrees, Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead, And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; (*) Old text, weedes. @ Where ... senseless ostentation dwells. folio. b Becomes—] The old text reads,— ‘¢____ in time the rod More mock’d, than fear’d.” For becomes we are indebted to Pope, who probably derived it from the corresponding passage in Davenant’s ‘‘ Law against Lovers,” a piece made up from ‘‘ Measure for Measure” and ‘* Much Ado about Nothing,”— 596 (t) Old text, slip, and witless bravery keeps.] That is, where And is added from the second. The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum. Fr. T. It rested in your grace To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas’d ; And it in you more dreadful would have seem’d, Than in lord Angelo. DvukKE. T do fear, too dreadful : Sith ’t was my fault to give the people scope, ’T' would be my tyranny to strike and gall them For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done, When evil deeds have their permissive pass, And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father, I have on Angelo impos’d the office ; Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, And yet my nature never in the fight, To do in slander. And to behold his sway, I will, as ’t were a brother of your order, Visit both prince and people: therefore, I pr’ythee, Supply me with the habit, and instruct me How I may formally in person bear ‘¢'Ti)] it in time become more,” &c. ¢ Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, And yet my nature never in the fight, To do in slander. ] So the old text, corruptly without doubt. obtain sense by reading,— “ Never in the sight, To do ¢#¢ slander.” We should prefer,— “And yet my nature never win the fight To die in slander.” Hanmer attempted to - @x e, alt deh HT Ae veh be ia y WI Like a true friar. More* reasons for this action, At our more leisure shall I render you ; Only, this one :—lord Angelo is precise ; Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses That his blood flows, or that his appetite Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see, Jf power change purpose, what our seemers be. [| Laxeunt. SCENE IV.—A Nunnery. Enter IsapeLtua and FRANCISCA. Isas. And have you nuns no farther privileges? Fran. Are not these large enough ? Isas. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more, But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. Lvero. [ Without. | Ho! peace be in this place! Isaz. Who’s that which calls? Fran. It is a man’s voice. Gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him ; You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn. When youhave vow’d, you must not speak with men, But in the presence of the prioress : Then, if you speak, you must not show your face; (*) Old text, Moe. @ Sir, muke me not your story.] Davenant in his play, ‘‘ A Law against Lovers,” reads here scorne for story, and Mr. Collier’s annotator adopts the same alteration. We retain the old lection, | Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. He calls again ; I pray you, answer him. [Zait. Isan, Peace and prosperity! Who is’t that calls ? Enter Lucio. as those cheek- Lucto. Hail, virgin, if you be, roses Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me, As bring me to the sight of Isabella, A novice of this place, and the fair sister To her unhappy brother Claudio ? Isas. Why her wnhappy brother ? let me ask ; The rather, for I now must make you know I am that Isabella and his sister. Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you. Not to be weary with you, he’s in prison. Isas. Woe me! for what ? Lucto. For that which, if myself might be his judge, He should receive his punishment in thanks: He hath got his friend with child. Isas. Sir, make me not your story.* Lvcto. ’Tis true. I would not—though ’tis my familiar sin not for the reason assigned by Steevens, that make me, according to acommon mode of phraseology in the poet’s day, might mean, ‘‘invent not your story,” but because story may without much licence be used to signify jest or laughing-stock. 597 ACT I.J With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, Tongue far from heart—play with all virgins so: J hold you as a thing enskied and sainted ; By your renouncement, an immortal spirit ; And to be talk’d with in sincerity, As with a saint. Isas. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. Lucero. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth,* *tis thus :— Your brother and his lover have embrae’d : As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time, That from the seedness the bare fallow brings T'o teeming foison,” even so her plenteous womb Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. Isas. Some one with child by him!—My cousin Juliet ? Lucro. Is she your cousin ? Isas. Adoptedly ; as school-maids change their names By vain, though apt, affection. Lucio. She it is. Isaz. O, let him marry her ! Lucio. This is the point. The duke is very strangely gone from hence, Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn, By those that know the very nerves of state, His givings-out* were of an infinite distance From his true-meant design. Upon his place, And with full line of his authority, Governs lord Angelo ; a man whose blood Ts very snow-broth ; one who never feels The wanton stings and motions of the sense, But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge With profits of the mind, study and fast. (*) Old text, giving-out. a Fewness and truth,—] That is, in few words and true. b Foison,—] Foison, as signifying plenty, abundance, was used — Es a ——i oo —eSSS | | Sn, Sac. =.= Ses 1] es MEASURE FOR MEASURKH. [SCENE Iv. He—to give fear to use and liberty, Which have for long run by the hideous law, As mice by lions—hath pick’d out an act, Under whose heavy sense your brother’s lite Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it, And follows close the rigour of the statute, To make him an example. All hope is gone, Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer To soften Angelo ; and that’s my pith of business ’Twixt you and your poor brother. Isas. Doth he so seek his life ? Lucio. Has censur’d him® already: And, as I hear, the provost hath a warrant For his execution. Isas. Alas! what poor ability ’s in me To do him good ? Lucio. Assay the power you have. Isas. My power! Alas, I doubt,— Lvcto. Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt. Go to lord Angelo, And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, All their petitions are as freely theirs As they themselves would owe® them. Tsas. I’ll see what I can do. Lucro. Tsas. I will about it straight ; No longer staying but to give the mother Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you: Commend me to my brother; soon at night I’ll send him certain word of my success. Lucro. I take my leave of you. Isa. Good sir, adieu. [ Hxeunt severally. But speedily. metaphorically for Autumn. re Censur’'d him—] Pronounced judgment on him. Judged him. ad Would owe them.] That is, would have or possess them. 7 TN Saaz NB i) S Say ACT II. SCENE I.—A Hall in Angelo’s House. And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror. \ Escan. Ay, but yet Ana. We must not make a scare-crow of the | Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, [man, Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gentle- law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, Whom I would save, had a most noble father ! 599 Enter Anerio, Escauvs, a Justice, Provost, Officers, and other Attendants. ACT I1.] Let but your honour know,— Whom I believe to be most straight in virtue,— That, in the working of your own affections, Had time coher’d with place or place with wishing, Or that the resolute acting of your* blood Could have attain’d the effect of your own pur- pose, Whether you had not some time in your life, Err’d in this point which now you censure him,” And pull’d the law upon you. Ana. ’Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall. I not deny, The jury, passing on the prisoner’s life, May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two Guiltier than him they try. What ’s open made to justice, That justice seizes: what know the laws, That thieves do pass on” thieves? “Tis very pregnant, The jewel that we find, we stoop and take’t, Because we see it; but what we do not see We tread upon, and never think of it. You may not so extenuate his offence For’ I have had such faults; but rather tell me When I, that censure him, do so offend, Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. Escau. Be it as your wisdom will. ANG, Where is the provost ? Prov. Here, if it like your honour. ANG, See that Claudio Be executed by nine to-morrow morning : Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar’d, For that’s the utmost of his pilgrimage. [ Hat Provost. Escaz. Well, heaven forgive him ! and forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Some run from brakes of vice,’ and answer nonce ; And some condemned for a fault alone. Enter Kxzow and Officers, with Frorn and Pompry. Kis. Come, bring them away: if these be good people in a common-weal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law: bring them away. (*) Old text, our. a Which now you censure him,—] Here for must be under- stood :—‘‘ for which now you censure him.” b Pass on—] As Malone observes, To pass on is a forensic term ; it occurs again in ‘‘ King Lear,” Act II. Sc. 7 :— “Though well we may not pass upon his life Without the form of justice.” GO) MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE I. Ana. Hownow, sir ! what’s the matter? Exs. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke’s constable, and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors, Ana. Benefactors! Well; what benefactors are they ? are they not malefactors ? Kis. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are ; but precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have. Escau. This comes off well: here’s a wise officer. Ane. Go to :—what quality are they of ? Elbow is your name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow? Pom. He cannot, sir: he’s out at elbow. Ana. What are you, sir? Kis. He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad woman, whose house, sir, was, as they say, plucked down in the suburbs ; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too, Escau. How know you that ? Exs. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,— Escau. How! thy wife? Exs. Ay, sir;—whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,— Escau. Dost thou detest her therefore ? Exs. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd’s house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. Escan. How dost thou know that, constable? Es. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery, and all unclean- liness there. Escau. By the woman’s means ? Exs. Ay, sir, by mistress Overdone’s means ; but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. Pom. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. Exs. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man ; prove it. Escau. [Zo AncEto.] Do you hear how he misplaces ? Pom. Sir, she came in great with child, and longing—saving your honour’s reverence—for stewed prunes :—sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, What’s your name? and ¢ For—] That is, Because. d Some run from brakes of vice,—] The old text has, ‘‘ brakes of Ice:” vice is an emendation of Rowe. If this be the true word, the allusion may be either to the instrument of torture termed a “brake;” or by “brakes of vice” may be meant, as Steevens conjectured, a number, a thicket of vices. It is by no means Cer- tain, however, that we have yet got either the poet’s expression or meaning in this difficult passage. ACT II.] in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three-pence,—your honours have seen such dishes ; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes,— Escat. Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir. Pom. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the right ;—but to the point. As I say, this mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes, and having but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly ;—for, as you know, master Froth, I could not give you three-pence again,— Frotu. No, indeed. Pom. Very well;—you being then, if you be remembered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes,— Frotu. Ay, so I did indeed. Pom. Why very well ;—I telling you then, if you be remembered, that such a one and such a one, were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you,— Frotu. All this is true. Pom. Why, very well then,— Escau. Come, you are a tedious fool: to the purpose.— What was done to Elbow’s wife, that he hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. Pom. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. Escau. No, sir, nor I mean it not. Pom. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour’s leave. And, I beseech you, look into master Froth here, sir; a man of fourscore pound a year, whose father died at Hallowmas :—was’t not at Hallowmas, master Froth ? Froru. All-hallownd eve. Pom. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir ;— *twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not ?— Frotu. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for winter.* Pom. Why, very well, then: I hope here be truths. Ane. This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there: I’ll take my leave, And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; - Hoping you ’ll find good cause to whip them all. Kscau. I think no less ; good morrow to your lordship. [Lait ANGELO. Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow’s | wife, once more ? 3 | Pom. Once, sir! there was nothing done to her - once, 4 An open room, and good for winter.] Master Froth may have been intended to blunder, otherwise we should have suspected for Was a misprint. MEASURE FOR MEASURE, [SCENE I. Ezz. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. Pom. I beseech your honour, ask me. Escat. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her ? Pom. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman’s face.—Good master Froth, look upon his honour ; tis for a good purpose.—Doth your honour mark his face ? Kscau. Ay, sir, very well. Pom. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. Eiscau. Well, I do so. Pom. Doth your honour see any harm in his face? scant. Why, no. Pom. I’ll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him. Good, then; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could mas- ter Froth do the constable’s wife any harm? I would know that of your honour. Kscau. He’s in the right.—Constable, what say you to it? Exs. First, an it like you, the house is a re- spected house ; next, this is a respected fellow ; and his mistress is a respected woman. Pom. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. Es. Varlet, thou liest ! thou liest, wicked var- let! the time is yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child. Pom. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. Escau. Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Tniquity ? »—Is this true ? Exs. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I respected with her before I was married to her !—If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor duke’s officer.—Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I’ll have mine action of battery on thee. Kscau. If he took you a box o’ the ear, you might have your action of slander too. Exs. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is’t your worship’s pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff ? Escau. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they are. Exs. Marry, I thank your worship for it.—Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what’s come upon thee: thou art to continue now, thou varlet ; thou art to continue. Escau. [Zo Frotu.| Where were you born, friend ? b Justice, or Iniquity ?] Justice and Iniquity were characters in the old Moralities. 601 ACT II. ] Froru. Here in Vienna, sir. Escat. Are you of fourscore pounds a year ? Froru. Yes, an’t please you, sir. Escan. So—[Zo Pompry.] What trade are you of, sir? Pom. A tapster; a poor widow’s tapster. Escat. Your mistress’ name ? Pom. Mistress Overdone. Escau. Hathshehad any more than one husband? Pom. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last. Escat. Nine !—Come hither to me, master Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters : they will draw you, master Froth, and you will hang them: get you gone, and let me hear no more of you. Frorn. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am drawn in. Escau. Well, no more of it, master Froth : farewell. [Haxit Froru.|—Come you hither to me, master tapster. What’s your name, master tapster ? Pom. Pompey. Escau. What else ? Pom. Bun, sir. Escat. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster: are you not? come, tell me true: it shall be the better for you. Pom. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. Escat. How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade ? : Pom. If the law would allow it, sir. Escar. But the law will not allow it, Pompey ; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. Pom. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of the city ? Kscau. No, Pompey. Pom. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to’t then. If your worship will take order for the drabsand the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. Escau. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging. Pom. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, yowll be glad to give out a commission for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I’ll rent the fairest house in it after threepence a bay:* if you live to sce this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. | Escat. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in a Threepence a bay:] Pope and Mr. Collier’s annotator read,— “threepence a day ;” but ‘a bay of building,” which Coles in his Dictionary explains— mensura viginti quatuor pedum—was a Com- mon expression in reference to the measurement of a building’s 602 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE IT, requital of your prophecy, hark you:—lI adyise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever ; no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Ceesar to you ; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipped: so, for this time, Pompey, fare you well. Pom. I thank your worship for your good counsel ; [ Aside.] but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. Whip me! No, no; let carman whip his jade ; The valiant heart’s not whipt out of his trade. [ Exit. Escau. Come hither to me, master Elbow; come hither, master constable. How long have you been in this place of constable ? Exs. Seven year and a half, sir. Escau. I thought, by your* readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time ; you say, seven years together ? Exs. And a half, sir. Escau. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong to put you so oft upon’t: are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it? Exs. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them: I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all. Escat. Look you bring me in the names of - some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. Exs. To your worship’s house, sir ? Escau. To my house ; fare you well. [Hxit ELBow. | What’s o’clock, think you ? Just. Eleven, sir. Escat. I pray you home to dinner with me. Just. I humbly thank you. Escau. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; But there’s no remedy. Just. Lord Angelo is severe. Escau. It is but needful : Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so ; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe: But yet,—poor Claudio !—There is no remedy,— Come, sir. [ Hxeunt. SCENE II.— oe : a SS ¥ = S&S Ss ~ Free* from our faults, as* faults from seeming, free! Es. His neck will come to your waist, cord, .sir.” Pom. I spy comfort: I ery, bail! gentleman, and a friend of mine. a Here’s a Enter Uucto. Lucto. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Cesar! Art thou led in triumph ? What, is there none of Pygmalion’s images, newly made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting itt clutched? What reply, ha? What say’st thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is’t not drowned 7’ the last rain, ha? What say’st thou, trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The trick of it? Doxe. Still thus, and thus ; still worse ! Lucro. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha! Pom. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub. (*) First folio omits, Free. (t+) Old copies omit, zz. & Free from our faults, as faults from seeming, free!] As this stands, the meaning is not very apparent. We might read,— “‘ Free from our faults, or faults from seeming, free!” Would we were either exempt from faults altogether, as some Lucro. Why, ’tis good; it is the right of it ; it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd: an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? Pom. Yes, faith, sir. Lucto. Why, ’tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how? Exs. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. Lucio. Well, then, imprison him: if imprison- ment be the due of a bawd, why, ’tis his right: bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd- born.—Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house. Pom. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. Lucro. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is not the wear.° I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. —Bless you, friar. Duxs. And you. Lucro. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha ? Exs. Come your ways, sir; come. pretend to be, or that they were not hidden by a semblance of virtue. : : b His neck will come to your waist,—a cord,—] This desperate witticism depends on the hempen girdle which the duke, as a friar, wore. ¢ Not the wear.] Not the fashion. 615 AoT III.] Pom. You will not bail me then, sir? Lucio. Then, Pompey? nor now.— What news abroad, friar? what news ? Eis. Come your ways, sir; come. Lucio. Go,—to kennel, Pompey, go. [Hxeunt Exzow, and Officers, wath PoMPEY. What news, friar, of the duke? Duxs. I know none; can you tell me of any? Lucro. Some say he is with the emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you ? Duxe. I know not where ; but wheresoever, I wish him well. Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence ; he puts transgression to’t. Duxs. He does well in’t. Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar. Duxez. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred ; it is well allied: but it is im- possible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. ‘They say, this Angelo ‘was not made by man and woman, after this down- right way of creation: is it true, think you? Dukes. How should he be made, then? Lucro. Some report, a sea-maid spawned him: some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain, that when he makes water, his urine is congealed ice: that I know to be true ; and he is a motion ungenerative,* that’s infal- lible. Duxe. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the life of aman! Would the duke that is absent have done this ? Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport ; he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy. Douxs. I never heard the absent duke much detected” for women: he was not inclined that way. Lucio. O, sir! you are deceived. Dore. ’Tis not possible. ~ Lucio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you. Dvuxr. You do him wrong, surely. ® A motion ungenerative,—] The old text has,—“ a motion enerative,” corrected by Theobald. b Detected for women :] That is, accused on account of women. © An inward—] .A familiar, an intimate. 616 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE II. Lucto. Sir, I was an inward® of his, A shy fellow was the duke; and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing. Duxr. What, I pr’ythee, might be the cause ? Lucio. No,—pardon :—’tis a secret must be locked within the teeth and the lips; but this I can let you understand,—the greater file of the subject held the duke to be wise. Douxs. Wise! why, no question but he was. Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. Dvxs. Hither this is envy in you, folly, or mis- taking: the very stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. ‘Therefore, you speak unskilfully ; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much darkened in your malice. , Lucro. Sir, I know him, and I love him. Dux. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer* love. Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. Duxe. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return (as our prayers are he may), let me desire you to make your answer before him. If it be — honest you have spoke, you have courage to main-— tain it: I am bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name ? Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke. Dvuxs. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. Lucio. I fear you net. Dvuxr. O, you hope the duke will return no more, or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm ; you’ll fore- swear this again. Lucero. I’ll be hanged first: thou art deceived — in me, friar. But no more of this, Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no? ,Duxe. Why should he die, sir? _ Lvcro. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish.* I would the duke we talk of, were returned again: this ungenitured agent will unpeople the province with continency ;. sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered ; he would never bring them to light: would he were returned! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar ; I pr’ythee, pray for me.. The duke, I say to thee again, (*) Old text, deare. & A tun dish.j] An old Warwickshire name for a funnel, AcT T.] would eat mutton on Fridays. He’s now past it; yet* and I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic: say, that I said so. Farewell. [ Hatt. Dux. No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure ’scape: back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong, Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ?— But who comes here ? Enter Escarvs, Provost, and Officers, with MisTRESS OVERDONE, scat. Go: away with her to prison! Mrs. Ov. Good my lord, be good to me! your honour is accounted a merciful man; good my lord ! Escat. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind? This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant. Prov. A bawd of eleven years’ continuance, may it please your honour. Mrs. Oy. My lord, this is one Lucio’s infor- mation against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the duke’s time; he promised her marriage: his child is a year anda quarter old, come Philip and Jacob. I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me! Escat. That fellow is a fellow of much licence :—let him be called before us.—Away with her to prison! Go to: no more words. [Hxeunt Officers, with Mistress OVERDONE. Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered ; Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be fur- -nished with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. Escau. Good even, good father. Dox. Bliss and goodness on you ! scat. Of whence are you? Dux. Not of this country, though my chance is NOW To use it for my time: I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the See, In special business from his holiness. Escau. What news abroad i’ the world ? Dux. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request ; and* it is as dan- (*) Old text inserts, as. e. He’s now past it: yet and I say to thee, &c.] Hanmer altered is to— “‘He’s not past it yet; and, I say to thee,” &c. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE IL gerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant” in any undertaking: there is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure, but security enough to make fellowships accursed.© Much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day’s news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke? Escat. One that, above all other strifes, con- tended especially to know himself. Dvuxr. What pleasure was he given to? Escau. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which professed to make him rejoice: a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous ; and let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to under- stand that you have lent him visitation. Dux. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice ; yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life, which I, by my good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he resolved to die. Escau. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest shore of ny modesty; but my brother justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed—justice. Dvuxe. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. Escau. Iam going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well. Duxes. Peace be with you! [Hxeunt Escatus and Provost. He, who the sword of heaven will bear, Should be as holy as severe ; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go ; More nor less to others paying, Than by self offences weighing. Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side ! How may likeness, made in crimes, Making practice on the times, To draw with idle spiders’ strings b As it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking:] Is it not plain the poet wrote, inconstant ? What possible sense can be ex- tracted from the passage as it stands? ¢ But security enough to make fellowships accursed.] The allusion, Malone says, is ‘to those legal securities into which fellowship leads men to enter for each other,” 617 ACT III. ] Most pond’rous and substantial things ! * Craft against vice I must apply : With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed but despis’d ; @ Most pond’rous and substantial things 1] This speech is dis- figured by a cluster of errors: in the third line, for ‘* know, which is an evident misprint, we propose to substitute show; in the thirteenth, ‘“‘ made,” we think with Malone, is a typo- graphical slip for wade; as ‘‘ Making,” in the next line, appears to be for Masking. Adopting these slight changes, and reading, ‘So draw,” instead of ‘‘ To draw,” in the fifteenth line, the sense becomes perfectly intelligible :— ‘‘ He who the sword of heaven will bear, Should be as holy as severe ; Pattern in himself to show Grace to stand, and virtue go; ‘That is, to show grace how to stand and virtue how to go.) MEASURE FOR MEASURE. (SCENE It, | So disguise shall, by the disguis’d, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting. { Lait. More nor less to others paying, Than by self offences weighing. Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide Though angel on the outward side! How may iikeness wade in crimes! (Likeness means fulse seeming.) Masking, practice on the times ! (That is, How may masking practice, &c.) So draw with idle spider’s strings Most pond’rous ana substantial things !” — ee} > ais Ws ) Wi) \ ACT IV. SCENE I.—A Room in Mariana’s Louse. Martana discovered sitting : a Boy singing. Hath often still’d my brawling discontent.— [Lait Boy. SONG. Enter Duxn, disguised as before. Take, O, take those lips away, I ery you merey, sir; and well could wish That so sweetly were forsworn ; You had not found me here so musical : And those eyes, the break of day, Let me excuse me, and believe me so,— Lights that do mislead the morn : My mirth it much displeas’d, but pleas’d my woe. But my kisses bring agaun, Duke. ’Tis good; though music oft hath such ' bring again, a charm, Seals of love, but seal’d in vain, To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.— seal’d in vain.) I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me here to-day? much upon this time have I Mant. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick | promised here to meet. away : : Marr. You have not been inquired after: I Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice have gat here all day. 619 ACT Iv.] Dovxs. I do constantly believe youu—The time is come even now. [shall crave your forbearance a little: may be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself. Mant. I am always bound to you. [ Hart. Enter IsaBELLA. Duxx. Very well met, and welcome. What is the news from this good deputy ? Isas. He hath a garden circummur’d with brick, Whose western side is with a vineyard back’d ; And to that vineyard is a planched gate, That makes his opening with this bigger key : This other doth command a little door, Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; There have I made. my promise upon the heavy middle of the might to call upon him.* Dux. But shall you on your knowledge find this way ? Isas. I have ta’en a due and wary note upon’t: With whispering and most guilty diligence, In action all of precept, he did show me The way twice o’er. DvUKE. Are there no other tokens Between you greed, concerning her observance ? Isas. No, none, but only a repair i’ the dark ; And that I have possess’d him my most stay ‘an be but brief; for I have made him know I have a servant comes with me along, That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is, I come about my brother. DvuxKE. "Tis well borne up. I have not yet made known to Mariana A word of this ——What, ho! within! come forth. Re-enter Mariana. I pray you, be acquainted with this maid ; She comes to do you good. Isas. I do desire the like. Dux. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you ? : Mart. Good friar, I know you do, and have? found it. Doxes. Take, then, this your companion by the hand, A Who hath a story ready for your ear. I shall attend your leisure: but make haste ; The vaporous night approaches. Mant. Will’t please you walk aside ? [Hxeunt Mariana and IsaBELLa. a There have I made my promise upon the heavy middle of the MEASURE FOR MEASURE. OE < e night to call upon him.] ‘This is printed thus, as verse, in the old copies,— ‘‘There have I made my promise upon the Heavy middle of the night to call upon him.” 620 [SCENE If. Dvuxe. O place and greatness ! millions of false eyes Are stuck upon thee! Volumes of report Run with these false and most contrarious quests* Upon thy doings! thousand escapes of wit Make thee the father of their idle dream, And rack thee in their fancies ! Re-enter Martana and IsaBELLA. Welcome! How agreed ? Isas. She’ll take the enterprise upon her, father, If you advise it. DvxKeE. It is not my consent, But my entreaty too. Tsan. Little have you to say, When you depart from him, but, soft and low, Remember now my brother. Mart. Fear me not. Duxs. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. He is your husband on a pre-contract : To bring you thus together, ’tis no sin, Sith that the justice of your title to him Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go: Our corn’s to reap, for yet our tilth’sf to sow. [ Hxeunt. SCENE II.—A Room in the Prison. Enter Provost and Pompry. Prov. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man’s head ? Pom. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a married man, he is his wife’s head, and I can never cut off a woman’s head. Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine : here is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem you from your gyves ; if not, _ you shall have your full time of imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a notorious bawd. Pom. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out of mind; but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction from my fellow partner. Prov. What ho, Abhorson! where’s Abhor-— son, there ? (*) First folio, Quesé. (t) Old text, Tithes. b : i And have found it.] We should perhaps read, —“ and have oft found it,” &c. bs % ry 1A ii Enter ABHORSON. Asnor. Do you call, sir? Prov. Sirrah, here’s a fellow will help you to- morrow in your execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present, and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd. Asnor. A bawd, sir, fic upon him! discredit our mystery. Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally : a feather will turn the scale. [ Hat. Pom. Pray, sir, by your good favour,—for, he will surely, sir, a good favour* you have, but that you have a hanging look,—do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery ? Apnor. Ay, sir; a mystery. Pom. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery ; and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do prove my oc- cupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. Asnor. Sir, it 1s a mystery. Pom. Proof? " Apuor. Every true man’s apparel fits your thief, ® Favour—] That is, countenance, aspect. 621 Act Iv.] Pom. If it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough: so, every true man’s apparel fits your thief.* Re-enter Provost. Prov. Are you agreed ? Pom. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find, your hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd ; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow four o’clock. Axsror. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade: follow. Pom. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare;° for, truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn. Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : [Hxeunt Pompry and ABHoRSON. The one has my pity ; not a jot the other, Being a murderer, though he were my brother. Enter CLAUDIO. Look, here’s the warrant, Claudio, for thy death: "Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow Thou must be made immortal. Where’s Bar- nardine ? [labour, Craup. As fast lock’d up in sleep, as guiltless When it lies starkly in the traveller’s bones : He will not wake. Prov. Who can do good on him ? Well, go; prepare yourself. [Knocking without. | But hark, what noise ? Heaven give yourspirits comfort !—[ Lait Cuavpio. | By and by !— I hope it is some pardon or reprieve For the most gentle Claudio.— Enter Doxa, disguised as before. Welcome, father. Duxs. The best and wholesom’st spirits of the night [late ? Envelop you, good provost! Who call’d here of Prov. None, since the curfew rung. Dux. Not Isabel ? Prov. No. DvKE. They will, then, ere’t be long. a@ —every true man’s apparel fits your thief.] This is the di- vision of the dialogue in the old copies. In modern editions, this speech of Pompey’s forms part of Abhorson’s, perhaps rightly. b Yare;j Ready, nimble. ¢ Stroke—] Stroke means rule, and not, as it has always been understood, ‘‘a stroke of a pen.”’! d Meal’d—] Mingled, compounded. © Unsisting—] So the old text. Blackstone suggested it came 622 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. (SCENE I, Prov. What comfort is for Claudio ? % Duxe. There’s some in hope, Prov. It is a bitter deputy. i Doxs. Not so, not so: his life is parallel’d Kven with the stroke® and line of his great justice, He doth with holy abstinenceesubdue . That in himself which he spurs on his power To qualify in others: were he meal’d? with that. Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; But this being so, he’s just.—[ Knocking without,] Now are they come.— [Lait Provost, This is a gentle provost: seldom when a The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. ‘ [ Knocking, How now! what noise? That spirit’s possessed with haste, . That wounds the unsisting® postern with these strokes. ; Prov. [ Without. Speaking to one at the door.) There he must stay until the-officer Arise to let him in: he is call’d up. Re-enter Provost. Duxr. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, But he must die to-morrow ? Prov. None, sir, none. Dvuxr. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, You shall hear more ere morning. Prov. Happily, You something know; yet I believe there comes No countermand: no such example have we: _ Besides, upon the very siege’ of justice, Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Profess’d the contrary.— Enter « Messenger. This is his lordship’s* inan. Dus. And here comes Claudio’s pardon.® Muss. My lord hath sent you this note ; and by me this further charge,—that you swerve not from the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, 01 other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost day. Prov. I shall obey him. [ Hxit Messenger. Doxe. [Aside.| This is his pardon; purchas’d by such sin, 4 For which the pardoner himself is in. Hence hath offence his quick celerity, (*) Old text, Lords man. from sisto, to stand still, and signified, ‘“‘never at rest.” It is more probably a misprint. . f Siege—] Seat. Re g And here comes Claudio’s pardon.] In the old copies this line is given to the Provost and the preceding one to the Duke; 4 manifest mistake. Act 1v.] When it is borne in high authority : When vice makes mercy, mercy’s so extended, That for the fault’s love is the offender friended.— Now, sir, what news ? Prov. I told you: lord Angelo, belike think- ing me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted putting on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before. Douxez. Pray you, let’s hear. Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever sou may hear to the contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock; and in the afternoon Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio’s head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed ; with a thought that more depends on it than we must yet delwer. Thus farl not to do your office, as you will answer vt at your peril. What say you to this, sir ? Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be executed in the afternoon ? Prov. A Bohemian born, but here nursed up and bred: one that is a prisoner nine years old.* Dvuxe. How came it that the absent duke had not either delivered him to his liberty or executed him ? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so. Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him: and, indeed, his fact, till now in the govern- ment of lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof, Dvxe. It is now apparent ? Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. Dvuxs. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison ? How seems he to be touched ? Prov. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck- less, and fearless of what’s past, present, or to come ; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. Duxes. He wants advice. Prov. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming warrant for it ; it hath not moved him at all. Dvuxe. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the boldness of my cunning,” I will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenced him. T’o make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days’ 4 A prisoner nine years old.) That is, has been imprisoned for nine years. b The boldness of my cunning—] In the assurance of my sagacity. € By chance, nothing of what is writ.) That is, nothing of what is (ruth, or gospel: so in “ Pericles,” Act II. (Gower)— MEASURE FOR MEASURE. * (SCENE If. | respite, for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy. Prov. Pray, sir, in what ? Doxe. In the delaying death. Prov. Alack! howmay I do it,—having the hour limited, and an express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio’s, to cross this in the smallest. Duxr. By the vow of mine order I warrant you: if my instructions may be your guide, let this Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head borne to Angelo. Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour. Doxe. O death’s a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard ; and say it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his death: you know the course is common. If anything fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the Saint whom I profess, I will plead against it with my life. Prov.. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath. Duke. deputy ? Prov. T’o him, and to his substitutes. Doxs. You will think you have made no offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing. Prov. But what likelihood is in that? Duxr. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the duke: you know the character, I doubt not ; and the signet is not strange to you. Prov. I know them both. Duxr. The contents of this is the return of the duke: you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find, within these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not, for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour ; perchance, of the duke’s death ; perchance, entering into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ.° Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these things should be: all diffi- culties are but easy when they are known... Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine’s head: I will give him a present shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet you are amazed ; but this shail absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. [ Haxeunt, Were you sworn to the duke, or to the ‘‘ Thinks all is writ he spoken can.” From not understanding this sense of the word, some modern editors propose to read, with Warburton,—‘‘nothing of what is here writ,” and to make the Duke point to the letter in his hand. Mr. Collier indeed suggests the possibility that ‘‘ writ” ought to be right! 623 ACT IV." SCENE III.—Another Room in the same. Enter Pompey. Pom. I am as well acquainted * here, as I was in our house of profession: one would think it were mistress Overdone’s own house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here’s young master Rash; he’s in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,(2) nine-score and seventeen pounds ; of which he made five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one master Caper, at the suit of master Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a beggar. ‘Then have we here young Dizzy, and young master Deepvow, and master Copperspur, and master Starvelackey, the rapier and dagger-man, and young Dropheir that killed lusty Pudding, and master Fortbright the tilter, and brave master Shoetie the great traveller, and wild Halfean that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are now for the Lord’s sake.(3) Enter ABHORSON. Axsuor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. Pom. Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged, master Barnardine. Azsyor. What, ho, Barnardine! Barnar. [Within.] A pox o’ your throats ! Who makes that noise there? what are you ? Pom. Your friend,* sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. Barnar. [ Within.] Away, you rogue, away ! I am sleepy. Axsyor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly too. Pom. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards. AxsHor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. Pom. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle. Asnor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? Pom. Very ready, sir. Enter BARNARDINE. Barnar. How now, Abhorson! what’s the news with you? Axsnor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap (*) Old text, friends. 624 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE. 111, into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant’s — come. 3 Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not fitted for’t. Pom. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks al] night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day. Axsyor. Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do we jest now, think you? Enter Dux, disguised as before. Dox. Sir, induced by my charity, and hear- ing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to — advise you, comfort you, and pray with you. . Barnan. Friar, not I: I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that’s certain. Dux. O, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech you ' Look forward on the journey you shall go. . Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any man’s persuasion, Dvuxer. Bat hear you,— Barnar. Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward; for thence will uot I to-day. [ Hat. Duxr. Unfit to live, or die: O, gravel heart !— After him, fellows: bring him to the block. [Lxeunt ABHorson and Pompey. : aT Enter Provost. q Prov. Now, sir; how do you find the prisoner? 5 Dvxn. A creature unprepar’d, unmeet for death ; And to transport him in the mind he is, Were damnable. PRov. Here in the prison, father, There died this morning of a cruel fever One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, A man of Claudio’s years; his beard and head Just of his colour. What if we do omit This reprobate till he were well inclin’d, And satisfy the deputy with the visage Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ? Dvxe. O,’tis an accident that heaven provides! - Dispatch it presently ; the hour draws on Prefix’d by Angelo: see this be done, And sent according to command, whiles I Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. But Barnardine must die this afternoon ; And how shall we continue Claudio, ~ a T am as well acquainted—] That is, as well furnished witk acquaintance, SS — —— SSS SSS = SS SS To save me from the danger that might come, If he were known alive ? DvxE. Let this be done. [ Claudio: Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and _ Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting, To yonder generation you shall find Your safety manifested." Prov. I am your free dependant. Dvxer. Quick, despatch, and send the head to Angelo. [Lait Provost. Now will I write letters to Angelo,— The provost, he shall bear them,—whose contents Shall witness to him I am near at home, And that, by great injunctions, I am bound To enter publicly: him I’ll desire To meet me at the consecrated fount, A league below the city ; and from thence, a Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting, To yonder generation you shall find Your safety manifested. ] The usual reading is that introduced by Hanmer,— ‘Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting To th’ under generation, you shail find,” &c. mOL. IT: 625 Wi) Us We YM ie! Wy Lil By cold gradation and well-balane’d* form, We shall proceed with Angelo. * Re-enter Provost with Ragozine’s head. Prov. Here is the head; I’ll carry it myself. Dux. Convenient is it. Make a swift return, For I would commune with you of such things That want no ear but yours. Prov. I’ll make all speed. [ Haut. Isas. [ Withowt.| Peace, ho, be here! [know, Dvxe. The tongue of Isabel.—She’s come to If yet her brother’s pardon be come hither ; But I will keep her ignorant of her good, To make her heavenly comforts of despair, When it is least expected. (*) Old text, weale-ballanc’d. Messrs. Knight, Collier, and Singer, however, have— “¢ Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting To yonder generation, you shall find,” &c. The meaning we take to be simply, ere two days, you shall find your safety manifested to the outer world, ss Enter IsSABELLA. Isas. Ho! by your leave. Dvxr. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. Isas. The better, given me by so holy a man. Hath yet the deputy serit my brother’s pardon ? Dvuxer. He hath releas’d him, Isabel, from the world: His head is off, and sent to Angelo. Isas. Nay, but it is not so. Duke. It is no other. Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. Isas. O, I will to him,-and pluck out his eyes! Duxs. You shall not be admitted to his sight. Tsas. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel! Injurious world! Most damned Angelo ! Duxe. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot: Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. Mark what I say, which you shall find By every syllable a faithful verity. [your eyes: The duke comes home to-morrow;—nay, dry 626 * One of our covent,* and his confessor, . Gives me this instance: already he hath carried Notice to Escalus and Angelo ; Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, There to give up their power. If you can, pa your wisdom In that good path that I would wish it go; _ And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, | Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, And general honour. Isan. T am directed by you. Douxs. This letter, then, to friar Peter give; ’Tis that he sent me a the duke’s return: Say, by this token, [ desire his company At Mariana’s house to-night. Her cause and yours T’ll perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you Before the duke; and to the head of Angelo — Accuse him home and home. For my poor se f, I am combined by a sacred vow, q And shall be absent. Wend you with this le er : a Covent,—] The older form of the word convent. AcT Iv.] Command these fretting waters from your eyes With a light heart ; trust not my holy order, If I pervert your course.—Who’s here ? Enter Luctro. Lucto. Good even.— Friar, where’s the provost ? DvKE. Not within, sir. Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly ; one fruitful meal would set me to’t. But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother: if the old fan- tastical duke of dark corners had been at home, he had lived. [Hart IsaBELia. Doxe. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in _ them. — Lvuero. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do: he’s a better woodman® than thou takest him for. Doxe. Well, you’ll answer this one day. Fare ye well. Lucio. Nay, tarry; I’ll go along with thee: I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. Dvuxs. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be true; if not true, none were enough. Lucto. I was once before him for getting a wench with child. Dvuxe. Did you such a thing? Lucio. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to _ forswear it ; they would else have married me to the rotten medlar. Doxs. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. - Rest you well. Lucio. By my troth, I’ll go with thee to the lane’s end: if bawdy talk offend you, we’ll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr ; I shall stick. [ Lxeunt. SCENE IV.—A Loom in Angelo’s House. Enter ANGELO and Escatvs. Escat. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other. & Woodman—] A cant term for a wencher. b Re-deliver—] The first folio has reliver ; the second, deliver. ¢ Unpregnant,—] Inapt, unable. ad Yet reason dares her no;] The meaning seems to be, reason overawes, or frights her no¢ to impeach me. : 4 © For my authority rears of a eredent bulk—] The old copies ave,— “ For my authority beares of a credent bulke,” &c, which is plainly wrong. In modern editions the reading is,— 627 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE V. Ana. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and re-deliver? our authori- ties there ? scan. I guess not. Ane. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his entering, that if any crave redress of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street ? Escat. He shows his reason for that ;—to have a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us. Ane. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim’d : Betimes 7 the morn, I’Il call you at your house. Give notice to such men of sort and suit As are to meet him. Escau. I shall, sir: fare you well. Ane. Good night.— [Lait Escaxvs. This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpreg- nant,° And dull to all proceedings. A deflower’d maid! And by an eminent body that enfore’d The law against it !—But that her tender shame Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her Nose For my authority rears® of a credent bulk That ro particular scandal once can touch, But it confounds the breather. He should have liv’d, Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, Might in the times to come have ta’en revenge, By so receiving a dishonour’d life With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv’d ! Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right! we would, and we would not. (Bait, SCENE V.—An open Place without the City. Enter Duxg, in his own habit, and Friar PETER. Duxe. These letters at fit time deliver me: [Giving letters. The provost knows our purpose and our plot. The matter being afoot, keep your instruction And hold you ever to our special drift, ‘‘ For my authority bears off a credent bulk,” &c. or a bears so credent bulk,” &c, and Mr. Collier’s annotator suggests, bears such a credent bulk.” (ay For the substitution of rears for bears we are responsible. ss2 ACT Iv.] Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, As cause:doth minister. Go, call at Flavius’* house, And tell him where I stay: give the like notice To Valentinus,+ Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ; But send me Flavius first. F. PErer. It shall be speeded well. [Lait F. Peter. Enter VARRIUvS. Duke. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste : Come, we will walk. There’s other of our friends Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [ Hxewnt. SCENE VI.—Street near the City Gate. Enter IsaBetia and Mariana. Isas. To speak so indirectly I am loth: I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, (*) Old text, Flavia’s. (+) Old text, Valencius. a To veil full purpose.] Theobald, whose lection has been gene- rally adopted, reads,—“ to ’vailful purpose.” MEASURE FOR MEASURE. [SCENE Y, That is your part ; yet I am advis’d to do it ; He says, to veil full* purpose. Mart. Be rul’d by him. Isas. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange ; for ’tis a physic, That’s bitter to sweet end. Mart. I would friar Peter— TsaB. O, peace ! the friar 1s come. Enter Fr1arn PETER. F. Prerer. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, ; Where you may have such vantage on the duke, He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded : 7 The generous” and gravest citizens Have hent* the gates, and very near upon The duke is ent’ring: therefore, hence, away ! [ Lxceunt. b Generous—] In the Latin sense, as in “ Othello,” Act I. Se. 3,— 2 ‘¢ ___the generous islanders,” &c. ¢ Hent—] From the Saxon hentan, to take, catch, or lay hold of. we BS \ 1 4 Wie) AA\} \\ }\ Ay) 7 } ff: ~SN S—=—_ ~ S SS SS SS = RES ~ Winn oS YY WY SVS ~S \ ACT V y Gate. the Cit SCENE I—4A public Place near eae ae Poe & "sk ao SS ae oS moots bie ene Ae eee oa m olf~ p Sele S west (en) j= Seri. cod ~ Ce Pastore, a SS50 ae Urol ae oe Roe te ihe Se oS oH i ee 1 B Comyn . . 4 bab Seo aera aes aa Gate eae 24 Ste & 3 a ate ‘as a0», og oS wm °c eet Oe op Bese > fae OS Der eG, wasted oBSs5sHe sa ME SE SSaPpGid & SRA oS 8 a FAO US, akel = ats} 5 : ) eBags 1s " o Aa ae ES ay eer mess tes | >> BL SO ae Ss B Ep See > SExrs At ssso os) ea nd = o > ° =) ~ ‘‘ Whether this controversie which appeareth to fall forth betwixt the Britans and Augustus, was occasioned by Kymbeline, or some other prince of the Britains, I have not to avouch: for that by our writers it is reported, that Kymbeline being brought up in Rome, and knighted in © the court of Augustus, ever shewed himselfe a friend to — the Romans, and chieflie was loth to breake with them, — because the youth of the Britaine nation should not be ~ deprived of the benefit to be trained and brought up — among the Romans, whereby they might learne both to — behave themselves like civill men, and to atteine to the © knowledge of feats of warre.”—HOLINSHED. (2) Scenze IIT.— —— and then Have turn’d mine eye, and wept.] This pathetic description was perhaps suggested by a — passage from Golding’s translation of ‘‘ Ovid’s Metamor- — phosis :”’— “¢ She lifting up her watry eyes behild her husband stand Uppon the Hatches making signes by beckening with his hand: And she made signes to him againe. And after that the land Was farre remooved from the ship, and that the sight began To be unable to discerne the face of any man, As long as ere she could she lookt upon the rowing keele And when she could no longer time for distance ken it weele, She looked still upon the sailes that flasked with the winde Upon the mast. And when she could the sailes no longer find, © She gate her to her emptie bed with sad and sorie hart.” Goxpine’s Ovid, b. xi. (1567). BE I make the best advantage I can of the opportunity.’ ‘And so do I,’ quoth another, ‘for whether I believe m wife unfaithful or not, she will be so, if she pleases.’ third said the same, and all readily coincided in the licentious opinion, except Bernabo Lomellia, of Genoa, © who maintained that he had a wife perfectly beautiful, in the flower of youth, and of such indisputable chastity, — that he was convinced if he were absent for ten years, 8! would preserve her fidelity. A young merchant of Pia- cenza, Ambrogiulo, was extremely facetious on the subject, she ILLUSTRATIVE COMMEN'T'S. and concluded some libertine remarks by offering to effect the seduction of this modern Lucretia, provided oppor- tunity were afforded him. Bernabo answered his confident boast by the proposition of a wager, which was instantly accepted. “« According to agreement, Bernabo remained at Paris, while Ambrogiulo set out for Genoa, where his inquiries soon convinced him that Ginevra, the wife of Bernabo, had not been too highly praised, and that his wager would be lost without he could effect by stratagem what he had certainly no probability of obtaining by direct solicitation. Chance threw in his way a poor woman, often employed in the house of Ginevra, whom he secured in his interest by a bribe. Pretending unavoidable absence for a few days, the woman intreated Ginevra to take charge of a large chest till she returned. The lady consented, and the chest, with Ambrogiulo secreted in it, was placed in Ginevra’s bedchamber. When the lady retired to rest, the villain crept from his concealment, and by the light of a taper, took particular notice of the pictures and furniture, and the form and situation of the apartment. Advancing to the bed, he eagerly sought for some mark about the lady’s person, and at last espied a mole and tuft of golden hair upon her left breast. Then taking a ring, a purse, and other trifles, he returned to his concealment, whence he was not released till the third day, when the woman returned, and had the chest conveyed home, ** Ambrogiulo hastily summoned the merchants in Paris, who were present when the wager was laid. As a proof of his success he produced the stolen trinkets; called them gifts from the lady, and described the furniture of the bed-room, Bernabo acknowledged the correctness of the account, and confessed that the purse and ring belonged to his wife; but added, that as Ambrogiulo might have obtained his account of the room, and pro- cured the jewels also, from some of Ginevra’s servants, his claim to the money was not yet established. ‘The proofs I have given,’ said Ambrogiulo, ‘ ought to suffice; but as you call on me for more, I will silence your scepticism at once ;—Ginevra has a mole on her left breast.’ Bernabo’s countenance testified the truth of the assertion, and he shortly acknowledged it by words: he then paid the sum he had wagered, and instantly set out for Italy.” (2) ScpneE ITI.—Hark/ hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, &c.|] The nightingale herself has not more happily inspired our early poets than the lark, Hear, with what melody the father of them all makes the morning songster’s carol welcome the glorious sun,— ‘The busy larke, messager of daye Salueth in hire song the morwe gray: And fyry Phebus ryseth up so bright, That al the orient laugheth of the light.” CuavuceEr’s Knightles Tale. Hear, too, Spenser :— ‘* Wake now my love, awake; for it is time, The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed, All ready to her silver coche to clyme, And Pheebus gins to shew his glorious hed. Hark how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies And carroll of loves praise. The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft, The thrush replyes, the Mavis descant playes, The Ouzell shrills, the Ruddock warbles soft, So goodly all agree with sweet consent, To this dayes merriment.”—Epithalamion, 1595. Nor forget Shakespeare, again, on the same theme, in his ** Venus and Adonis :”— ‘* Lo here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty.” Nor Milton, in his ‘ Paradise Lost,” Book V.:— ss ye birds That singing wp to heaven’s gate ascend.” (3) Scene IV.— —— her attendants are All sworn, and honourable. ] ‘Tt was anciently the custom for the attendants on our nobility and other great personages (as it is now for the servants of the king) to take an oath of fidelity on their entrance into office. In the household book of the 5th Earl of Northumberland (compiled a.p. 1512), itis expressly ordered [p. 49] that ‘what person soever he be that com- myth to my Lordes service, that incontynent after he be intred in the chequyrroull [check-roll] that he be sworn'in the countynge-hous by a gentillman-usher or yeman-usher in the presence of the hede officers ; and on theire absence before the clerke of the kechynge either by such an oath as is in the Book of Othes, yff any such [oath] be, or ells by such an oth as thei shall seyme beste by their dis- cretion,’”’—PEROY, me L OLET: (1) Scent I.— The fam’d Cassibelan, who was once at point, — O, giglot Fortune |—to master Coesar’s sword, Made Lud’s town with rejotcing fires bright, And Britons strut with courage.] ‘Thus according to that which Cesar himselfe and other authentick authors have written, was Britaine made tributarie to the Romans by the conduct of the same Cesar. But our histories farre differ from this, affirming that Cesar comming the second time, was by the Britaines with valiancie and martiall prowesse beaten and repelled, as he was at the first, and speciallie by meanes that Cassi- bellane had pight in the Thames great piles of trees piked with yron, through which his ships being entred the river, were perished and lost. And after his comming a land, he was vanquished in battell, and constrained to flee into Gallia with those ships that remained. For ioy of this second victorie (saith Galfrid) Cassibellane made a great feast at London, and there did sacrifice to the gods.” —HOLINSHED, The same chronicler thus accounts for the name of Lud’s town :— ‘Lud began his reigne, in the yeere after the creation of the world 3895, after the building of the citie of Rome 679, before the comming of Christ 72, and before the Romanes entred Britaine 19 yeeres. This Lud proved a right woorthie prince, amending the lawes of the realme that were defective, abolishing evill customs and maners used among his people, and repairing old cities and tounes which were decaied: but speciallie he delited most to beautifie and inlarge with buildings the citie of Troino- vant, which he compassed with a strong wall made of lime and stone, in the best maner fortified with diverse faire towers: and in the west part of the same wall he erected a strong gate, which he commanded to be called after his name, Luds gate, and so unto this daie it is called Ludgate, (S) onelie drowned in pronuntiation of the word. * * * By reason that king Lud so much esteemed that citie before all other of his realme, inlarging it so greatlie as he did, and continuallie in manner remained there, the name was changed, so that it was called Caerlud, that is 767 ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. to saie, Luds towne: and after by corruption of speech it was named London.”—History of England, Book III. ¢. 9. (2) SoENE I.— —— Mulmutius made our laws, Who was the first of Britain which did put His brows within a golden crown, and call'd Himself a king. | “ Mulmucius Dunwallo, or as other saie Dunwallo Mulmu- cius, the sonne of Cloton, got the upper hand of the other dukes or rulers : and after his fathers deceasse began his reigne over the whole monarchie of Britaine, in the yeere of the world 3529. * * This Mulmucius Dunwallo is named in the english chronicle Donebant, and prooved a right worthie prince. He builded within the citie of Lon- don then called Troinovant, a temple, and called it the temple of peace. * * He also made manie good lawes, which were long after used, called Mulmucius lawes, turned | out of the British speech into the Latine by Gildas Priscus, and long time after translated out of latine into english by Alfred king of England, and mingled in his statutes. “st ha) After he had established his land, and set his Britains in good and convenient order, he ordeined him by the advise of his lords a crowne of golde, and caused himselfe with greate solemnitie to be crowned, according to the custom of the pagan lawes then in use: and bicause he was the first that bare a crowne heere in Britaine, after the opinion of some writers, he is named the first king of Britaine, and all the other before rehearsed are named rulers, dukes, or — governors.” —HOLINSHED. (3) ScenzE IV.— —— a garment out of fashion ; And for I am richer than to hang by the walls, I must be ripp’d.] “‘To ‘hang by the walls,’” Steevens remarks, ‘‘does not mean, to be converted into hangings for a room, but to be hung up, as useless, among the neglected contents of a wardrobe. Soin ‘ Measure for Measure : ’— ‘That have, like unscour’d armour, hung by the wall.’ ‘¢When a boy, at an ancient mansion-house in Suffolk, I saw one of these repositories, which (thanks to a succession of old maids !) had been preserved with superstitious reve- _ rence for almost a century and a half. ‘‘Clothes were not formerly, as at present, made of slight materials, were not kept in drawers, or given away as soon as lapse of time or change of fashion had impaired their value. On the contrary, they were hung up on wooden pegs in a room appropriated to the sole purpose of receiving them ; and though such cast-off things as were composed of rich substances were occasionally ripped for domestic uses (viz. mantles for infants, vests for children, and counterpanes for beds), articles of inferior quality were suffered to hang by the walls, till age and moths *had destroyed what are would not permit to be worn by ser- vants or poor relations.” ACN = (1) Scene Ill.—A xarrow lane, an old man, and two boys /] Holinshed relates the story whence this incident is taken as having happened in Scotland during the reign of king Kenneth, A.D. 976. “The Danes, perceiving that there was no hope of life, but in victorie, rushed forth with such violence upon their adversaries, that first the right, and then after the left wing of the Scots, was constreined to retire and flee backe, the middle warde stoutly yet keeping their ground : but the same stood in such danger, being now left naked on the sides, that the victorie must needes have remained with the Danes, had not a renewer of the battell come in time, by the appointment (as is to be thought) of almightie God. “ For as it chanced, there was in the next field at the same time an husbandman, with two of his sons busie about his worke, named Haie, a man strong and stiffe in making and shape of bodie, but indued with a valiant cou- rage. This Haie beholding the king with the most part of the nobles, fighting with great valiancie in the middle ward, now destitute of the wings, and in great danger to be oppressed with the great violence of his enimies, caught a plow-beame in his hand, and with the same ex- horting his sonnes to doo the like hasted towards the battell. * * There was neere to the place of the battell a long lane fensed on the sides with ditches and walles made of turfe, through the which the Scots which fled were ~ beaten down by the enimies in heapes. q ‘‘ Here Haie with his sonnes, supposing they might best staie the fight, placed themselves overthwart the lane, beat them backe whom they met fleeing, and spared neither friend nor fo: but downe they went all such as came within their reach, wherewith diverse hardie personages cried unto their fellowes to returne back unto the battell.” —Historie of Scotland, fo. 155. o ere nae Pe tt hh AT Om tN EE a 768 CRITICAL OPINIONS ON CYMBELINE. “CYMBELINE is one of Shakspeare’s most wonderful compositions. He has here combined a novel of Boccaccio’s with traditionary tales of the ancient Britons reaching back to the times of the first Roman emperors, and he has contrived, by the most gentle transitions, to blend together into one harmonious whole the social manners of the newest times with olden heroic deeds, and even with appearances of the gods. In'the character of Imogen no one feature of female excellence is omitted : her chaste tenderness, her softness, and her virgin pride, her boundless resignation, and her magna- nimity towards her mistaken husband, by whom she is unjustly persecuted, her adventures in disguise, her apparent death, and her recovery, form altogether a picture equally tender and affecting. The two Princes, Guiderius and Arviragus, both educated in the wilds, form a noble contrast to Miranda and Perdita. Shakspeare is fond of showing the superiority of the natural over the artificial, Over the art which enriches nature, he somewhere says, there is a higher art created by nature herself.* As Miranda’s unconscious and unstudied sweetness is more pleasing than those charms which endeavour to captivate us by the brilliant embellishments of a refined cultivation, so in these two youths, to whom the chase has given vigour and hardihood, but who are ignorant of their high destination, and have been brought up apart from human society, we are equally enchanted by a nuive heroism which leads them to anticipate and to dream of deeds of valour, till an occasion is offered which they are irresistibly compelled to embrace. When Imogen comes in disguise to their cave; when, with all the innocence of childhood, Guiderius and Arviragus form an impassioned friendship for the tender boy, in whom they neither suspect a female nor their own sister ; when, on their return from the chase, they find her dead, then ‘sing her to the ground, and cover the grave with flowers :—these scenes might give to the most deadened imagination a new life fur poetry. If a tragical event is only apparent, in such case, whether the spectators are already aware of it or ought merely to suspect it, Shakspeare always knows how to mitigate the impression without weakening it: he makes the mourning musical, that it may gain in solemnity what it loses in seriousness. With respect to the other parts, the wise and vigorous Belarius, who, after long living as a hermit, again becomes a hero, is a venerable figure ; the Italian Iachimo’s ready dissimulation and quick presence of mind is quite suitable to the bold treachery which he plays ; Cymbeline, the father of Imogen, and even her husband Posthumus, during the first half of the piece, * The passage in Shakspeare here quoted, taken with the Shakspeare does not here mean to institute a comparison be- context, will not bear the construction of the critic. The whole tween the relative excellency of that which is innate and that runs thus: — which we owe to instruction; but merely says, that the pene ‘“ : tion or art is itself a part of nature. The speech is addressed by Pecans mae See Ly ert pac that art Polyxenes to Perdita, to persuade her that the changes effected in Which you sav adds to nature, is an art the appearance of flowers by the art of the gardener are not to be That stirs een Tou see: sweet maid, we marry accounted unnatural; and the expression of making conceive a A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; bark of baser kind by bud of nobler race (i.e. engrafting), would And make conceive a bark of baser kind rather lead to the inference, that the mind derived its chief value from the influence of culture.—TRaAwns, By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather; but The art itself is nature.” — Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 3. VoL. I. 769 3D CRITICAL OPINIONS. are somewhat sacrificed, but this could not be otherwise: the false and wicked Queen is merely an instrument of the plot ; she and her stupid son Cloten (the only comic part in the piece), whose rude arrogance is portrayed with much humour, are, before the conclusion, got rid of by merited punishment, As for the heroical part of the fable,—the war between the Romans and Britons, which brings on the dénouement, the poet in the extent of his plan had so little room to spare, that he merely endeavours to © represent it as a mute procession. But to the last scene, where all the numerous threads of the knot are untied, he has again given its full development, that he might collect together into one focus the a scattered impressions of the whole. This example and many others are a sufficient refutation of © Johnson’s assertion, that Shakspeare usually hurries over the conclusion of his pieces. Rather does he, from a desire to satisfy the feelings, introduce a great deal which, so far as the understanding of the — dénouement requires, might in a strict sense be justly spared: our modern spectators are much more © impatient to see the curtain drop, when there is nothing more to be determined, than those of his day — could have been.”—-SCHLEGEL. “This play, if not, in the construction of its fable, one of the most perfect of our author’s productions, is, in point of poetic beauty, of variety and truth of character, and in the display of sentiment and — emotion, one of the most lovely and interesting. Nor can we avoid expressing our astonishment at the — sweeping condemnation which Johnson has passed upon it ; charging its fiction with folly, its conduct — with absurdity, its events with impossibility ; terming its faults too evident for detection and too gross — for aggravation. “Of the enormous injustice of this sentence, nearly every page of Cymbeline will, to a reader of any taste or discrimination, bring the most decisive evidence. That it possesses many of the too common ~ inattentions of Shakspeare, that it exhibits a frequent violation of costume, and a singular confusion of © nomenclature, cannot be denied; but these are trifles light as air when contrasted with its merits, — which are of the very essence of dramatic worth, rich and full in all that breathes of vigour, animation, and intellect, in all that elevates the fancy, and improves the heart, in all that fills the eye with tears, or agitates the soul with hope and fear. | . “In possession of excellences vital as these must be deemed, cold and fastidious is the criticism that, — on account of irregularities in mere technical detail, would shut its eyes upon their splendour. Nor are 4 there wanting critics of equal learning with, and superior taste to Johnson, who have considered what he has branded with the unqualified charge of ‘confusion of manners,’ as forming, in a certain point of | view, one of the most pleasing recommendations of the piece. It may be also remarked, that, if the ; unities of time and place be as little observed in this play, as in many others of the same poet, unity of character and feeling, the test of genius, and without which the utmost effort of art will ever be unavailing, is uniformly and happily supported. “Imogen, the most lovely and perfect of Shakspeare’s female characters, the pattern of connubial love and chastity, by the delicacy and propriety of her sentiments, by her sensibility, tenderness, and resig- — nation, by her patient endurance of persecution from the quarter where she had confidently looked for — endearment and protection, irresistibly seizes upon our affections ; and when compelled to fly from the paternal roof, from ‘ A father cruel, and a step-dame false, A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, That hath her husband banished,” she is driven to assume, under the name of Fidele, the disguise of a page, we follow her footsteps with © the liveliest interest and admiration. 4 “The scenes which disclose the incidents of her pilgrimage; her reception at the cave of Belarius; her intercourse with her lost brothers, who are ignorant of their birth and rank, her supposed death, funeral | rites and resuscitation, are wrought up with a mixture of pathos and romantic wildness peculiarly 770 CRITICAL OPINIONS. characteristic of our author’s genius, and which has had but few successful imitators. Among these few, stands pre-eminent the poet Collins, who seems to have trodden this consecrated ground with a congenial mind, and who has sung the sorrows of Fidele in strains worthy of their subject, and which will continue to charm the mind and soothe the heart ‘till pity’s self be dead. “When compared with this fascinating portrait, the other personages of the drama appear but in a secondary light. Yet are they adequately brought out, and skilfully diversified; the treacherous subtlety of Iachimo, the sage experience of Belarius, the native nobleness of heart, and innate heroism of mind, which burst forth in the vigorous sketches of Guiderius and Arviragus, the temerity, credulity, and penitence of Posthumus, the uxorious weakness of Cymbeline, the hypocrisy of his Queen, and the comic arrogance of Cloten, half fool and half knave, produce a Striking diversity sentiment. “Of this latter character, the constitution has been thought so extraordinary, and involving elements of a kind so incompatible, as to form an exception to the customary integrity and consistency of our author’s draughts from nature. But the following passage from the pen of an elegant female writer, will prove, that this curious assemblage of frequently opposite qualities has existed, and no doubt did exist in the days of Shakspeare :—‘It is curious that Shakspeare should, in so singular a character as Cloten, have given the exact prototype of a being whom I once knew. The unmeaning frown of the countenance ; the shuffling gait ; the burst of voice ; the bustling insignificance ; the fever and ague fits of valour; the froward tetchiness ; the unprincipled malice ; and, what is most curious, those occasional gleams of good sense, amidst the floating clouds of folly which generally darkened and confused the man’s brain; and which, in the character of Cloten, we are apt to impute to a violation of unity in character ; but in the sometime Captain C——n, I saw that the portrait of Cloten was not out of nature? | “Poetical justice has been strictly observed in this drama; the vicious characters meet the punish- ment due to their crimes, while virtue, in all its various degrees, is proportionably rewarded. The scene of retribution, which is the closing one of the play, is a masterpiece of skill; the development of the plot, for its fulness, completeness, and ingenuity, surpassing any effort of the kind among our author’s contemporaries, and atoning for any partial incongruity which the structure or conduct of the story may have previously displayed.”—DRakKE, of action and END OF VOL. II. LONDON . R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL. a ? @ SS « ‘le s : *)) j ' ; r ‘ . ” re = 2 | : d eon k oneal ees: Ton es rbd _— ™~.~ p 7 ee = oars 4 = <= a , o 7 2 te = ad = Ww o > is ” joa Ww = = 2 iu | wih 3011