CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 THE 
 HART MEMORIAL LIBRARY 
 
PR 2753.L48"l906 ""'"'""'"'' 
 
 ™e complete works of William Shaicespear 
 
 3 1924 007 542 008 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924007542008 
 
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 IN TWENTY VOLUMES 
 
 THE COMEDY OP ERRORS 
 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 VOLUME I 
 
The arnnotations at the foot of the page are intended 
 to explain difficult phrases or allusions. Single 
 words, which are no longer in common use, appear 
 only in the glossary, which is printed in last volume. 
 
 The numbering of the lines follows that of the 
 Cambridge Edition, the text of which is used in 
 this edition. 
 
COPVHIQHT 1908. BY THE UNIVEHSITY PRESS 
 
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 WITH ANNOTATIONS AND 
 A GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY SIDNEY LEE 
 VOLUME I 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY EDMUND GOSSE 
 AND AN ORIGINAL rEONTISPIECE BY CLAUDE A. SHEPFEBSON 
 
 NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 

 Copyright, 1906 
 By The University Pkess 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 All Bights Reserved 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 General, Introduction by Sir Sidney Lee . ix 
 
 Prefatory pages op the First Folio of 
 
 1623 XXV 
 
 Prefatory pages of the Second Folio of 
 
 1632 xxxvii 
 
 Introduction to The Comedy of Errors by 
 
 Edmund Gosse xliii 
 
 Text of the Plat 1 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY SIDNEY LEE 
 
 I 
 
 |OMER and Vergil, Dante and Cer- 
 vantes, Milton and Goethe, are the 
 only writers known to human his- 
 tory who in universality of recog- 
 nition challenge comparison with 
 Shakespeare. Obviously in the 
 work of every one of these six 
 masters there are certain qualities 
 to which Shakespeare's writings 
 offer no parallel at aU. In Shake- 
 speare's writings we seek in vain 
 for the epic simplicity of Homer, 
 the epic majesty of Vergil, the 
 metaphysical fervour of Dante, the serio-comic narrative 
 of Cervantes, the epic sublimity of Milton, the philo- 
 sophic subtlety of Goethe. On the other hand, Shake- 
 speare's achievement reveals an opulent mastery of one 
 faculty, — the faculty of dramatic expression, of instan- 
 
 [ix] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 taneous revelation of the springs of human conduct, — 
 to which his peers on the heights of Parnassus were for 
 the most part strangers. In many of their pecuUar 
 excellences, too, Shakespeare outshone his peers too con- 
 spicuously to admit of any questioning of the fact. He 
 can be more spontaneous in description than Homer, 
 more solemn ia reflection than Dante, more piercing in 
 'satire than Cervantes, more searching in introspect than 
 Goethe. No poet has been endowed with equally ready 
 or equally complete command of language, having the 
 triple virtues of simphcity, sensuousness, and passion. 
 No author has sounded a more vivid or a fuller note of 
 humour and comicaUty. Intimacy with the griefs and 
 joys that sway humanity is an essential characteristic of 
 all great literature. But no author has come within 
 measurable distance of the fulness and certainty which 
 marked Shakespeare's control of the sources both of 
 merriment and pathos. 
 
 Apart from the supremacy of his intuition which gov- 
 erned the processes of his intellect and imagination, the 
 cast of Shakespeare's genius differed in many notable 
 respects from that of the genius of other giants in the 
 world of letters. Its active exercise was not coextensive 
 with the full term of his manhood. His life was neither 
 cut prematurely short, nor was it prolonged to the limit 
 of old age. Born in 1564, he died in 1616, having 
 just completed his fifty-second year.^ Notable precocity 
 
 * The general facts of Shakespeare's Ufe are recorded in the present writer's 
 "Life of Shakespeare." Detailed accounts of his various works appear in the 
 various introductions which are prefixed in this edition to each of the plays and 
 poems. 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 cannot with confidence be put to his credit. His first 
 play, "Love's Labour's Lost," may be assigned to 
 the year 1591 ; his latest completed play, " The Tem- 
 pest," with such portions as are attributable to him of 
 " Henry VIII.," may be assigned to the year 1611. He 
 was of the comparatively mature age of twenty-seven 
 years when his career as dramatic author is positively 
 known to have opened, and he was forty-seven years old 
 when it closed. It is probable that the whole of his 
 dramatic work as we know it was begun and ended 
 within that period of twenty years which formed the 
 midmost period of his adult career. 
 
 Unlike many eminent poets, through nearly the whole 
 era of his activity Shakespeare produced great work — 
 not spasmodically nor at uncertain intervals, but with 
 the utmost regvilarity, at the methodical rate of two 
 plays a year. Nor did he exhaust his powers by undue 
 exertion before he died. He always economised his 
 energy. From first to last, from " The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona " and the " Comedy of Errors " to the 
 "Wmter's Tale" and "Tempest," it was his habit to 
 borrow his plots. Though he freely altered and adapted 
 the borrowed stories to suit his sense of artistic fit- 
 ness, he did not spend labour in inventing his fables ; 
 he sought them in such accessible sources as Italian 
 romances, the biographies of Plutarch, or the popular 
 Enghsh history of his day — Holinshed's Chronicle. 
 Always carefuUy husbanding his resources, he ceased to 
 write when his powers were at their ripest. His last 
 five years were spent at leisure and in retirement. A 
 
 [xi] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 luminous sanity inspired the conduct of his hfe no less 
 than that of his work. 
 
 Many other phases of his Uterary career are excep- 
 tional and rivet the attention. Shakespeare was at 
 one with the common run of men in acquiring greater 
 knowledge of the world — greater knowledge of prac- 
 tical affairs as his years grew. His experience in this 
 respect was not distinctive. But his progressive work 
 is characterised by much beyond increased command 
 of merely practical or worldly wisdom. No author's 
 work offers clearer evidence than his of the steady and 
 orderly growth of purely poetic faculty, of imagina- 
 tive and dramatic insight. The approach of age, so far 
 from quickening, often tends to impair such quahties 
 as these. It may be that in the minor currents of 
 Shakespeare's productivity, — at times in his metrical 
 effects and more often in the mechanical construction 
 of his plots, — ebb as well as flow of faculty is dis- 
 cernible. But in a survey of his complete achievement, 
 the feature that overshadows all others is the steadiness 
 with which his poetic, artistic, dramatic power marches 
 forward to perfection. There are signs of haste in the 
 composition and design of his late as well as of his early 
 plays ; but these are inconspicuous straws in the mighty 
 stream of his potentiality, which is always moving on- 
 wards, always expanding, always deepening. 
 
 It is a commonplace of criticism to detect in sequels 
 of great books a falling off, a diminution of excellence. 
 Shakespeare's work affords no opportunity for such obser- 
 vation. It was his frequent practice to resume in later 
 
 [xii] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 life a theme that he had treated in earlier life, but when- 
 ever his work takes that direction he improves on his &st 
 endeavour. Having treated with success one epoch of 
 Roman history in " Julius Caesar," he shortly afterwards 
 handled the succeeding epoch in " Antony and Cleopatra." 
 Great as is the mastery with which he handled in his first 
 Roman tragedy one mighty crisis in Rome's affairs, it is 
 far inferior to that which he exhibited in the second 
 Roman tragedy which dealt with a second mighty crisis. 
 Finely balanced and penetrating as is the picture of 
 Caesar's murder, it is outstripped in dramatic intensity 
 and dramatic grandeur by the portrayal of Antony's fate. 
 The fantastic emissary from the spirit world which 
 Shakespeare drew from the contemporary world of pop- 
 ular mythology and embodied in early days in the Puck 
 of " Midsummer Night's Dream," engaged his pencil for 
 a second time near the end of his working hfe, when he 
 depicted Ariel in the " Tempest." The old character reap- 
 pears impregnated with a wealth of imaginative colouring 
 and a philosophical significance (suggesting the capabil- 
 ities of human intellect divested of physical attributes), 
 which leaves the original creation by comparison little 
 more than a bunch of irresponsible rogueries. 
 
 Naturally in his late work Shakespeare's hand is surer 
 when he wrestles with complexities of human conduct, 
 but it is especially memorable that in his final labours he 
 showed a greater mastery of the simple as weU as of the 
 complex aspects of mortal existence. The freshness of 
 the pastoral incident in "Winter's Tale" — the sheep- 
 shearing feast — surpasses that of aU Shakespeare's pres- 
 
 [xiii] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 entations of country life, whether we compare it with 
 the experimental effort of "Love's Labour's Lost" or 
 the mature effort of "As You Like it." The dirge in 
 " Cymbeline " for native simplicity of thought and ex- 
 pression has no precise parallel in the lyrics of previous 
 years. Even more important is it to note that his capac- 
 ity to portray boyhood and girlhood, girlhood especially, 
 blossomed in its full beauty when his career was nearing 
 its close. The boy MamUius in " Winter's Tale " and 
 the two boys in " Cymbeline " embody far more convin- 
 cingly the charm, originality, and innocence of masculine 
 youth than the little Prince Arthur in " King John " 
 or even Macduff's son in the more recent tragedy of 
 " Macbeth." Nor untU Shakespeare's life had reached 
 its last decade did he make the attempt to depict tender, 
 ingenuous girlhood, — girlhood uncontaminated by social 
 intercourse, — girlhood as it was moulded by Nature's 
 hand. The peerless portraits of Beatrice and Rosalind, 
 belonging to his middle life, prove that youthful woman- 
 hood, as it developed amid those artifices and conven- 
 tions which are inseparable from civilised society, had 
 in Shakespeare's eye no lack of bewitching gaiety nor of 
 appealing gentleness. But the tender, ingenuous type 
 of girlhood — of girlhood untouched by the shadows 
 of social tradition and social custom — lay outside the 
 scope of his energies until the end of his days came in 
 sight. Such a type he set himself to create for the first 
 time in Marina in his late play of " Pericles " ; he devel- 
 oped it in Perdita in " Winter's Tale," and he wrought 
 its apotheosis in Miranda in "The Tempest." It har- 
 
 [xiv] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 monises with expectation that in middle age his tem- 
 perament should have acquired an increased measure 
 of gravity and new profundity of thought which should 
 have guided him triumphantly to the topmost peaks of 
 tragedy. But it is difficult to match in hterary history 
 the first emergence in a dramatic poet's latest work of a 
 perfect recognition of the elemental and ethereal spirit 
 of feminine youth and beauty. 
 
 II 
 
 To Shakespeare's fertile imagination was linked a 
 native alertness of intellect which made him the most 
 accurate of observers of inanimate no less than of ani- 
 mate life. But his powers of invention and observation 
 far from exhaust the range of his endowment. He 
 was endowed in an exalted degree with a third power 
 which is rarely absent from great poets and is constantly 
 and conspicuously present in Shakespeare, — the power of 
 absorbing or assimilating the fruits of reading. Spenser, 
 Milton, Keats, and Tennyson (to mention only great 
 Enghsh poets) had the like power, but none had it in 
 quite the same strength as Shakespeare. In his case, as 
 in other cases, this power of literary assimilation rendered 
 more robust the inherent force and activity of both his 
 intellect and imagination. The investigation of this 
 exceptional capacity of assimilation requires a finely 
 balanced judgment. Critics have sometimes credited 
 Shakespeare with exceptional ignorance, even illiteracy. 
 They have treated him as a natural genius, owing noth- 
 
 [XV] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 ing to the learning and literature that came before him. 
 That is a view which is contradicted by the external 
 fact of his education at the Grammar School of Strat- 
 ford-on-Avon, where the gates of Latin literature were 
 opened wide to him. It is more plainly confuted by the 
 internal evidence of his work, where his frequent debt 
 to other authors for his plots and phraseology hes upon 
 the surface. A more modern type of critic has gone to 
 the opposite extreme, and has credited Shakespeare with 
 aU the learning of an ideal professor of literature. That 
 notion is as illusory as the other. 
 
 The whole truth lies between these two extreme views. 
 Shakespeare was an eager, a rapid, and a wide reader, 
 but he was never a scholar; all that he read passed 
 quickly into his mind, but did not long retain there the 
 precise original form. It was at once assimilated, di- 
 gested, transmuted by his always dominant intellect and 
 imagination, and when it came forth again, it bore the 
 stamp of his own individuahty to a far greater degree 
 than that of its source. 
 
 Shakespeare's mind seems to have resembled a highly 
 sensitised photographic plate which need only be exposed 
 for the hundredth part of a second to anything, be it in 
 life or literature, in order to receive upon its surface a 
 finished picture which could be developed and reproduced 
 at will. If Shakespeare's mind for the hundredth part 
 of a second came in contact in an alehouse with a burly, 
 good-humoured toper, the conception of a FalstafF found 
 instantaneous admission to his brain. The character had 
 revealed itself to him in most of its involutions as quickly 
 
 [xvi j 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 as his eye caught sight of its external form and his ear 
 caught the sound of the voice. Books offered Shake- 
 speare the same opportunity of reahsing human life and 
 experience. A hurried perusal of an Italian story of a 
 Jew in Venice conveyed to him the mental picture of 
 Shylock with all his racial temperament in energetic 
 action, and all the background of Venetian scenery and 
 society accurately defined. A few hours spent over 
 " Plutarch's Lives " brought into being in Shakespeare's 
 brain the true aspects of Roman character and Roman 
 aspiration. Whencesoever the external impression came, 
 whether from the world of books or the world of Uving 
 men, the same mental power was at work, the same vis- 
 ualising instinct which made the thing he either saw or 
 read of a Uving and lasting reaUty. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In point of language and metre marked differences 
 are observable between Shakespeare's early and late work. 
 These differences reflect with precision stages of the 
 growth in force of his intellect and imagination. Metre 
 gradually acquires a flexibility which enables it to re- 
 spond with increasing effect and sureness to human 
 feehng. As Shakespeare's mental strength developed 
 his verse steadily emancipated itself from the hampering 
 restraints of fixed rules of prosody and gained a lawless 
 phancy which few have ventured to imitate and none 
 have imitated with success. In the blank verse of the 
 early plays a pause is strictly observed at the close of 
 
 [ xvii J 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 each line and rhyming couplets are frequent Gradually 
 the poet defies such artificial restrictions ; the constraint 
 of rhyme is well-nigh abandoned altogether ; recom-se is 
 more frequently made to prose ; the pause is varied in- 
 definitely ; long speeches are met with in the " Winter's 
 Tale " and " Tempest," in which the pause is set in every 
 place in the lines except the end ; extra syllables, in 
 addition to the legitimate ten, are introduced at the close 
 of lines, and at times in the middle ; the last word of the 
 Une is often a weak, unemphatic, and unaccentable con- 
 junction or preposition. 
 
 Similarly Shakespeare's language becomes growingly 
 irregular with the progress of his work. His style de- 
 velops new obscurities which are the fruit of the quick- 
 ening pace of his mental processes and the advancing 
 fertihty of his imagination. Second thoughts, second 
 fancies, crave expression before the first are completely 
 expounded. The fulness of his ripened mind contrived 
 to load his words with a weight of meaning almost 
 greater than they could conveniently bear. In plays 
 hke " Pericles," or « Cymbeline," or " The Tempest," the 
 reader is often left to supply elisions of phrase, which offer 
 embarrassing testimony to the lightning rapidity of their 
 author's thought. Shakespeare has been described as 
 the least grammatical of writers, and the comment is not 
 without justification. For many of the irregularities 
 which puzzle the uninstructed reader, ignorance of the 
 syntactical principles which governed Ehzabethan Eng- 
 Ush may be held responsible. But other irregularities 
 owe their presence to complexities inherent in Shake- 
 
 [ xviii ] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 speare's perfected genius. Few writers at their maturity 
 offer greater difficulties to the student, who seeks to 
 interpret literary speech accurately or to paraphrase it 
 exactly. Very close apphcation, very constant study, is 
 essential to a fuU apprehension of Shakespeare's latest 
 compositions. But no literature repays study and appli- 
 cation equally well. 
 
 IV 
 
 The text of Shakespeare has engaged the close atten- 
 tion of many hundred students of high acquirements in 
 many countries, and has proved a fascinating study.^ 
 Shakespeare's autograph manuscripts are not known to 
 be in existence, and the relation which the printed text 
 bears to his original writing is a question not easy to 
 answer decisively. He did not prepare his dramatic 
 work for the press. Plays in Shakespeare's day were 
 intended to be spoken and not to be read. Shakespeare, 
 hke all contemporary dramatists, wrote for the stage and 
 not for the study. His personal disposition may fairly 
 be credited with exceptional modesty, and it is clear that 
 he attached, like Goethe, — one of his greatest successors 
 in the world of hterature, — small importance to the fate 
 of his written word. 
 
 Every student has to bear in mind that Shakespeare is 
 not known to have superintended the publication of any 
 of his plays. His dramas became, as soon as he had 
 
 ^ For an account of the formation of Shakespeare's text the student is referred 
 to the present writer's introduction to the fac-simile reproduction of the Shake- 
 speare First Folio, published by the Oxford University Press, 1902. 
 
 [xix] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 written them, the property of playhouse managers, who 
 usually deemed their value diminished by publication, at 
 any rate until they had exhausted their popularity in the 
 theatre. Yet EHzabethan pubUshers, who were governed 
 httle by respect for the rights or feelings of others, often 
 obtained from the playhouses, by fair means or foul, tran- 
 scripts of plays and then issued them in print, without a 
 careful inquiry as to the authenticity of the " copy " or 
 efficient typographical revision. 
 
 During Shakespeare's hfetime there were printed and 
 published by contemporary pubUshers of habitual irre- 
 sponsibiUty sixteen separate plays, beside the two narra- 
 tive poems, " Venus and Adonis " and " Lucrece," and 
 the " Sonnets," three works which stood on a footing 
 somewhat different from that occupied by the plays and 
 may possibly have been given to the world under Shake- 
 speare's personal care. Another single play, " Othello," 
 was pubHshed in the common way six years after his 
 death — in 1622. All these pieces came to light in 
 quarto form. 
 
 It was not untU seven years after his death that his 
 complete achievement issued from the printing press in 
 the great First Foho Edition of 1623. That volume 
 first gave permanent record to the full range of Shake- 
 speare's work. It excluded one play, " Pericles," which 
 had been printed (in quarto) during the author's lifetime, 
 but no less than twenty dramas, of which the greater 
 number rank among the hterary masterpieces of the 
 world, — nine of his fourteen comedies, five of his ten 
 histories, and six of his twelve tragedies, — were for the 
 
 [xx] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 first time presented to tlie reading public, were rescued 
 from urgent peril of oblivion, by the promoters of the 
 First Folio. 
 
 The responsibility for this first attempt to give the 
 world a complete edition of Shakespeare's plays mainly 
 lay with the publishers. John Heminge and Henry 
 CondeU, the managers of the company of actors to which 
 Shakespeare had belonged in life, lent to the enterprise 
 all the support in their power, and furnished all the 
 " copy " that the playhouse archives afforded. But in 
 1623 more than thirty years had elapsed since Shake- 
 speare had dehvered his first manuscripts to the theatre, 
 and in the case of the dehvery of his latest work no 
 less than twelve years had elapsed. During these 
 long intervals misadventxires had befallen the company's 
 archives, and it was impossible to count on that store- 
 house for the supply of aU the "copy" that was in 
 request. HappUy the promoters of the First Foho had 
 at command transcripts of plays which had fallen into 
 private hands, while the printed quartos offered them the 
 more or less adequate text of sixteen pieces. But the 
 authenticity of the " copy " which (from whatever source) 
 reached the printers of the First Folio varied greatly. 
 At times it had suffered unauthorised interpolation — at 
 times it had suffered unauthorised abbreviation. Some 
 of it was illegible. Yet, in spite of all typographical 
 and critical defects, the First Folio is the sole source of 
 our knowledge of the greater part of the Shakespearean 
 text. The carelessness and ignorance of the printers, 
 alike of many of the quartos and of the First Folio — 
 
 [xxij 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 their spelling vagaries, their misreadings of the " copy," 
 and their inabUity to reproduce intelligently any words 
 in a foreign language — have set no mean difficulties in 
 the way of the Shakespearean scholar. But the oppor- 
 tunities of attaining fuU and satisfying knowledge of 
 Shakespeare's writings must not be unduly disparaged. 
 Many coliunns of the First Folio and many pages of the 
 quartos can be perused uninterruptedly with understand- 
 ing by the careful student of Elizabethan typography 
 and Elizabethan English. Probably no more than one 
 in each thousand lines presents really formidable obsta- 
 cles to the expert reader's progress. And Shakespeare's 
 writings were inherently of too fertile and too potent an 
 excellence to suffer materially or permanently from the 
 embarrassments or incompetence of those who first saw 
 them through the press. In the eighteenth and nine- 
 teenth centuries a long line of able editors set aU but a 
 few fragments of the original texts on a sound and intel- 
 hgible typographical footing. The best results were 
 embodied in the Cambridge edition, mainly prepared 
 by Dr. Aldis Wright, and that version of the text is 
 followed in the present edition. 
 
 The profitable opportunities which Shakespeare's works 
 offer for exercises in textual criticism are no longer 
 abundant. It is needful indeed to resist the tempta- 
 tion of making fresh conjectural emendations. Many a 
 passage which has puzzled the uninitiated reader and has 
 been denoimced by him as a corruption of scrivener or 
 compositor, loses its obscurity, even as it stands in the 
 First Folio, or in the original quartos, in the seeing eye 
 
 [ xxii ] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 of the trained Shakespearean scholar. At any rate, none 
 should now endeavour to repair the typographical errors 
 of the first editions who is not specially equipped for the 
 task. It is requisite to acquire beforehand a thorough 
 knowledge of the orthography, the phraseology, the 
 prosody, the technical vocabulary, the printer's and pub- 
 Usher's methods of work, which were in vogue in 
 Shakespeare's era. The textual critic must be gifted 
 with a natural appreciation of the rhythm of prose and 
 verse. He must above all things have faith in the com- 
 plex resources of Shakespeare's genius and some capacity 
 to realise its varied working. The typographical defects 
 of the original editions of Shakespeare should neither be 
 extenuated nor exaggerated ; but the imique place, which 
 those rare volumes hold in the world's literature as the 
 sole siu"viving sources of first-hand knowledge of Shake- 
 speare's writings, gives their text indefeasible right only 
 to be handled in the sternest spirit of reverent scholar- 
 ship. 
 
 It is among the happiest fortunes of the English- 
 speaking peoples that Shakespeare should have written 
 in their tongue, and should have become a link binding 
 them together in a common affection for him. But 
 Shakespeare's glory is no creation of mere patriotic or 
 racial sentiment. Nor can it be justly regarded as an 
 exclusively EngUsh possession. 
 
 Although an Enghshman and an Enghsh writer of an 
 epoch in EngUsh history which bears very definitely the 
 
 [ xxiii ] 
 
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 impress of the national character, Shakespeare's transcen- 
 dental power has long since overridden the limitations of 
 nationality. No charge of provincial infatuation can 
 now be brought against the Enghsh-speaking peoples 
 who honour Shakespeare as the greatest of great men. 
 No undue pride of race can be alleged against those 
 who, descending from his feUow-countrymen, acclaim his 
 supremacy in the universal empire of literature. Nations 
 which bear no lineal relation with him are as generous in 
 their laudation as those who are born to speak his lan- 
 guage. His pre-eminence is recognised in every quarter 
 of the globe to which civilised life has penetrated. All 
 the world over, language is applied to his creations that 
 ordinarily applies to beings of flesh and blood. Hamlet 
 and Othello, Lear and Macbeth, FalstaiF and Shylock, 
 Brutus and Romeo, Ariel and Caliban are studied in 
 almost every civilised tongue as if they were historic 
 personalities, and the chief of the impressive phrases 
 that fall from their lips are rooted in the speech of civi- 
 hsed humanity. Differences of national or racial tem- 
 perament count for Uttle or nothing in the recognition 
 of Shakespeare. It was the Frenchman Dumas who 
 gave voice to the eulogy that is not likely to be sur- 
 passed in pith or moment : " After God, Shakespeare 
 has created most." 
 
 [ xxiv j 
 
PREFATORY PAGES OP THE FIRST FOLIO OF 16231 
 TO THE READERS 
 
 [on Shakespeare's portrait] 
 
 1 HIS Figure, that thou here seest put. 
 
 It was for gentle ShaJcespeare cut : 
 Wherein the Graver had a strife 
 
 With Nature, to out-do the life: 
 O, could he but have drawn his wit 
 
 As well in brass, as he hath hit 
 His face, the Print would then surpass 
 
 All that was ever writ in brass. 
 But, since he cannot. Reader, look. 
 
 Not on his Picture, but his Book. 
 
 BI^ 
 
 * The spelling of the contents of the prefatory pages has been 
 
 modernised and the punctuation revised. Capital letters have 
 
 been retained. 
 '^ Printed on the fly-leaf facing the titlepage of the First FoliOj on 
 
 which appeared the engraving of Shakespeare's portrait by 
 
 Martin Droeshout. 
 ' £/] Ben Jonson. See note on p. [xxxiii], infra. 
 ^ [ XXV ] 
 
THE DEDICATION 
 
 To the most noble aiid Incomparabk pair of brethren, William Earl 
 of Pembroke, S^-c Lord Chamberlain to the King's most Excellent 
 Mcyesty, and Philip Earl of Montgomery, S^c Gentleman of his 
 Majesty''s bed-chamber, both Tinights of the most Noble Order of 
 the Garter, and our singular good Lords.^ 
 
 Right Honourable, 
 
 Whilst we study to be thankful in our particular, for the many 
 favours we have received from your Lordships, we are fallen upon 
 the ill fortune, to mingle two the most diverse things that can be, 
 fear and rashness ; rashness in the enterprise and fear of the success. 
 For, when we value the places your Highnesses sustain, we cannot 
 but know their dignity greater, than to descend to the reading of 
 these trifles : and, while we name them trifles, we have deprived 
 ourselves of the defence of our Dedication. But since your Lord- 
 ships have been pleased to think these trifles something heretofore, 
 and have prosecuted both them and their Author living with so 
 much favour, we hope that (they outliving him, and he not having 
 the fate, common with some, to be executor to his own writings) you 
 will use the like indulgence toward them you have done unto their 
 parent. There is a great difference, whether any Book choose 
 
 William Herbert, Third Earl of Pembroke (1580-1630), had been 
 Knight of the Garter since l603 and Lord Chamberlain since l6l5. 
 His younger brother Philip (1584-1650), who was created Earl of 
 Montgomery in l605, was made Knight of the Garter in I6O8, 
 and succeeded to the earldom of Pembroke on his elder brother's 
 death in l630. Both were generous patrons of poets and drama- 
 tists, and numerous volumes were, as in the present instance, 
 dedicated to them jointly. Cf. Ducci's Ars Aulica, or The 
 Courtier's Arte, l607, Stephens' A World of Wonders, l607, and 
 Gerardo, The Unfortunate Spaniard, a translation by Leonard 
 Digges of a Spanish novel, 1622. 
 [ xxvi ] 
 
THE DEDICATION 
 
 his Patrons or find them. This hath done both. For, so much 
 were your Lordships' likings of the several parts, when they were 
 acted, as before they were published, the Volume asked to be yours. 
 We have but collected them, and done an office to the dead, to 
 procure his Orphans, Guardians, without ambition either of self- 
 profit or fame : only to keep the memory of so worthy a Friend and 
 Fellow alive, as was our Shakespeare, by humble offer of his plays 
 to your most noble patronage. Wherein, as we have justly observed 
 no man to come near your Lordships but with a kind of religious 
 address, it hath been the height of our care, who are the Pre- 
 senters, to make the present worthy of your Highnesses by the per- 
 fection. But there we must also crave our abilities to be considered, 
 my Lords. We cannot go beyond our own powers. Country hands 
 reach forth milk, cream, fruits, or what they have ; and many Nations 
 we have heard, that had not gums and incense, obtained their requests 
 with a leavened Cake. It was no fault to approach their Gods by 
 what means they could, and the most, though meanest, of things 
 are made more precious when they are dedicated to Temples. In 
 that name, therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your Highnesses 
 these remains of your servant Shakespeare,-' that what delight is 
 in them may be ever your Lordships', the reputation his, and the 
 faults ours, if any be committed by a pair so careful to shew their 
 gratitude both to the living and to the dead, as is 
 
 Your Lordships' most bounden 
 
 JOHN HEMINGE. 
 HENRY CONDELL.' 
 
 ^ As member of the King's Company of Players, Shakespeare was 
 ofEcially designated one of the King's Servants, and took rank 
 with the grooms of the bedchamber. The offices which the 
 Earls of Pembroke and Montgomery held at Court gave them 
 authority over the King's actors. 
 
 ^ Both Heminge and Condell were leading members of Shakespeare's 
 company of actors, and were intimate friends of the dramatist. 
 To each he left by will 26* 8d wherewith to buy memorial rings. 
 [ xxvii ] 
 
TO THE GREAT VARIETY OF READERS 
 
 From the most able, to him that can but spell. There you are 
 numbered. We had rather you were weighed. Especially, when the 
 fate of all books depends upon your capacities : and not of your 
 heads alone, but of your purses. Well ! it is now public, and you 
 will stand for your privileges, we know : to read and censure. Do 
 so, but buy it first. That doth best commend a Book, the Stationer 
 says. Then, how odd soever your brains be, or your wisdoms, make 
 your license the same, and spare not. Judge your sixpen'orth, your 
 shillingsworth, your five shillingsworth at a time, or higher, so you 
 rise to the just rates, and welcome. But, whatever you do, buy. 
 Censure will not drive a Trade, or make the Jack go. And though 
 you be a Magistrate of wit, and sit on the Stage-' at Blackfriars,^ 
 or the Cock-pit,^ to aiTaign Plays daily, know these Plays have had 
 their trial already and stood out all Appeals ; and do now come 
 forth quitted rather by a Decree of Court, than any purchased 
 Letters of commendation. 
 
 It had been a thing, we confess, worthy to have been wished, 
 
 ^ In Elizabethan and Jacobean theatres, men of fashion and critics 
 were permitted to occupy seats on the stage. 
 
 * The Blackfriars' Theatre, on part of the present site of The Times 
 
 office in London, was formed out of a private house in 1597, 
 by Shakespeare's company of actors, but was leased to another 
 company until l609, and was not occupied by Shakespeare's 
 company till after that date, when the dramatist was nearing 
 retirement from active life. 
 
 * The Cockpit in Drury Lane was until l6l5 devoted to cockfight- 
 
 ing and other undignified shows. It was then converted into 
 a theatre, and was a fashionable playhouse until its demolition 
 during the civil war. The existing Drury Lane Theatre stands 
 in its near neighbourhood. 
 
 [ xxviii ] 
 
TO THE GREAT VARIETY OF READERS 
 
 that the Author himself had lived to have set forth, and overseen 
 his own writings. But since it hath been ordained otherwise, and 
 he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envy 
 his Fiiends the office of their care and pain to have collected and 
 published them, and so to have published them, as where (before) 
 you were abused with diverse stolen and surreptitious copies, 
 maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealths of injurious im- 
 postors, that exposed them : even those, are now offered to your 
 view, cured and perfect of their limbs ; and all the rest, absolute in 
 their numbers, as he conceived them. Who, as he was a happy imi- 
 tator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and 
 hand went together : and what he thought, he uttered with that 
 easiness, that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers. 
 But it is not our province, who only gather his works, and give 
 them you, to praise him. It is yours that read him. And there 
 we hope to your divers capacities you will find enough, both to 
 draw and hold you : for his wit can no more lie hid, than it could 
 be lost. Read him, therefore ; and again, and again : and then if 
 you do not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger not 
 to understand hira. And so we leave you to other of his Friends, 
 whom if you need, can be your guides : if you need them not, you 
 can lead yourselves, and othei's. And such Readers we wish him. 
 
 JOHN HEMINGE. 
 HENRY CONDELL. 
 
 [ xxix ] 
 
COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 To THE Memory of my beloved. The Author, Mr. Wiluam 
 Shakespeare and what he hath left us. 
 
 To draw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy rwme. 
 
 Am I thus ample to thy Book, amd Fa/me : 
 While I confess thy zmitings to be such, 
 
 As neither Man, nor Muse, can praise too much. 
 "'TIS true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways 
 
 Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise : 
 For silliest Ignorance on these may light. 
 
 Which, when it soninds at best, but echoes right ; 
 Or blind Affection which doth ne'er advance 
 
 TTie truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance. 
 Or crafty Malice, might pretend this praise. 
 
 And think to ruin, where it seemed to raise. 
 There are, as some infamous Bawd, or whore. 
 
 Should praise a Matron. What could hurt her more ? 
 But thou art proof against them, amd indeed 
 
 Above tK ill fortune of them, or the need. 
 I, therefore, will begin. Soul of the Age ! 
 
 The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our Stage ! 
 My Shakespeare, rise : I will not lodge thee by 
 
 Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie^ 
 
 Burial in what is now known as The Poets' Ojmer in Westminster 
 Abbey had been allotted to these three poets. Spenser and Beau- 
 mont were interred there in Shakespeare's lifetime, the former 
 early in 1599, the latter only six weeks before Shakespeare's 
 death, on 9 March, 1616. An elegiac sonnet on Shakespeare by 
 WiUiam Basse, first printed in John Donne's poems in 1633, and 
 
 [ XXX ] 
 
COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 A little further, to make thee a room : 
 
 TTwu art a Monument, without a tomb. 
 And art alive still, while thy book doth live. 
 
 And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 
 That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses : 
 
 I mean with great, but disproportioned Muses. 
 For, if I thought my judgment were of years, 
 
 I should commit thee swrely with thy peers. 
 And tell, how far thou didst our Lyly outshine. 
 
 Or sporting Kyd, or Markme's mighty line ; ^ 
 And though thou had'st small Lathi, and less Greek, 
 
 From thence to honour thee, I would not seek 
 For names ; but call forth thund'ring Aeschylus, 
 
 Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 
 Paccuvius, Acdius, him, of Cordova dead^ 
 
 To life again, to hear thy Buskin tread. 
 And shake a Stage : or, when thy Socks were on. 
 
 Leave thee alone, for the comparison 
 
 then appended to the 1640 edition of Shakespeare's Poems, begins 
 thus: 
 
 " Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh 
 To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lie," etc. 
 
 Basse's elegy seems to have been written shortly after Shake- 
 speare's death on 23 April, 1616, and Ben Jonson apparently 
 owed to it the suggestion for these lines. 
 
 1 John Lyly (1554?-l606), the author of Euphues, made much repu- 
 tation as a writer of comedies. Thomas Kyd (1557 ?-1595 ?) and 
 Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) gained their fame in tragedy. 
 Only Marlowe was gifted with genuine tragic power. 
 
 ^ Of the three writers of Latin tragedies here mentioned, fragments 
 alone survive of the work of Marcus Pacuvius (220-130 B.C.) and 
 of Lucius Accius (170-90 b.c). The well-known dramatist, Lucius 
 Annaeus Seneca, a native of Cordova, (5 B.C.-65 a.d.), ten of 
 whose tragedies are extant in a complete state, is intended by 
 "him of Cordova." 
 
 [ xxxi ] 
 
COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome 
 
 Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 
 Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show. 
 
 To whom all Scenes of Europe howMge owe. 
 He was not of an age, but for all time ! 
 
 And all the Muses still were in their prime. 
 When like Apollo he cam^ forth to warm 
 
 Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! 
 Nature herself was proud of his designs. 
 
 And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines ! 
 Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit. 
 
 As, since, she will vouchsafe no other Wit. 
 The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 
 
 Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ; 
 But antiquated and deserted lie 
 
 As they were not of Nature's family. 
 Yet must I not give Nature all : thy Art, 
 
 My gentle Shakespeare, must eryoy a part. 
 For though the PoePs matter Nature be. 
 
 His Art doth give the fashion. And, that he. 
 Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, 
 
 (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 
 Upon the Muses'" anvil : turn the same, 
 
 (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame; 
 Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn. 
 
 For a good Poet '* Tnade, as well as bom. 
 And such wert thou. Look how the father's face 
 
 Lives in his issue ; even so, the race 
 Of Shakespeare'' s mind and manners brightly shines 
 
 In his well-turned and true filed Unes: 
 In each of which he seems to shake a Lance, 
 
 As brandished at the eyes of Ignorance. 
 Sweet swan of Avon ! what a sight it were 
 
 To see thee in our waters yet appear, 
 [ xxxii ] 
 
COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 And make those Jlights upon the hanks of Thames, 
 
 That so did take EUza and our James ! 
 But stay, I see thee in the Hemisphere 
 
 Advanced, and made a Constellation there ! 
 Shine forth, thou Star of poets, and with rage. 
 
 Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping Stage ; 
 Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night. 
 
 And despairs day, but for thy Volumes light. 
 
 BEN: JONSON.i 
 
 Upon the lines and life of the famous Scenic Poet, 
 Masteb William Shakespeare. 
 
 1 HOSE hands, which you so clapped, go now and wring. 
 
 You Britons brave, for done are Shakespeare'' s days : 
 
 His days are done, that made the dainty Plays, 
 
 Which made the Globe ^ of heaven and earth to ring. 
 
 Dried is that vein, dried is the Thespian spring. 
 
 Turned all to tears, and Phwbus clouds his rays : 
 
 That corpse, that coffin now bestick those bays. 
 
 Which crowrCd him Poetflrst, then Poets' King. 
 
 If Tragedies might any Prologue have. 
 
 All those he made would scarce make one to this : 
 
 ^ Ben Jonson (1573 ?-l637), the poet and dramatist, was, for the last 
 eighteen years of Shakespeare's life, on terms of intimacy with 
 him. In his Discoveries Jonson wrote of Shakespeare in a more 
 critical vein, but included there the famous words, " I loved the 
 man and do honour his memory on this side Idolatry as much as 
 any. . . . There was ever more in him to be praised than to be 
 pardoned." 
 
 ^ The Globe Theatre on the Bankside, Southwark, was built in ] 599 
 and was thenceforth identified with the production of Shake- 
 speare's dramas. 
 
 [ xxxiii ] 
 
COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 Where Fame, now that he gone is to the grave 
 (DeatKs public tiring-house) the NvmAus is. 
 For though his line of life went soon about. 
 The life yet of his lines shall never out. 
 
 HUGH HOLLAND.i 
 
 To THE MEMORY OF M[e]. W. ShAKESPEARE 
 
 We wondered (Shakespeare) that thou werifst so soon 
 From the World's Stage, to the Grave's Tiring-room. 
 We thought thee dead, but this thy printed worth 
 Tells thy Spectators that thou wenfst but forth 
 To enter with applause. An Actor'' s Art 
 Can die and live to act a second part. 
 That '# but an Exit of Mortality ; 
 This, a Re-entrance to a Plaudite. 
 
 I. M.2 
 
 ' Hugh Holland (d. 1633), Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and 
 a member of the Mermaid Club, contributed verses to Ben 
 Jonson's Sejanus, 1605, and to many other books by well-known 
 authors of the day. 
 
 " /. M.] i. e., James Mabbe (1572-1642?), Fellow of Magdalen College, 
 Oxford, who was well known in his day as a translator from the 
 Spanish. 
 
 [ xxxiv ] 
 
COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 To THE Memory of the deceased Acthoe 
 Master W. Shakespeare. 
 
 Shakespeare, at length thy pious fellows give 
 
 The world thy Works : thy Works, hy which outlive 
 
 Thy Tomb thy name must ; when that stone is rent. 
 
 And Time dissolves thy Stratford Monument^ 
 
 Here we alive shall view thee still. This Book, 
 
 When Brass and Marble fade, shall make thee look 
 
 Fresh to all Ages : when Posterity 
 
 Shall loathe what '« new, think all is prodigy 
 
 That is not Shakespeare'' s : every Line, each Verse 
 
 Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy Hearse. 
 
 Nor Fire, nor cankering Age, as Naso said ^ 
 
 Of his, thy wit-fraught Book shall once vnvade. 
 
 Nor shall I ere believe, or think thee dead 
 
 ( Though missed) until our bankrupt Stage be sped 
 
 (Impossible) with som£ new strain f out-do 
 
 Passions of Juliet or her Romeo ; 
 
 Or till I heanr a Scene more nobly take. 
 
 Than when thy half Sword parleying Romans spake. 
 
 Till these, till any of thy Volumes rest 
 
 Shall with more fire, more feeling be expressed. 
 
 Be sure, our Shakespeare, thou canst never die. 
 
 But, crowned with Laurel, live eternally. 
 
 L. DIGGES.* 
 
 This is the earliest known reference to the monument to Shake- 
 speare in the chancel of the church at Stratford-on-Avon. 
 
 Naso said] Cf. Ovid, Metamorphoses, XV, 871 seqq. Shakespeare 
 adapts the same lines in his Sonnets (LV, 1-7). 
 
 Leonard Digges (1588-1635), M. A., of University College, Oxford, 
 contributed a second elegy on Shakespeare in somewhat similar 
 vein to the 1640 edition of Shakespeare's Poems. 
 
 [ XXXV J 
 
THE PRINCIPAL ACTORS 
 
 The names of the peincipal actors in axl these plays : i 
 
 fWilliam Shakespeare 
 fRichard Burbage 
 
 John Heminge 
 
 Augustine Phillips 
 fWilliam Kemp 
 f Thomas Pope 
 f George Bryan 
 
 Henry Condell 
 fWilliam Sly 
 fRichard Cowley 
 
 John Lowin 
 
 Samuel Cross 
 f Alexander Cook 
 
 Samuel Gilburn 
 f Robert Armin 
 fWilliam Ostler 
 Nathaniel Field 
 John Underwood 
 Nicholas Tooley 
 William Ecclestone 
 Joseph Taylor 
 Robert Benfield 
 Robert Gough 
 Richard Robinson 
 John Shank 
 John Rice 
 
 These men were fellow-members with Shakespeare of the King's 
 Company of Players. Those marked f died before the publi- 
 cation of the First Folio in 1623. The last survivor of these 
 fellow-actors of Shakespeare was John Lowin. He seems to have 
 died at the patriarchal age of ninety-three in 1669. 
 [ xxxvi ] 
 
ADDITIONAL COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 FROM THE SECOND FOLIO OF 1632 
 
 Upon the Effigies of my woethy Feiend, the Author 
 Mastee William Shakespeare, and his woeks 
 
 Spectator, this Life's shadow is to see 
 The truer image and a livelier he 
 Turn Reader. But, observe his Comic vein. 
 Laugh, and "proceed nead to a Tragic strain, 
 TTien weep ; so when thoujind'st two contraries. 
 Two different passions from thy rapt soul rise. 
 Say, (who alone affect such wonders could) 
 Rare Shakespeare to the life them dost behold.^ 
 
 An epitaph on the admirable dramatic poet, 
 W. Shakespeaee^ 
 
 What need my Shakespeare Jhr his honour'd bones, 
 
 Tlie labour of an Age, in piled stones 
 
 Or that his hallow'd Reliques should be hid 
 
 Under a star-ypointing Pyramid f 
 
 Dear Son of Memory, great Heir of Fame, 
 
 What needst thou such duU witness of thy na/me ? 
 
 TTunt in our wonder and astonishment 
 
 Hast built thyself a lasting Monument : 
 
 ^ These lines bear no signature, and there is no clue to their 
 
 authorship. 
 ' These lines are by John Milton, and were re-printed in the 1645 
 
 edition of his poems with the heading "On Shakespeare. 1630." 
 [ xxxvii J 
 
ADDITIONAL COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 For wMTst to the shame of slow-endeavouring Art 
 Thy easy nwnbers Jlow, and that each part 
 Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued Book, 
 Those Delphic Lines with deep Impression took ; 
 Then thou our fancy of her self bereaving, 
 Dost make us Marble with too much conceiving. 
 And so Sepulchred in sy£h pomp dost lie 
 That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die. 
 
 On Worthy Mastee Shakesfeare and his Poems 
 
 A MIND reflecting ages past, whose clear 
 And equal surface can make things appear 
 Distant a Thousand years, amd represent 
 Them in their lively colours'' just extent : 
 To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates. 
 Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates 
 Of death and Lethe, where confused lie 
 Great heaps of ruinous mortality : 
 In that deep dusky dungeon to discern 
 A royal Ghost from Churls ; by art to learn 
 The physiognomy of shades, and give 
 TTiem sudden birth, wond'ring how oft they live ; 
 What story coldly tells, what Poets feign 
 At second hand, and picture withoui brain, 
 Senseless and soulless shows : to give a Stage 
 (Ample and true with life) voice, action, age. 
 As Plato's year and new Scene of the world 
 Them unto us, or u^ to them had hurTd : 
 To raise our ancient Sovereigns from their hearse, 
 Make Kings his subjects ; by exchanging verse, 
 Enlive their pale trunks ; that the present age 
 Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage : 
 [ xxxviii] 
 
ADDITIONAL COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 Yet so to temper passion, that our ears 
 Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes im tears 
 Both weep and smile ; fearful at plots so sad. 
 Then, laughing at ourfea/r ; alms'' d and glad 
 To he abus''d, affected with that truth 
 Which we perceive is false; pleas'd in that ruth 
 At which we start ; and by elaborate play 
 Tortur'd and tickled ; by a crablike way 
 Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort 
 Disgorging vp his ravine for our sport : 
 — While the Plebeian Imp, from lofty throne. 
 Creates and rules a world, and works upon 
 Mankind by secret engines ; now to move 
 A chilling pity, then a vigorous love ; 
 To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire. 
 To steer tfC affections ; and by heavenly fire 
 Mould VjS anew. StoVnfrom ourselves — 
 
 This, and much more, which cannot be express'd. 
 But by himself, his tongue and his own breast. 
 Was Shakespeare'' s freehold ; which his cunning brain 
 Improv''d by favour of the ninefold train. 
 The buskin' d Mtise, the Comic Queen, the grand 
 And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand. 
 And nimbler foot of the melodious pair. 
 The Silver-voiced Lady ; the most fair 
 Calliope, whose speaking silence daunts. 
 And she whose praise the heavenly body chants. 
 
 These jointly woo''d him, envying one another 
 (Obey''d by all as Spouse, but hvd as brother) 
 And wrought a curious robe of sable grave, 
 Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave. 
 And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white, 
 TTie lowly Russet, and the Scarlet bright ; 
 BrancKd and embroider'' d like the painted Spring 
 [ xxxix ] 
 
ADDITIONAL COMMENDATORY VERSES 
 
 Each leaf matcKd with a flower, and each string 
 Of golden wire, each line of silk ; there run 
 Italian works whose thread the Sisters spun ; 
 And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice 
 Birds of a foreign note and various voice. 
 Here hangs a mossy rock ; there plays a fair 
 But chiding fountain purled : not the air, 
 Ncn- clouds nor thunder, but were living drawn. 
 Not out of common Tiffany or Lawn, 
 But fine materials, which the Muses know 
 And only know the countries where they grow. 
 
 Now, when they could no longer him enjoy 
 In mortal garments pent, — death may destroy, 
 TTiey say, his body, hut his verse shall live 
 And more than nature takes, mm- hands shall give; 
 In a less volume, hut more strongly bound 
 Shakespeare shall breathe and speak, with Laurel crowned 
 Which never fades : fed with Ambrosian meat 
 In a well-lined vesture rich and neat. 
 So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it ; 
 For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it. 
 
 The friendly admirer of his Endowments. I. M. S.^ 
 
 .MS.] These initials have not been satisfactorily explained. 
 Coleridge, who quoted the poem in his "Lectures on Shake- 
 speare," 1811-12 (No. IX), and declared it to have "no equal for 
 justness and distinctness of description in reference to the powers 
 and qualities of lofty genius," confidently assigned it to John 
 Milton, Student. Another claimant is Jasper Majme, Student, a 
 well-known poet and dramatist (l604-l672). "In Memoriam 
 Scriptoris," "John Milton, Senior," "John Marston, Student," 
 "John Marston, Satyrist " seem to be less probable interpi«tations. 
 
 [xl] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 IHE history of "The Comedy of 
 Errors" is not encumbered with 
 many of those theories which have 
 heaped about the tomb of Shake- 
 speare so vast a cairn of conjecture. 
 The commentators find little in its 
 text to provoke their ingenuity, 
 and no battle royal has raged 
 about the questions of its date 
 or its authorship. It is quietly 
 allowed, by the most sceptical, to 
 be an imadulterated work of the 
 master, and no one has seriously 
 attempted to overturn the slender, but sensible and 
 sufficient, arguments on which its position among Shake- 
 speare's writings is based. No early quarto of it is 
 known ; it appears for the first time immediately after 
 "Measure for Measure" in the folio of 1623. Meres 
 mentions it among his six excellent comedies of Shake- 
 speare in 1598, in the course of his "Palladis Tamia." But 
 we know that it was played in 1594, and it is evidently 
 
 [xliii] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 still older. There is a patent reference in the third act to 
 that civil war in France which went on from the summer 
 of 1589 to that of 1593. Another and vaguer allusion to 
 " whole armadoes of carracks " is supposed to confine us to 
 the period 1589-91. The consensus of internal evidence, 
 in end-tests and the like, puts " The Comedy of Errors " 
 second in the series of Shakespeare's undoubted plays, 
 between " Love's Labour 's Lost," which may belong to 
 1589, and " The Two Gentlemen of Verona," which may 
 belong to 1591. We are not likely to be confuted if we 
 claim 1590 for its year of composition. 
 
 The critical interest of " The Comedy of Errors " cen- 
 tres in the fact that it is the only surviving play of 
 Shakespeare in which we observe that he deliberately or 
 closely follows a previous work from the hand of an ac- 
 knowledged master of drama. In other productions we 
 find him competing with such contemporaries as Greene 
 and Kyd, and easily excelling them. Elsewhere we may 
 persuade ourselves to see the influence of Seneca upon 
 him, or even that of Ariosto. But these traces of ap- 
 prenticeship to foreign models are shght, and above all 
 they are fragmentary and episodical. For instance, — 
 and we can wish for none more appropriate, — we see 
 in the strictly parallel farce of " The Taming of the 
 Shrew" evidence of Latin and Italian influence, yet 
 this play is in its essentials — that is to say, in all its 
 unchallenged Petruchio and Katherine scenes — in con- 
 ception as well as execution a characteristic and inde- 
 pendent work of Shakespeare. This " The Comedy of 
 Errors" is not; here for once and never again Shake- 
 
 [xlivj 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 speare bent his genius to that of a predecessor only less 
 adventurous than himself. It was one thing to compete 
 with the vague "precursors" of 1580; it was another 
 thing to interpret, as an engraver interprets a painting, a 
 masterpiece by the greatest comic playwright of Latin 
 antiquity. 
 
 Hence the very first thing to be done in examining 
 " The Comedy of Errors " critically is to discover what 
 relation it bears to the " Meneechmi " of Plautus, of 
 which it is a studied paraphrase or recast. No Enghsh 
 translation of Plautus had been published when Shake- 
 speare's play was composed, and commentators have 
 shown great ingenuity in trying to prove that the poet 
 must have had access to an English version of the 
 " Mensechmi," made in verse by William Warner, but 
 not printed until 1594. It is to exaggerate the httleness 
 of Shakespeare's "Uttle Latin" to suppose that he re- 
 quired such help. At that time Plautus was abundantly 
 studied in England, and nothing could have been easier 
 than to obtain a sufficiently fuU impression of a text 
 which was at no point to be imphcitly followed. No 
 doubt the onmiscience of Shakespeare has been exag- 
 gerated, but it is needless to carry reaction so far as to 
 regard him as a dunce and an ignoramus. The existence 
 of adaptations of the "farce of mistaken identity" in 
 several languages has led some critics to see in these the 
 sources of Shakespeare's play, and, in particular, a rough- 
 and-tumble drollery called " Jack Juggler," of 1563, has 
 been named. But a glance at these trifles wUl prove to 
 us that Shakespeare, if he knew of them, discarded them 
 
 [xlv] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 altogether, and started anew from the plot of the 
 " Mensechmi." 
 
 There was much in the temperament of Plautus which 
 could not fail to be attractive to the youthful Shake- 
 speare, who would instinctively recognise in that joyous 
 buccaneer of the Latin stage quaUties closely akin to cer- 
 tain of his own. The sort of boisterous animal spirits, 
 held in check only by such discipline as the cultivation 
 of romantic beauty may supply, would be exemplified for 
 us in dramatic hterature of the first class only by the 
 works of Plautus, if Shakespeare had not written " The 
 Comedy of Errors," " The Taming of the Shrew," and 
 "The Merry Wives of Windsor." Nearly seventeen 
 centuries passed over Europe without producing a play- 
 wright capable of attempting to rival, in its own redun- 
 dant and efflorescent kind, the marvellous comedy of " The 
 Captives." In a brilliant passage, too, Mr. MackaU has 
 shown that if we wish to discover a parallel to the mari- 
 time romance of the " Rudens " we must look for it no 
 earUer than in " A Winter's Tale." It is the more need- 
 ftd to remind ourselves of these elements of likeness 
 between Shakespeare and Plautus, because it is precisely 
 in the "Mensechmi" that the likeness may evade us, 
 since the latter comes down to us as one of the least 
 sentimental and least romantic of all the pure farces of 
 Plautus. Perhaps the note which criticism should strike 
 in approaching " The Comedy of Errors " is that this is 
 the "Menaechmi" rewritten as Plautus himself might 
 have composed it had he approached the subject in one 
 of his more lyrical and more fertile moods. 
 
 [ xlvi J 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The comedy of the " Mensechmi " has been called dry 
 and bare. It is, as we have admitted, less clothed upon 
 in the raiment of romantic poetry than even some of its 
 own coevals. But it cannot be depreciated without 
 danger of injustice, and still more shall we be liable to 
 that charge if we attempt to minimise Shakespeare's 
 debt to it. The central notion of the twin-brothers, who 
 have not met or heard of one another since early child- 
 hood, each suddenly infringing on the social province of 
 the other, and starting a myriad burlesque confusions, — 
 this may or may not be original in the Latin dramatist. 
 But we know of no earher version of it, and we may be 
 content to suppose it, as Shakespeare of course never 
 doubted it to be, the invention of Plautus. 
 
 It is one of the most innocently diverting and most 
 successfully farcical of aU the germ-plots invented or 
 adapted by Plautus ; and we may see that Shakespeare 
 — who knew other plays by the same dramatist, since 
 there are clear evidences of his acquaintance with the 
 " Amphitryon " and "The Captives " — was drawn to it at 
 once by its inherent excellence and perhaps by the com- 
 paratively meagre use which Plautus had made of its 
 opportunities for farcical movement. 
 
 Shakespeare began by falUng into what was, I suppose, 
 a small direct error. The scene of the " Mensechmi " 
 was Epidamnus (or " Epidamnum," as Shakespeare calls 
 it). This place was situated on the eastern shore of the 
 Adriatic, in what is now Albania ; the modern name of 
 it is Durazzo, and it lies exactly south of Dulcigno. Not 
 only was this town in relation with Syracuse, and not 
 
 [ xlvii ] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 at all with Ephesus, but Shakespeare's own story brings 
 in Epidamnum and Epidaurus, too ; some critics have 
 suggested that he chose Ephesus because it was a centre 
 of witchcraft. I confess I cannot pretend to follow the 
 geography of " The Comedy of Errors," although that 
 of the " Mentechmi " is intelhgible enough. In manipu- 
 lating the story, however, Shakespeare's next change was 
 altogether an improvement upon Plautus. Mgeon, 
 whose name in the Latin play is Moschus, had died of 
 grief long before the "Mensechmi" begins, and it is 
 the grandfather who survives and who is the prime 
 mover of the search ; he remains, however, in Sjnracuse, 
 and aU the beautiful &st scene of " The Comedy of 
 Errors," with the humane Duke of Ephesus, and the 
 sad, romantic figure of the sea-worn iEgeon, is whoUy 
 Shakespeare's in conception as well as in execution. This 
 scene, too, contains one of his splendid shipwrecks, not 
 less fine, in its quieter way, than the celebrated descrip- 
 tion in " Pericles." And ^Emilia, too, the Abbess, who 
 in such a charming, childish fashion turns out at the end 
 of the play to have been ^geon's wife, and mother to 
 the restless and unobservant Antipholus at her doors, — 
 she also is one of Shakespeare's sketches, and responds to 
 nothing at all in the " Mensechmi." 
 
 It is particularly worthy of notice, in this connection, 
 that " The Comedy of Errors," if we compare it closely 
 with the rest of its author's very early plays, is remarkable 
 for its sohd and consistent architecture. It seems, in a 
 word, to have a better structure than they have. This 
 is directly owing to Plautus, and it is very interesting 
 
 [ xlviii ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 to see how, at this early stage in his career, the man 
 who was to become the greatest maker of plays in the 
 world, admitted the superior judgment of his great Latin 
 predecessor. When he was conceiving " The Comedy 
 of Errors," say in 1589, Shakespeare had not attained, in 
 this technical matter of the building up of a good stage- 
 play, the vivid and sprightly art of Plautus. I do not 
 know anything more interesting in its way than the 
 evidence which " The Comedy of Errors " offers us of 
 the fact that Shakespeare was aware of his own imma- 
 turity. In this play, and in this alone, we see him face 
 to face with a writer of his own class, who is still his 
 superior as an artist, and we find him loyally acknowledg- 
 ing that, in the conduct of a lively plot, Plautus still 
 knows the business better than he does. 
 
 In the central intrigues of the play, we discover that 
 Shakespeare does not diverge at all from his Latin 
 original. As the " Menaechmi," so " The Comedy of 
 Errors " rests on the humorous situation of a twin-brother 
 unexpectedly turning up in the domestic life of a man 
 who has never given him a thought, yet who is practically 
 so identical with the intruder that those most intimate 
 with the one cannot distinguish him from the other. In 
 all this essential part of the story, the conception of the 
 two Antipholi is precisely the same as that of Mensech- 
 mus of Epidamnus and Menaechmus Sosicles. And 
 the unities of time and place which Shakespeare on other 
 occasions ("The Tempest" being the great exception) 
 has treated with so much indifference, are here carefully 
 transferred from the Latin. There is even the same 
 
 [xlix] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 confusion, or heedlessness, about the age of the brothers. 
 The commentators of "The Comedy of Errors" have been 
 much occupied in reconcihng the " thirty-three years " of 
 which the Abbess speaks at the end of the fifth act with 
 ^geon's vague arithmetic in the first act. But Plautus is 
 just as uncertain, and unless we read him very closely, we 
 may be led to believe that the twin-brothers were only in 
 their twelfth year when Sosicles came to Epidamnus. 
 
 Throughout, the nature of Shakespeare's change is not 
 in the direction of complete modification of the plot, but 
 in that of adornment, addition, enrichment. The most 
 striking instance of this is the creation of the second 
 Dromio, as twin-slave, who repeats, in an exquisitely 
 entertaining way, the embarrassing identity of his master. 
 In Plautus, the slave of the invading Mensechmus is 
 named Messenio, and he has no counterpart in Epidam- 
 nus. The place there of the other Dromio is filled partly 
 by Cylindrus the cook, partly by Peniculus the parasite. 
 By omitting these characters, Shakespeare lost a httle in 
 variety, but he gained extremely in richness of humour. 
 He doubled his effects, and, in doing so, we notice his 
 skUl in intensifying instead of distracting our keen and. 
 delighted observation of the Master Twins. For the 
 odd adventures of either Dromio are so conceived that 
 they never disturb the imbroglio, but always add to it, 
 and this httle change of purview increases at every turn 
 the fun of the intrigue. 
 
 To support his Dromios, — who have now to be relieved 
 of some of the comic business, — Shakespeare has in- 
 vented Balthazar, Angelo, and the Merchants. But it 
 
 [1] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 is observable that in the figure of Pinch, the school- 
 master, he adopts, with very slight alteration, a truly 
 Plautan creation, the unseemly being who is an unnamed 
 Doctor in the " Menaechmi." These changes are quite 
 unimportant, but that is not the case with the beautiful 
 and touching figure of Luciana, the sister-in-law of 
 Antipholus of Ephesus. This was a conception which 
 could never have occurred to the boisterous Latin play- 
 wright, and no more exquisite example of Shakespeare's 
 delicate humanity, of the "gospel-fight" in which he 
 Uved and worked, could be given than this introduction 
 of a pure, generous, and romantic girl into the background 
 of his romping farce. He forgets all about Plautus on 
 the few occasions on which he allows this pretty creature 
 to entertain us, and in the earliest and almost the only 
 scene in which a long speech is given to Luciana, she 
 comes on to the boards with Antipholus of Syracuse in 
 a smiling temper to which nothing short of two complete 
 sonnets can give expression. And in these pieces of 
 flowing, rounded verse, we have, perhaps for the first 
 time, that note of gentle amenity, of persuasive feminine 
 sweetness, which Shakespeare was to create in English 
 poetry : — 
 
 " Alas ! poor women ! make us but believe, 
 Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
 Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ; 
 
 We in your motion turn, — and you may move us ! " — 
 
 so Luciana murmurs, like a brooklet or a wood-lark, and 
 we forget for a moment that she is dancing hand in hand 
 with Punch and Judy. 
 
 [K] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 We are discovered, however, in the act of lese-majeste 
 towards the matronly figure of Adriana. But Adriana 
 it is, surely, impossible to take very seriously. Oddly 
 enough, it is precisely in this character that critics of the 
 past have enforced themselves to see, not merely the 
 special art of Shakespeare, but numerous traits of his 
 personal habits and even of his autobiography. " Oh 1 
 that second-best bed at Stratford," the commentators 
 have cried, even as they have actually been reminded of 
 his own twin-babies by the brothers of Sjnracuse and 
 Ephesus! But the fact is that it was no precocious 
 observation of the shrewishness of vsdves, any more than 
 any domestic note of the similarity of twins, that produced 
 these features of "The Comedy of Errors." As com- 
 pletely as Luciana belongs to Shakespeare, so does 
 Adriana belong to Plautus. We have only to turn to 
 the " Menaechmi " to see that the wife of the brother in 
 Epidamnus (the invading brother is in each play stUl 
 unmarried) is precisely such a shrew as Adriana is. Her 
 petulantia Unguce, her hasty freakish temper, her qualities 
 of a scold and a termagant, are not indicated by Shake- 
 speare more clearly than by Plautus, although more 
 carefully, with less of the flying touch of a mere brilliant 
 sketch. But the wife of Menaechmus fidgets and fusses 
 exactly as Adriana does ; her husband does not scruple 
 to call her a " lioness," and she has a father — whom 
 Shakespeare ignored — who acknowledges and deprecates 
 the violence of her temper. 
 
 At the close of the " Menaechmi," the indignant wife flies 
 into the house in terror of the violence of Menaechmus 
 
 [m] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Sosicles, and we see no more of her, Plautus was not 
 sufficiently interested in her to let us hear how she was 
 aifected by the clearing up of the mystery of the two 
 brothers. But Shakespeare is infinitely more subtle 
 than this. He is too closely touched by the misfortunes 
 of Adriana to pack her off, mystified and punished, in 
 her rebellion of spirit. The feigned madness of the 
 husband occurs in each play, but it is Shakespeare only 
 who imagines the cry from Adriana's heart : — 
 
 " Hold ! hurt him not, for God's sake ! he is mad," 
 
 and who makes her in her remorse accuse herself of 
 offences against her husband, which are so much too 
 emphatic that the gentle Luciana is obliged at once to 
 protest. It is more than doubtful, indeed, whether either 
 Menaschmus in the farce of Plautus would be held by the 
 audience to deserve such consideration. The part of the 
 Courtesan (she is called Erotium in the Latin play) has 
 been preserved and rather closely transferred by Shake- 
 speare to "The Comedy of Errors," But Antipholus 
 is rather a wayward visitor than anything worse, whereas 
 Mensechmus of Epidamnus is the bearer to Erotium 
 of presents which he has impudently stolen from his 
 wife's wardrobe. The other brother is not less of a rogue, 
 for he is content to rob Erotium of her mantle and her 
 bracelet ; and slight as is the change which Shakespeare 
 has introduced, in the business of the goldsmith and the 
 chain, we feel it to produce in every particular an im- 
 provement in grace and moral decorum. So, too, it will 
 be noticed that on each occasion Plautus's slaves are 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 much more impudent and disloyal than Shakespeare 
 could ever allow his to be, even at their most petulant 
 moments. 
 
 In the beginning of the third act of " The Comedy of 
 Errors," Shakespeare enriches his material by borrowing 
 from another comedy of Plautus, the "Amphitruo." In 
 that play Jupiter takes the shape of the Theban general 
 while he is away from Thebes, fighting for his country, 
 and the god is accompanied by Mercury in the guise of 
 Sosia, Amphitryon's slave. The general returns, and is 
 driven away by the intruders, the imbroglio being almost 
 exactly the same as that accepted by the EngUsh poet. 
 Shakespeare, however, with his customary tact, redeems 
 the situation from its Latin coarseness, and keeps this 
 incident also in the light, high key of the rest of his 
 farcical comedy. It might be worth while, before we 
 lay down "The Comedy of Errors," to see how the 
 "Amphitruo" episode was treated later on by MoU^re, 
 and, more independently than is commonly realised, by 
 Dryden. The curious reader should, at the same time, 
 glance at " Les Jumeaux," in which Rotrou made his 
 adaptation of the " Menaschmi " plot. 
 
 On the whole we see that what is particulary observant 
 in the general character of " The Comedy of Errors " is 
 the light it throws on the advancing technical skUl of 
 Shakespeare. Up to this time the genius of the youth- 
 ful dramatist had shown itself more in splendid passages 
 and single lines than in the building up of a whole play. 
 The more closely we examine these earliest years, it must 
 be confessed, the more vague do the lines of biography 
 
 [liv] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 become, the more do the outlmes flicker in the dim air of 
 our ignorance. However, we do see faintly, as precedent 
 to our " Comedy of Errors," a chain of chronicle-plays on 
 the reign of Henry VI. with such unmistakably Shake- 
 spearian things in them as the death of Mortimer and the 
 farce of Jack Cade ; more dimly still we see a " Titus 
 Andronicus," perhaps by Kyd, which Shakespeare may 
 have touched ; whUe reaUy the only very certain testi- 
 mony to his skill as a craftsman is " Love's Labour 's 
 Lost," to which all critics combine in assigning priority 
 among Shakespeare's productions for the stage. 
 
 The plot of " Love's Labour 's Lost " is of the sUghtest 
 and the feeblest, and it is moreover beheved to be Shake- 
 speare's invention. It is plausible to suppose that the 
 thinness of it was patent to him as he revised it, and that 
 he persuaded himself that he had been too ambitious in 
 taking upon his sole fancy so arduous a task. In the 
 chronicle-play and in the Roman horror, he merely em- 
 broiders upon some rough texture woven by Kyd or 
 Greene or a humbler playwright quite unknown. None 
 of these, nor yet his own still callow invention, satisfies 
 Shakespeare, whom we now find in "The Comedy of 
 Errors" going humbly and attentively to school. This 
 is a work of mental discipline ; here he is sitting at the 
 feet of Plautus, no rough amateur with a brUhant notion 
 of stage-business, like Kyd, but a finished and exquisitely 
 accomplished master of the theatre. One of the slight- 
 est pieces of this Latin playwright, one which is so slight 
 that it is almost a sketch, Shakespeare takes and adapts 
 with a careful sense of his own deficiencies and of the 
 
 [Iv] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 requirements of the new and ardent English pubhc. He 
 looks to Plautus to learn how to please, but already he 
 is tall enough to peer over the Latin poet's shoulder 
 and to see theatrical possibihties of which Plautus never 
 dreamed. 
 
 Our task, therefore, is to weigh these possibihties, to 
 examine these embroideries. We find that they are all 
 of them, without exception, additions in the direction of 
 what is humane and graceful and fanciful. The note of 
 Plautus, with all his boisterous high spirits, is hard and 
 dry ; his humour is that of a daring and brilUant school- 
 boy. Shakespeare introduces the adult mood ; even his 
 farce is tender and indulgent. Where Plautus sees noth- 
 ing but the obvious horse-play, the nuances of humanity 
 reveal themselves to Shakespeare. The characters in 
 the " Menaschmi " are marionettes, moved about the 
 stage, indeed, with marvellous adroitness and turning 
 somersaults with dazzling agihty, but in their essence 
 mechanical, with an energy that is vicious, puerile, and 
 practically non-existent. Shakespeare comes and clothes 
 these dolls with romantic hfe, adding here a touch and 
 there a movement which just suffices to remove them out 
 of the realm of the puppet-show. He is not yet a perfect 
 master of his own genius, and in consequence the trans- 
 formation is not complete. The little figures seem to 
 palpitate for a few minutes, and then they stiffen again 
 into marionettes. But at all events, the breath of hfe 
 has passed over the stage ; the first puffs of it brighten 
 the eyes and fill the hair of Luciana and .^geon. 
 
 It would take us too far to enter very closely into the 
 
 [IviJ 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 relations which ingenuity may discover between " The 
 Comfedy of Errors" and other plays of Shakespeare. 
 There is entanglement in "A Midsummer Night's 
 Dream " and mistaken identity in " Twelfth Night." 
 The attitude of Adriana to her husband, Antipholus of 
 Ephesus, is repeated with much greater fulness in " The 
 Taming of the Shrew." In all these instances the Eliza- 
 bethan poet takes from Plautus what he finds left there 
 in a state entirely mundane and superficial, and he adds 
 to it his own spiritual colouring. In " Hamlet " he was 
 to say, speaking of the Players, that 
 
 " Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light for them ; " 
 
 Shakespeare had always present with him this convic- 
 tion of the " lightness " of the Latin plajrvvright, whose 
 " Miles Gloriosus " had led directly to the earliest Eng- 
 lish comedy, "Ralph Roister Doister," and who had 
 inspired " Gammer Gurton's Needle " with his boister- 
 ous humour. Shakespeare does not reject or disdain this 
 boyish gaiety, but he adds solidity to it ; he takes the 
 naked Latin farce and dresses it in rich brocades. 
 
 The romantic humanity of Shakespeare is finely illus- 
 trated by every one of the additions and modifications 
 which make " The Comedy of Errors " what it is. Even 
 the points which are merely indicated add to this impres- 
 sion. For instance, the " Menaechmi " leaves us in 
 doubt, when the curtain falls, as to the future welfare of 
 the characters ; we feel that they may easily slip back 
 into unseemly wrangle and nefarious intrigue. Their im- 
 brogUo has been excessively diverting, but it has led to 
 
 [Ivii] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 no distinct moral issue. But when " The Comedy of 
 Errors" closes, it has diverted us still more than the 
 " Menjechmi " did, and we feel in addition that its con- 
 fusions have led directly towards peace and repose. 
 There is nothing left uncomfortable and furtive, there 
 is no temptation to return to the wrangling mood. We 
 are convinced that Adriana's shrewishness has been 
 shamed out of her for life ; that Luciana wiU make a 
 perfect consort for Antipholus of Syracuse ; that iEgeon 
 and the Abbess — now recognised as the matron Emilia 
 — will gather their patriarchal family around them in 
 Ephesus, and that all will be tranquillity. 
 
 Finally, we must not allow oiu-selves to fall into the 
 error of overpraising " The Comedy of Errors." It is 
 not a work of the highest order ; it is marked by executive 
 faults, tameness in the versification, timidity in the ex- 
 position of character, crudity and thinness in the language. 
 It is not one of Shakespeare's great complex masterpieces, 
 glowing and luminous from beginning to end. But it is a 
 charmingly sportive and garrulous farce of his unfinished 
 youth, and it has the extreme importance of being that 
 work in which, more than anywhere else, we can watch 
 the technical development of his style and the evidences 
 of his growing skUl and selective self-criticism. 
 
 Edmund Gosse. 
 
 [ Iviii ] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS » 
 
 SoLiNus, duke of Ephesus. 
 
 ^GEON, a merchant of Syracuse. 
 
 Antipholus of Ephesus,] twin brothers, and sons to 
 
 Antipholus of Syracuse,] jEgeon and ^Emilia, 
 Dromio of Ephesus, \ twin brothers, and attendants on 
 Dromio of Syracuse,/ the two Antipholuses. 
 Balthazar, a merchant. 
 Angelo, a goldsmith. 
 
 First Merchant, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 Second Merchant, to whom Angelo is a debtor. 
 Pinch, a schoolmaster. 
 
 ^Emilia, wife to jEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus. 
 Adeiana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus, 
 LuciANA, her sister. 
 Luce, servant to Adriana. 
 A Courtezan. 
 
 Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. 
 
 Scene — Ephesus. 
 
 ^ This play was first printed in the First Folio. The Dramatis Personcs 
 was first supplied in Nicholas Rowe's edition of 1709. 
 
ACT FIRST — SCENE I 
 
 A HALL IN THE DUKES PALACE 
 Enter Duke, ^Egeon, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants 
 iEoEON 
 
 • ROCEED, SOLINUS, TO 
 
 procure my fall. 
 
 And by the doom of death end 
 
 woes and all. 
 
 Duke. Merchant of Syra- 
 cusa, plead no more ; 
 I am not partial to infringe our 
 laws : 
 
 The enmity and discord which 
 of late 
 
 Sprung from the rancorous out- 
 rage of your duke 
 To merchants, our well-dealing 
 countrymen, 
 Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives. 
 Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods, 
 
 4 partial] inclined. 
 
 8 guilders] money. Cf. IV, i, 4, infra. The word reproduces the Dutch 
 
 [3] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act i 
 
 Excludes all pity from our threatening looks. lo 
 
 For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
 
 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us. 
 
 It hath in solemn synods been decreed. 
 
 Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, 
 
 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : 
 
 Nay, more. 
 
 If any born at Ephesus be seen 
 
 At any Syracusian marts and fairs ; 
 
 Again : if any Syracusian born 
 
 Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 20 
 
 His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose ; 
 
 Unless a thousand marks be levied, 
 
 To quit the penalty and to ransom him. 
 
 Thy substance, valued at the highest rate. 
 
 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ; 
 
 Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die. 
 
 iEoE. Yet this my comfort : when your words are 
 done, 
 My woes end likewise with the evening sun. 
 
 Duke. Well, Syracusian, say, in brief, the cause 
 Why thou departed'st from thy native home, so 
 
 And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus. 
 
 iEGE. A heavier task could not have been im- 
 posed 
 Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : 
 Yet, that the world may witness that my end 
 
 "gulden," a standard coin of the Low Countries, a silver piece 
 worth about 40 cents, or 1*. 8d. 
 
 [4J 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
 
 1 11 utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
 
 In Syracusa was I born ; and wed 
 
 Unto a woman, happy but for me, 
 
 And by me, had not our hap been bad. 
 
 With her I lived in joy ; our wealth increased 4o 
 
 By prosperous voyages I often made 
 
 To Epidamnum ; till my factor's death, 
 
 And the great care of goods at random left. 
 
 Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse : 
 
 From whom my absence was not six months old. 
 
 Before herself, almost at fainting under 
 
 The pleasing punishment that women bear. 
 
 Had made provision for her following me. 
 
 And soon and safe arrived where I was. 
 
 There had she not been long but she became so 
 
 A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 
 
 And, which was strange, the one so like the other 
 
 As could not be distinguish'd but by names. 
 
 That very hour, and in the self-same inn, 
 
 A meaner woman was delivered 
 
 Of such a burthen, male twins, both alike : 
 
 Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 
 
 I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 
 
 My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 
 
 35 nature] natural affection. 
 
 42 EpidamnuTri] The Folio reading is Epidamium. Epidamnum, which is 
 Pope's correction, has been generally adopted. It is the form 
 found in W. W's translation of Plautus' MeruBchmi, 1595. The cor- 
 rect name of the town is " Epidamnos.'' 
 
 [6] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act i 
 
 Made daily motions for our home return : eo 
 
 Unwilling I agreed ; alas ! too soon 
 We came aboard. 
 
 A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, 
 Before the always-wind-obeying deep 
 Gave any tragic instance of our hai'm : 
 But longer did we not retain much hope ; 
 For what obscured Ught the heavens did grant 
 Did but convey unto our fearful minds 
 A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 
 Which though myself would gladly have embraced, to 
 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 
 Weeping before for what she saw must come. 
 And piteous plainings of the pretty babes. 
 That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear. 
 Forced me to seek delays for them and me. 
 And this it was, for other means was none : 
 The sailors sought for safety by our boat, 
 And left the ship, then sinldng-ripe, to us : 
 My wife, more careful for the latter-born, 
 Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, go 
 
 Such as seafaring men provide for storms ; 
 To him one of the other twins was bound. 
 Whilst I had been like heedful of the other : 
 The children thus disposed, my wife and I, 
 Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 
 Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 
 And floating straight, obedient to the stream. 
 Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 
 At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
 
 [6] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Dispersed those vapours that offended us ; 9o 
 
 And, by the benefit of his wished light. 
 
 The seas wax'd cahn, and we discovered 
 
 Two ships from far making amain to us, 
 
 Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 
 
 But ere they came, — O, let me say no more I 
 
 Gather the sequel by that went before. 
 
 Duke. Nay, forward, old man ; do not break off so ; 
 For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 
 
 -^ge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
 Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! loo 
 
 For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues. 
 We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ; 
 Which being violently borne upon, 
 Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst ; 
 So that, in this unjust divorce of us, 
 Fortune had left to both of us alike 
 What to dehght in, what to sorrow for. 
 Her part, poor soul I seeming as burdened 
 With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe. 
 Was carried with more speed before the wind ; no 
 
 And in our sight they three were taken up 
 By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
 At length, another ship had seized on us ; 
 And, knowing whom it was their hap to save. 
 Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests ; 
 And would have reft the fishers of their prey. 
 Had not their bark been very slow of sail ; 
 And therefore homeward did they bend their course. 
 Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bhss ; 
 
 [7] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act i 
 
 That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, 120 
 
 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 
 
 Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for. 
 Do me the favour to dUate at full 
 What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. 
 
 Mgis.. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care. 
 At eighteen years became inquisitive 
 After his brother : and importuned me 
 That his attendant — so his case was like. 
 Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name — 
 Might bear him company in the quest of him : iso 
 
 Whom whilst I labour 'd of a love to see, 
 I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. 
 Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, 
 Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, 
 And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ; 
 Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought 
 Or that, or any place that harbours men. 
 But here must end the story of my life ; 
 And happy were I in my timely death. 
 Could aU my travels warrant me they live. 1*0 
 
 Duke. Hapless Mgeon, whom the fates have mark'd 
 To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! 
 Now, trust me. Were it not against our laws. 
 
 125 My youngest boy, etc.] This does not quite harmonise with other 
 passages of ^geon's story ; at lines 79 and 1 10 he describes himself 
 as separated from his "latter-born " son, who is carried away from 
 him along with his wife. The discrepancy is due to Shakespeare's 
 hasty composition. 
 
 131 labour d of a love] was troubled by a desire. 
 
 [8] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
 
 Which princes, would they, may not disannul, 
 
 My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
 
 But, though thou art adjudged to the death. 
 
 And passed sentence may not be recaU'd 
 
 But to our honour's great disparagement, 
 
 Yet will I favour thee in what I can. i«o 
 
 Therefore, merchant, I '11 limit thee this day 
 
 To seek thy help by beneficial help : 
 
 Try aU the friends thou hast in Ephesus ; 
 
 Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 
 
 And live ; if no, then thou art doom'd to die. 
 
 Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 
 
 Gaol. I will, my lord. 
 
 ^GE. Hopeless and helpless doth ^geon wend. 
 But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II — THE MART 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, Deomio of Syracuse, 
 and First Merchant 
 
 First Mer. Therefore give out you are of Epi- 
 damnum. 
 Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
 This very day a Syracusian merchant 
 Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
 And, not being able to buy out his life. 
 According to the statute of the town, 
 
 [9] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act i 
 
 Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. 
 There is your money that 1 had to keep. 
 
 Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, 
 And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. lo 
 
 Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
 TUl that, I 'U view the manners of the town. 
 Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings. 
 And then return, and sleep within mine inn ; 
 For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
 Get thee away. 
 
 Dec. S. Many a man would take you at your word, 
 And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Eant. 
 
 Ant. S. a trusty villain, sir ; that very oft. 
 When I am dull with care and melancholy, so 
 
 Lightens my humour with his merry jests. 
 What, will you walk with me about the town. 
 And then go to my inn, and dine with me ? 
 
 First Mer. T am invited, sir, to certain merchants. 
 Of whom 1 hope to make much benefit ; 
 I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock. 
 Please you, I 'U meet with you upon the mart. 
 And afterward consort you till bed-time : 
 My present business calls me from you now. 
 
 Ant. S. Farewell till then : I will go lose myself, 3o 
 And wander up and down to view the city. 
 
 First Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 28 coTisort i^ou\ accompany you. Cf. L. L. L., II, i, 177 : "Sweet health 
 and fair desires consort your Grace " ; Rom. 8; Jul., Ill, i, 135, and 
 Jul. Cues., V, i, 83. 
 
 [10] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own con- 
 tent 
 Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 
 I to the world am like a drop of water, 
 That in the ocean seeks another drop ; 
 Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, 
 Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: 
 So I, to find a mother and a brother, 
 In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 4o 
 
 Enter Deomio of Ephesus 
 
 Here comes the almanac of my true date. 
 What now ? how chance thou art return'd so soon ? 
 Deo. E. Return'd so soon 1 rather approach'd too 
 late: 
 The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit ; 
 The clock hath strucken twelve upon the beU ; 
 My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 
 She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; 
 The meat is cold, because you come not home ; 
 You come not home, because you have no stomach ; 
 You have no stomach, having broke your fast ; 50 
 
 But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray. 
 Are penitent for your default to-day. 
 
 38 confounds] destroys, loses. 
 
 41 almanac . . . date] The speaker was bom at the same hour as the 
 
 newcomer, who is therefore called the indicator of the other's true 
 
 date of birth. 
 52 Are penitent] Suffer penance (by fasting and praying). 
 
 [iiT 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act i 
 
 Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir : tell me this, I pray : 
 Where have you left the money that I gave you ? 
 
 Dro. E. O, — sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last 
 To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ? 
 The saddler had it, sir ; I kept it not. 
 
 Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now : 
 Tell me, and dally not, where is the money ? 
 We being strangers here, how darest thou trust 6o 
 
 So great a charge from thine own custody ? 
 
 Dro, E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner : 
 I from my mistress come to you in post ; 
 If I return, 1 shall be post indeed. 
 For she wiU score your fault upon my pate. 
 Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock. 
 And strike you home without a messenger. 
 
 Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of 
 season ; 
 Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. 
 Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee ? to 
 
 Dro. E. To me, sir ? why, you gave no gold to me. 
 
 Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolish- 
 ness. 
 And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge. 
 
 Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the 
 mart 
 
 63-65 post . . . score] A post usually stood in the middle of a shop or 
 a tavern, and on it the scores of customers were chalked up. The 
 words in line 63, in post, which suggest the quibble, mean "in haste." 
 
 66 clock] Pope's emendation of the original reading cook. 
 
 [12] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Home to your house, the Phoenix, su", to dinner: 
 My mistress and her sister stays for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me. 
 In what safe place you have bestow'd my money ; 
 Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, 
 That stands on tricks when I am undisposed : so 
 
 Where is the thousand marks thou had'st of me ? 
 
 Duo. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate. 
 Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders ; 
 But not a thousand marks between you both. 
 If I should pay your worship those again, 
 Perchance you wiU not bear them patiently. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, 
 hast thou ? 
 
 Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
 Phoenix ; 
 She that doth fast till you come home to dinner. 
 And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. so 
 
 Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face. 
 Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. 
 
 Dro. E. What mean you, sir ? for God's sake, hold 
 your hands 1 
 Nay, an you wiE not, sir, I '11 take my heels. lEzU. 
 
 Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other 
 The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
 They say this town is full of cozenage ; 
 As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye. 
 
 80 stands on tricks] indulges in tricks. 
 96 o'er-raught] over-reached, cheated out of, cheated. 
 
 [13] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act i 
 
 Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, 
 
 Soul-kiUing witches that deform the body, loo 
 
 Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks. 
 
 And many such-like liberties of sin : 
 
 If it prove so, I wiU be gone the sooner. 
 
 I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave 
 
 I greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit. 
 
 102 liberties of sIti] Hanmer reads libertines. Steevens explains ''li- 
 censed offenders.'' Malone gives the more probable interpreta- 
 tion, "licentious actions." 
 
 [14] 
 
ACT SECOND — SCENE I 
 
 THE HOUSE OF ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS 
 AnniANA Enter Adeiana and Luciana 
 
 EITHER MY HUSBAND 
 
 nor the slave retum'd, 
 That in such haste I sent to 
 seek his master ! 
 
 Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 
 Luc. Perhaps some merchant 
 hath invited him. 
 And from the mart he's some- 
 where gone to dinner. 
 Good sister, let us dine, and 
 never fret : 
 
 A man is master of his liberty : 
 Time is their master ; and when 
 they see time, 
 They 11 go or come : if so, be patient, sister. 
 
 AJdk. Why should their liberty than ours be more ? lo 
 
 Luc. Because their business still has out o' door. 
 
 Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 
 
 Luc. O, know he is the bridle of your will. 
 
 [16] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act ii 
 
 Adr. There 's none but asses will be bridled so. 
 
 Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. 
 There 's nothing situate under heaven's eye 
 But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky : 
 The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls. 
 Are their males' subjects and at their controls : 
 Men more divine, the masters of all these, 20 
 
 Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas. 
 Indued with intellectual sense and souls. 
 Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls. 
 Are masters to their females, and their lords : 
 Then let your will attend on their accords. 
 
 Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. 
 
 Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. 
 
 Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some 
 sway. 
 
 Luc. Ere I learn love, I '11 practise to obey. 
 
 Adb, How if your husband start some other where ? so 
 
 Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. 
 
 Adk. Patience unmoved 1 no marvel though she 
 pause ; 
 They can be meek that have no other cause. 
 A wretched soul, bruised with adversity. 
 We bid be quiet when we hear it cry ; 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain. 
 As much, or more, we should ourselves complain : 
 So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. 
 With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me ; 
 
 34-37] The identical sentiment is repeated in Much Ado, V, i, 20-31. 
 
 [16] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 But, if thou live to see like right bereft, *o 
 
 This fool-begg'd patience in thee wiU be left. 
 
 Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. 
 Here comes your man ; now is your husband nigh. 
 
 Enter Deomio of Ephesus 
 
 Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he 's at two hands with me, and that 
 my two ears can witness. 
 
 Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ? know'st thou 
 his mind ? 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear : 
 Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 
 
 Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel so 
 his meaning? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well 
 feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully, that I could 
 scarce understand them. 
 
 Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home ? 
 It seems he hath great care to please his wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. 
 
 Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain 1 
 
 Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; 
 
 But, sure, he is stark mad. 
 
 41 fool-begg'd] admittedly or notoriously foolish. There is an allusion 
 to the custom of begging or petitioning for the guardianship of 
 any one who was admitted to be a fool. Here patience is personi- 
 fied as the " fool " whose guardianship is begged. 
 
 54 uTiderstand] stand under : a poor quibble. Cf. Two Gent, II, v, 28. 
 2 [17] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act ii 
 
 When I desired him to come home to dimier, so 
 
 He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
 " 'T is dinner-time," quoth I ; " My gold ! " quoth he : 
 " Your meat doth burn," quoth I ; " My gold I " quoth he : 
 " WiU you come home? " quoth I ; " My goldl " quoth he, 
 " Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain ? " 
 "The pig," quoth I, " is burn'd ; " " My gold 1 " quoth he: 
 " My mistress, sir," quoth I ; " Hang up thy mistress I 
 I know not thy mistress ; out on thy mistress ! " 
 
 Luc. Quoth who ? 
 
 Dro. E. Quoth my master : • ™ 
 
 " I know," quoth he, " no house, no wife, no mistress." 
 So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
 I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders ; 
 For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 
 
 Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. 
 
 Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? 
 For God's sake, send some other messenger. 
 
 Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. 
 
 Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other 
 beating : 
 Between you I shall have a holy head. so 
 
 Adr. Hence, prating peasant ! fetch thy master home. 
 
 Dro. E. Am I so round with you as you with me, 
 That like a football you do spurn me thus ? 
 
 80 holy head\ The quibble on cross suggests the punning use of 
 
 in the sense of "full of holes." 
 82 round'] blunt, outspoken. Cf. Hamlet, III, i, 191. The word quib- 
 
 blingly sug^&sts football and leather in 83 and 85. 
 
 [18] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither : 
 If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Fie, how impatience loureth in your face ! 
 
 Adr. His company must do his minions grace. 
 Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. • 
 Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
 From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it : 90 
 
 Are my discourses dull ? barren my wit ? 
 If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
 Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard : 
 Do their gay vestments his affections bait ? 
 That's not my fault ; he 's master of my state : 
 What ruins are in me that can be found. 
 By him not ruin'd ? then is he the ground 
 Of my defeatures. My decayed fair 
 A sunny look of his would soon repair : 
 But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, 100 
 
 And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 
 
 Luc. Self-harming jealousy 1 fie, beat it hence ! 
 
 Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. 
 1 know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; 
 
 88 starve for a merry looli\ Cf. Sonnets, xlvii, S, " famish'd for a look," 
 
 and Ixxv, 1 0, " starved for a look." 
 98 defeatures'] disfigurements. Shakespeare is the only Elizabethan 
 writer who uses the word in this sense, and that only here, in V, 
 i, 299, infra, and in Venus and Adonis, 736. 
 /flw-] beauty. This substantival use of the adjective is common 
 in Shakespeare's Sonnets. Cf. Sonnets, xvi, 1 1 ; xviii, 7 and 10 ; 
 Ixviii, 3 ; and Ixxxiii, 2. 
 
 [191 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act ii 
 
 Or else what lets it but he would be here ? 
 Sister, you know he promised me a chain ; 
 Would that alone, alone he would detain, 
 So he would keep fair quarter with his bed I 
 I see the jewel best enamelled 
 
 WiU lose his beauty ; yet the gold bides stiU, no 
 
 That others touch, and often touching will 
 Wear gold : and no man that hath a name. 
 By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
 Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
 I '11 weep what 's left away, and weeping die. 
 Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy ! 
 
 [Exetmit. 
 
 SCENE II — A PUBLIC PLACE 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse 
 
 Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up 
 Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
 Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out 
 By computation and mine host's report. 
 
 107 alone, alone^ Thus the Second Folio, which substitutes the second 
 alone for the two words a lone of the First Folio. Though 
 some emendation of the original text is essential, it is doubtful if 
 the Second Folio reading be correct. Hanmer read alone, alas. 
 
 110-112 yet the gold . . . gold] Thus in the First Folio, save for Theo- 
 bald's correction of Wear for Where (1. 112). The meaning seems 
 to be that gold which is touched or tested lasts long, and at the 
 same time much touching or handling wears gold down. 
 
 113 By falsehood] Theobald's reading, But falsehood, makes better 
 sensCt 
 
 [20] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 I could not speak with Dromio since at first 
 I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Deomio of Syracuse 
 
 How now, sir ! is your merry humour alter'd ? 
 
 As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
 
 You know no Centaur ? you received no gold ? 
 
 Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner ? lo 
 
 My house was at the Phcenix ? Wast thou mad, 
 
 That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? 
 
 Duo. S. What answer, sir? when spake I, such a 
 word ? 
 
 Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. 
 
 Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence. 
 Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, 
 And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner ; 
 For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased. 
 
 Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein : 20 
 What means this jest ? I pray you, master, tell me. 
 
 Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the 
 teeth ? 
 Think'st thou I jest ? Hold, take thou that, and that. 
 
 ^Beating him. 
 
 Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake 1 now your jest is 
 earnest : 
 Upon what bargain do you give it me ? 
 
 Ant. S. Because that I famiUarly sometimes 
 Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, 
 
 [21] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act ii 
 
 Your sauciness will jest upon my love. 
 
 And make a common of my serious hours. 
 
 Wlien the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, 30 
 
 But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. 
 
 If you wiU jest with me, know my aspect, 
 
 And fashion your demeanour to my looks, 
 
 Or I wUl beat this method in your sconce. 
 
 Dro. S. Sconce call you it ? so you would leave bat- 
 tering, I had rather have it a head : an you use these 
 blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and in- 
 sconce it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. 
 But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? 
 
 Ant. S. Dost thou not know ? 
 
 Duo. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. 
 
 Ant. S. Shall 1 tell you why ? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for they say every 
 why hath a wherefore. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, first, — for flouting me; and then, 
 wherefore, — 
 For urging it the second time to me. 
 
 Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of 
 season, 
 When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme 
 
 nor reason ? 
 Well, sir, I thank you. 
 
 Ant. S. Thank me, sir I for what ? 50 
 
 40 
 
 29 make a common q/"] make ground open to all, intrude upon. 
 
 35—38 sconce . . . insconce^ Sconce is used at first for " head " and 
 
 then for "head covering,'' or "helmet." Cf. I, ii, 79, supra, 
 38 seek . . . shoulders] find my wit in my back, i. e. run away. 
 
 [22 ] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave 
 me for nothing. 
 
 . Ant. S. I '11 make you amends next, to give you no- 
 thing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time ? 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir : I think the meat wants that I have. 
 
 Ant. S. In good time, sir ; what 's that 1 
 
 Dro. S. Basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, then 't will be dry. 
 
 Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it. 
 
 Ant. S. Your reason ? «> 
 
 Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me 
 another dry basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time : there 's 
 a time for aU things. 
 
 Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so 
 choleric. 
 
 Ant. S. By what rule, sir ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
 bald pate of father Time himself. 
 
 Ant. S. Let 's hear it. n 
 
 Dro. S. There 's no time for a man to recover his 
 hair that grows bald by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery ? 
 
 61 choleric] Cf. T. of Shrew, IV, i, 173-175, for a like reference to the 
 
 choleric effects of overcooked meat. 
 
 62 dry basting] beating that does not draw blood. See L. L. L., V, 
 
 ii, 263. 
 73 ^ne and recovery] This phrase is employed again in M. Wives, IV, 
 ii, 225, and Hamlet, V, i, 115. It is somewhat loosely employed. 
 " Fine " and " recovery " were names of legal processes which 
 rendered ownership absolute and incontestable. 
 
 [23] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act ii 
 
 Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover 
 the lost hair of another man. 
 
 Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, 
 as it is, so plentiful an excrement ? 
 
 Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on 
 beasts : and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath 
 given them in wit. so 
 
 Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hath more 
 hair than wit. 
 
 Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit to 
 lose his hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain 
 dealers without wit. 
 
 Dro. S, The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : yet he 
 loseth it in a kind of joUity. 
 
 Ant. S. For what reason ? 
 
 Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. so 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 
 
 Dro. S. Sure ones, then. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 
 
 Dro. S. Certain ones, then. 
 
 Ant. S. Name them. 
 
 Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends 
 in tiring ; the other, that at dinner they should not drop 
 in his porridge. 
 
 81-82 more hair than wit\ For further reference to this proverb cf. Two 
 
 Gent., Ill, i, 361. 
 84 lose his hair'] A symptom of venereal disease. Cf. hne 88. 
 97 tiring] dressing. Pope's emendation of the old reading trying. 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there 
 is no time for all things. loo 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no time to re- 
 cover hair lost by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why 
 there is no time to recover. 
 
 Deo. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is bald, and 
 therefore to the world's end will have bald followers 
 
 Ant. S. I knew 't would be a bald conclusioft : 
 But, soft 1 who wafts us yonder ? 
 
 Enter Adeiana a/nd Luciana 
 
 Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown : 
 Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects ; no 
 
 I am not Adriana nor thy wife. 
 The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow 
 That never words were music to thine ear. 
 That never object pleasing m. thine eye. 
 That never touch weU welcome to thy hand. 
 That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste. 
 Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee. 
 How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it. 
 That thou art then estranged from thyself? 
 Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 120 
 
 That, undividable, incorporate. 
 Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
 Ah, do not tear away thyself from me I 
 
 122 better pari] The soul, as in Sonnets, xxxix, 2, Ixxiv, 8 : " My spirit 
 is thine, the better part of me." 
 
 [25] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act ii 
 
 For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall 
 A drop of water in the breaking gulf. 
 And take unmingled thence that drop again. 
 Without addition or diminishing, 
 As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
 How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, 
 Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious, iso 
 
 And that this body, consecrate to thee. 
 By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! 
 Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me. 
 And hurl the name of husband in my face. 
 And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow. 
 And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring. 
 And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? 
 I know thou canst ; and therefore see thou do it. 
 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 
 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 1*0 
 
 For if we two be one, and thou play false, 
 I do digest the poison of thy flesh. 
 Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 
 Keep, then, fair league and truce with thy true bed ; 
 I live distain'd, thou undishonoured. 
 Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you 
 not : 
 In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 
 As strange unto your town as to your talk ; 
 
 145 distain'd] The sense requires that this word should have the un- 
 usual meaning of " unstained." It ordinarily means " deeply 
 stained," "defiled." 
 
 [26] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, 
 
 Wants wit in aU one word to understand. ^^ 
 
 Luc. Fie, brother ! how the world is changed with 
 you! 
 When were you wont to use my sister thus ? 
 She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 
 
 Ant. S. By Dromio ? 
 
 Dro. S. By me? 
 
 Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return from him, 
 That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows. 
 Denied my house for his, me for his wife. 
 
 Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- 
 woman ? 
 What is the course and drift of your compact ? leo 
 
 Dro. S. I, sir ? I never saw her till this time. 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou liest ; for even her very words 
 Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 
 
 Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. 
 
 Ant. S. How can she thus then caU us by our 
 names ? 
 Unless it be by inspiration. 
 
 Adr, How iU agrees it with your gravity 
 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave. 
 Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ! 
 Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, ito 
 
 But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 
 Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine : 
 Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine. 
 Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
 
 [27] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act ii 
 
 If aught possess thee from me, it is dross. 
 Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss ; 
 Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
 Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. 
 
 Ant. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me for her 
 theme : iso 
 
 What, was I married to her in my dream ? 
 Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this 1 
 What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? 
 Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
 I 'U entertain the offer'd fallacy. 
 
 Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. 
 
 Dro. S. O, for my beads I I cross me for a sinner. 
 This is the fairy land : O spite of spites ! 
 We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites : 
 If we obey them not, this will ensue, iso 
 
 They 'U suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 
 
 Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself, and answer'st 
 not? 
 Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot I 
 
 Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I ? 
 
 Ant. S. I think thou art in mind, and so am I. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 
 
 Dro. S. No, I am an ape. 
 
 Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 't is to an ass. 
 
 Dro. S. 'T is true ; she rides me, and I long for grass. 
 
 189 sprites] Pope completed the line by inserting elvish before sprites; 
 the change has been generally adopted. 
 
 [28], 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 'T is so, I am an ass ; else it could never be *<*" 
 
 But I should know her as well as she knows me. 
 
 Adr. Come, come, no longer wiU I be a fool. 
 To put the finger in the eye and weep. 
 Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn. 
 Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. 
 Husband, I 'U dine above with you to-day. 
 And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. 
 Sirrah, if any ask you for your master. 
 Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter. 
 Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well. bio 
 
 Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell ? 
 Sleeping or waking ? mad or weU-advised ? 
 Known unto these, and to myself disguised ! 
 I '11 say as they say, and persever so. 
 And in this midst at all adventures go. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate ? 
 
 Adr. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. 
 
 Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 [29] 
 
ACT THIRD — SCENE I 
 
 BEFORE THE HOUSE OF ANTIPHOLUS OF 
 EPHESUS 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Deomio of Ephesus, Anselo, 
 . _ and Balthazar 
 
 Antipholus hj. 
 
 'OOD SIGNIOR ANGELO, 
 
 you must excuse us all ; 
 
 My wife is shrewish when I 
 
 keep not hours : 
 
 Say that I linger'd with you at 
 
 your shop 
 
 To see the making of her car- 
 
 canet, 
 
 And that to-morrow you will 
 
 bring it home. 
 
 But here's a villain that would 
 
 face me down 
 
 He met me on the mart, and 
 
 that I beat him, 
 And charged him with a thousand marks in gold. 
 And that I did deny my wife and house. 
 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this ? 
 
 [30] 
 
 10 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I 
 know ; 
 That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to 
 
 show: 
 If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave 
 
 were ink. 
 Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. 
 Ant. E. I think thou art an ass. 
 Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 
 
 By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows 1 bear. 
 I should kick, being kick'd ; and, being at that pass. 
 You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. '> 
 Ant. E. You 're sad, Signior Balthazar : pray God 
 our cheer 
 May answer my good will and your good welcome here. 20 
 Bal. I hold your daiaties cheap, sir, and your wel- 
 come dear. 
 Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, 
 A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. 
 Bai,. Good meat, sir, is common : that every churl 
 
 affords. 
 Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's 
 
 nothing but words. 
 Bal,. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry 
 
 feast. 
 Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host and more sparing 
 guest : 
 But though my cates be mean, take them in good part ; 
 Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. 
 But, soft ! my door is lock'd. — Go bid them let us in. 30 
 
 [81] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act m 
 
 Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn I 
 
 Dro. S. [ Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, 
 
 idiot, patch ! 
 
 Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch. 
 
 Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou caU'st for such 
 
 store, 
 When one is one too many ? Go get thee jfrom the door. 
 Dro. E. What patch is made our porter ? My master 
 
 stays in the street. 
 Dro. S. \_Within] Let him walk from whence he came, 
 
 lest he catch cold on 's feet. 
 Ant. E. Who talks within there ? ho, open the door I 
 Dro. S. [Within] Right, sir ; I '11 tell you when, an 
 
 you'll teU me wherefore. 
 Ant. E. Wherefore ? for my dinner : I have not 
 
 dined to-day. 40 
 
 Dro. S. [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; 
 
 come again when you may. 
 Ant. E. What art thou that keepest me out from 
 
 the house I owe ? 
 Dro. S. [Within] The porter for this time, sir, and 
 
 my name is Dromio. 
 Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office 
 and my name ! 
 The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
 If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place. 
 Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, or thy 
 name for an ass. 
 Luce. [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who 
 are those at the gate I 
 [32] . 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. 
 Luce. \_WUhm] 'Faith, no ; he comes too late ; 
 
 And so tell your master. 
 
 Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh ! so 
 
 Have at you with a proverb ; — Shall I set in my staff? 
 Luce. IWithin] Have at you with another ; that's, — 
 
 When? can you tell? 
 Dro. S. [PTMm] If thynamebe call'dLuce, — Luce, 
 
 thou hast answer'd him well. 
 Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion ? you 'U let us in, 
 
 I hope ? 
 Luce. [Withm] I thought to have ask'd you. 
 Dro. S. [Within] And you said no. 
 
 Dro. E. So, come, help : well struck ! there was blow 
 
 for blow. 
 Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
 Luce. [ Within] Can you tell for whose sake ? 
 
 Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
 Luce. [WitUn] Let him knock till it ache. 
 
 Ant. E. You 'U cry for this, minion, if I beat the 
 
 door down. 
 Luce. [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of 
 
 stocks in the town ? eo 
 
 Adr. [Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all 
 
 this noise ? 
 
 51 Shall I set in my staff f\ "To set in one's staff" is a proverbial ex- 
 
 pression meaning "to make one's self at home." 
 
 52 When ? can you tell ?] Another proverbial expression or catchword, 
 
 used by way of parrying an awkward question. Cf. 1 Hen. IF, 
 II, i, 43 : " Ay, mhen ? canst tell ? " 
 3 [33] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act m 
 
 Dro. S. [PTi^Aire] By my troth, your town is troubled 
 
 with unruly boys. 
 Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might have come 
 
 before. 
 Adr. ^Within] Your Wife, sir knave ! go get you from 
 
 the door. 
 Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this " knave " 
 
 would go sore. 
 Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: we 
 
 would fain have either. 
 Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with 
 
 neither. 
 Dro. E. They stand at the door, master ; bid them 
 
 welcome hither. 
 Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we 
 
 cannot get in. 
 Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments 
 
 were thin. 70 
 
 Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here in the 
 
 cold: 
 It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought 
 
 and sold. 
 Ant. E. Go fetch me something : I '11 break ope the 
 
 gate. 
 
 65 If you went in pain, efc.J A poor, quibbling echo of the application of 
 the insulting word " knave " to the speaker's master : " You are 
 a knave, so, if you felt pain, you would be a sore knave." 
 
 67 part mtK\ From French " partir," " to go away ; " " go away with," 
 " obtain." 
 
 72 bought and sold] taken in, deceived. Cf. Rich. Ill, V, iii, 304 : " For 
 Dickon thy master is bought and sold. 
 
 [34 J, 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Dro. S. IWithin] Break any breaking here, and I'll 
 
 break your knave's pate. 
 Dro. E. a man may break a word with you, sir ; and 
 words are but wind ; 
 Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. 
 Dro. S. [PTi^Am] It seems thou want'st breaking: 
 
 out upon thee, hind I 
 Dro. E. Here 's too much " out upon thee 1 " I pray 
 
 thee, let me in. 
 Dro. S. \_Within] Ay, when fowls have no feathers, 
 
 and fish have no fin. 
 Ant. E. Well, I '11 break in : go borrow me a crow. 8o 
 Dro. E. a crow without feather? Master, mean 
 you so ? 
 For a fish without a fin, there 's a fowl without a feather : 
 If a crow help us in, sirrah, we '11 pluck a crow together. 
 Ant. E. Go get thee gone ; fetch me an iron crow. 
 Bal. Have patience, sir : O, let it not be so 1 
 Herein you war against your reputation. 
 And draw within the compass of suspect 
 The un violated honour of your wife. 
 Once this, — your long experience of her wisdom. 
 Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 90 
 
 Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
 And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
 Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
 Be ruled by me : depart in patience, 
 
 89 Once this] Once for all, in fine, to sum up. This usage is not un- 
 common, though rare. Malone proposed to read Own this. 
 93 made against] "barred against," a common provincial usage. 
 
 [35] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iir 
 
 And let us to the Tiger all to dinner ; 
 
 And about evening come yourself alone 
 
 To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
 
 If by strong hand you offer to break in 
 
 Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
 
 A vulgar comment wiU be made of it, loo 
 
 And that supposed by the common rout 
 
 Against your yet ungalled estimation. 
 
 That may with foul intrusion enter in, 
 
 And dwell upon your grave when you are dead ; 
 
 For slander lives upon succession. 
 
 For ever housed where it gets possession. 
 
 Ant. E. You have prevail'd : I will depart in quiet, 
 And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
 I know a wench of excellent discourse. 
 Pretty and witty ; wild, and yet, too, gentle : no 
 
 There wiU we dine. This woman that I mean, 
 My wife — but, I protest, without desert — 
 Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal : 
 To her will we to dinner. [To Jng.] Get you home, 
 And fetch the chain ; by this I know 't is made : 
 Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine ; 
 For there 's the house : that chain will I bestow — 
 
 99-105 Now . . . succession] Now in the busy time of the day, when 
 people are most about, adverse comments will be made by the 
 crowd, and censure proceeding from the common people's supposi- 
 tions, when it is aimed at your hitherto unblemished reputation, 
 may get a firm footing, with aU its foulness, and may adhere to 
 your name when you are dead ; for slander is never without heirs 
 to keep up the estate. 
 
 108 in despite of mirth] in the absence of any just cause for mirth. 
 
 [36] 
 
SCENE 11 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Be it for nothing but to spite my wife — 
 
 Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste. 
 
 Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 120 
 
 I '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they 'U disdain me. 
 
 Ang. I 'II meet you at that place some hour hence. 
 
 Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense. 
 
 SCENE II — THE SAME 
 
 Enter Luciana, Tiiith Antipholus of Syracuse 
 
 Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 
 
 A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus, 
 Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? 
 
 Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous ? 
 If you did wed my sister for her wealth. 
 
 Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness : 
 Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; 
 
 Muffle your false love with some show of blindness : 
 Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 
 
 Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ; 10 
 
 Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 
 
 Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger ; 
 Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ; 
 
 Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; 
 
 3 love-springs^ young shoots of love. Cf. Venus and Adonis, 656 : " This 
 
 canker that eats up Love's tender spring ." 
 
 4 Shall love, etc.] Cf. Sonnet cxix, 11: "And mind love, when it is 
 
 built anew." Theobald substituted ruinous for ruinate, the obvious 
 error of the FoUo. 
 
 [37] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act m 
 
 Be secret-false : what need she be acquainted ? 
 
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint ? 
 'T is double wrong, to truant with your bed. 
 
 And let her read it in thy looks at board : 
 Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 
 
 111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 20 
 
 Alas, poor women ! make us but believe. 
 
 Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
 Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ; 
 
 We in your motion turn, and you may move us. 
 Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; 
 
 Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 
 'T is holy sport, to be a little vain. 
 
 When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
 Ant. S. Sweet mistress, — what your name is else, 
 I know not. 
 
 Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine, — so 
 
 Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not 
 
 Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth divine 
 Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ; 
 
 Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, 
 Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak. 
 
 The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
 Against my soul's pure truth why labour you 
 
 To make it wander in an unknown field ? 
 Are you a god ? would you create me new ? 
 
 Transform me, then, and to your power I '11 yield. 40 
 
 22 compact of credit] compounded, made up entirely, of credulity. Cf. 
 Venus and Adonis, 149 : " Love is a spirit all compact o/'fire." 
 
 [38] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 But if that I am I, then well I know 
 
 Your weeping sister is no wife of mine. 
 Nor to her bed no homage do I owe : 
 
 Far more, far more to you do 1 decline. 
 O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note. 
 
 To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears : 
 Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote : 
 
 Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs. 
 And as a bed I '11 take them, and there lie ; so 
 
 And, in that glorious supposition, think 
 He gains by death that hath such means to die : 
 
 Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink ! 
 
 Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so ? 
 
 Ant. S. Not mad, but mated ; how, I do not know. 
 
 Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 
 
 Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. 
 
 Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear 
 your sight. 
 
 Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on 
 night. 
 
 Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sister so. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 
 
 Luc. That 's my sister. 
 
 Ant. S. No; eo 
 
 It is thyself, mine own self's better part, 
 
 64 Not mad, but mated'] The quibble on " mated " in the double sense 
 of " bewildered " and " having a mate or partner," is common. 
 Cf. V, i, 282, infra, and T. of Shrew, III, ii, 248, where "mated" 
 and "mad" similarly figure together. 
 
 [39] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act m 
 
 Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart, 
 My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim. 
 My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. 
 
 Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 
 
 Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee. 
 Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life : 
 Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Luc. O, soft, sir ! hold you still : 
 
 I 'U fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit, to 
 
 Enter Deomio of Syracuse 
 
 Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio 1 where runn'st 
 thou so fast ? 
 
 Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ? am 
 I your man? am I myself? 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
 art thyself. 
 
 Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and be- 
 sides myself. 
 
 Ant. S. What woman's man ? and how besides 
 thyself? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a 8o 
 woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one 
 that will have me. 
 
 64 heaven's claim] all that I claim of heaven. 
 
 66 / am thee] I identify myself with thee. Capell read, " I aim [i. e. 
 
 mean] thee/' duplicating " my sweet hope's aim " (1. 63) ; but the 
 
 change does not seem necessary. 
 
 [40] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Ant, S. What claim lays she to thee ? 
 
 Dro. S. Many, sir, such claim as you would lay to 
 your horse ; and she would have me as a beast : not that, 
 I being a beast, she would have me ; but that she, being 
 a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. 
 
 Ant. S. What is she ? 
 
 Dro. S. a very reverent body ; ay, such a one as a 
 man may not speak of, without he say Sir-reverence. I 90 
 have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a won- 
 drous fat marriage. 
 
 Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat marriage ? 
 
 Dro. S. Many, sir, she 's the kitchen-wench, and aU 
 grease ; and I know not what use to put her to, but to 
 make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own Hght. 
 1 warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will bum a 
 Poland winter : if she lives till doomsday, she 'U burn 
 a week longer than the whole world. 
 
 Ant. S. What complexion is she of ? 100 
 
 Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
 like so clean kept : for why she sweats ; a man may go 
 over shoes in the grime of it. 
 
 Ant. S. That 's a fault that water will mend. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir, 't is in grain ; Noah's flood could not 
 do it. 
 
 Ant. S. What 's her name ? 
 
 90 Sir-reverence] a vulgar corruption of "save " or "saving your rever- 
 ence ; " a derivative from the Latin, salvd revereniid, i. e. " asking 
 your pardon." Cf. Muck Ado, III, iv, 32 : "I think you would 
 have me say, saving your reverence, a husband." 
 
 [41] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act m 
 
 Dko. S. Nell, sir ; but her name and three quarters, 
 that's an ell and three quarters, will not measure her 
 from hip to hip. no 
 
 Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ? 
 
 Dro. S. No longer from head to foot than from hip 
 to hip : she is spherical, like a globe ; I could find out 
 countries in her. 
 
 Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks : I found it out 
 by the bogs. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Scotland ? 
 
 Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness ; hard in the 
 palm of the hand. 120 
 
 Ant. S. Where France ? 
 
 Dro. S. In her forehead ; armed and reverted, making 
 war against her heir. 
 
 Ant. S. Where England ? 
 
 Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliifs, but I could 
 find no whiteness in them ; but I guess it stood in her 
 chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Spain ? 
 
 Dro. S. 'Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot in her 
 breath. 130 
 
 Ant. S. Where America, the Indies ? 
 
 123 heirj The Second Folio reads haire. The quibble refers to the 
 civil war progressing in France at the date of the production 
 of the play, when Henry of Navarre, whom Englishmen regarded 
 as the rightful heir to the French throne, was fighting for the 
 succession, 
 
 [42] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Dro. S. Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished 
 with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich 
 aspect to the hot breath of Spain ; who sent whole arma- 
 does of caracks to be ballast at her nose. 
 
 Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ? 
 
 Dro. S. Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To con- 
 clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me ; called 
 me Dromio ; swore I was assured to her ; told me what 
 privy marks I had about me, as, the mark of my shoul- 
 der, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left 
 arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch : 142 
 
 And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, 
 
 and my heart of steel. 
 She had transform'd me to a curtal dog, and made me 
 turn i' the wheel. 
 
 Ant. S. Go hie thee presently, post to the road : 
 An if the wind blow any way from shore, 
 I will not harbour in this town to-night : 
 If any bark put forth, come to the mart. 
 Where I wiU walk till thou return to me. 
 If every one knows us, and we know none, iso 
 
 'T is time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 
 
 Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life. 
 So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. There 's none but witches do inhabit here ; 
 
 135 ballast] ballasted, loaded. For this participial form cf. Hamlet, 
 III, iv, 207 : " Hoist [i. e. " hoisted "] with his own petar." 
 
 144 curtal . . . wheel] dog with a docked tail that worked the turnspit 
 in the kitchen. 
 
 [43] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act m 
 
 And therefore 't is high time that I were hence. 
 
 She that doth call me husband, even my soul 
 
 Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, 
 
 Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace. 
 
 Of such enchanting presence and discourse. 
 
 Hath almost made me traitor to myself: leo 
 
 But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, 
 
 I '11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 
 
 Enter Angelo with the chain 
 
 Ang. Master Antipholus, — 
 
 Ant. S. Ay, that 's my name. 
 
 Ang. I know it well, sir : lo, here is the chain. 
 I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine : 
 The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 
 
 Ant. S. What is your will that I shaU do with this ? 
 
 Ang. What please yourself, sir : I have made it for 
 you. 
 
 Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not. 
 
 Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you 
 have. iTo 
 
 Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; 
 And soon at supper-time I '11 visit you. 
 And then receive my money for the chain. 
 
 Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now. 
 For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more. 
 
 Ang. You are a merry man, sir : fare you well. [Eidt. 
 
 Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell : 
 But this I think, there 's no man is so vain 
 
 [44] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 That would refuse so fair an ofFer'd chain. 
 
 I see a man here needs not live by shifts, i8o 
 
 When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
 
 1 '11 to the mart, and there for Dromio stay : 
 
 If any ship put out, then straight away. [Earit. 
 
 [45] 
 
ACT FOURTH— SCENE I 
 
 A PUBLIC PLACE 
 
 Enter Second Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer 
 
 Second Merchant 
 
 lOU KNOW SINCE PENTE- 
 cost the sum is due, 
 And since I have not much im- 
 portuned you ; 
 
 Nor now I had not, but that I 
 am bound 
 
 To Persia, and want guilders for 
 my voyage : 
 
 Therefore make present satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 Or I '11 attach you by this officer. 
 Ang. Even just the sum that 
 I do owe to you 
 
 Is growing to me by Antipholus ; 
 
 And in the instant that 1 met with you 
 
 He had of me a chain : at five o'clock lo 
 
 I shaU receive the money for the same. 
 
 4 guilders] See note on I, i, 8, supra. 
 8 eromnA accruing. Cf. IV, iv, 129 et seq., infra. 
 
 [ 46 1 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
 I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of Ephesus 
 Jrom the courtezan's 
 
 Off. That labour may you save : see where he comes. 
 
 Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go 
 thou 
 And buy a rope's end : that will I bestow 
 Among my wife and her confederates. 
 For locking me out of my doors by day. 
 But, soft I I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone ; 
 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 20 
 
 Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year : I buy a 
 rope. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. E, a man is well holp up that trusts to you : 
 I promised your presence and the chain ; 
 But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. 
 Belike you thought our love would last too long. 
 If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not. 
 
 Ang. Saving your merry humour, here 's the note 
 How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat. 
 The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, 
 Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 30 
 
 Than 1 stand debted to this gentleman : 
 I pray you, see him presently discharged. 
 For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. 
 
 21 I bui/ . . . ropel Dromio means that the purchase of a rope, where- 
 with to execute his master's scheme of vengeance, is as grateful 
 to him as the requisition of a large annuity. 
 
 [47] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 Ant. E. I am not fumish'd with the present money ; 
 Besides, I have some business in the town. 
 Good signior, take the stranger to my house. 
 And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
 Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof : 
 Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 
 
 Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself? 40 
 
 Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not time 
 enough. 
 
 Ang. WeU, sir, I will. Have you the chain about 
 you ? 
 
 Ant. E. And if I have not, sir, I hope you have ; 
 Or else you may return without your money. 
 
 Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain : 
 Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman. 
 And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
 
 Ant. E. Good Lord ! you use this daUiance to excuse 
 Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. 
 I should have chid you for not bringing it, m 
 
 But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 
 
 Sec. Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, sir, 
 dispatch. 
 
 Ang. You hear how he importunes me ; — the chain ! 
 
 Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your 
 money. 
 
 Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even now. 
 Either send the chain, or send me by some token. 
 
 56 send me by some token] send me furnished with some token by way 
 of warrant. 
 
 [48] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Ant. E. Fie, now you run this humour out of breath. 
 Come, where 's the chain ? 1 pray you, let me see it. 
 
 Sec. Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance. 
 Good sir, say whether you '11 answer me or no : eo 
 
 If not, I '11 leave him to the oflficer. 
 
 Ant. E. I answer you ! what should I answer you ? 
 
 Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain. 
 
 Ant. E. I owe you none tUl I receive the chain. 
 
 Ang. You know I gave it you half an hour since. 
 
 Ant. E. You gave me none : you wrong me much 
 to say so. 
 
 Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it : 
 Consider how it stands upon my credit. 
 
 Sec. Mer. WeU, officer, arrest him at my suit. 
 
 Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name to to 
 obey me. 
 
 Ang. This touches me in reputation. 
 Either consent to pay this sum for me. 
 Or I attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had ! 
 Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest. 
 
 Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer. 
 I would not spare my brother in this case. 
 If he should scorn me so apparently. 
 
 Off. 1 do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit. so 
 
 Ant. E. I do obey thee till I give thee baU. 
 But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 
 As all the metal in your shop will answer. 
 
 Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
 To your notorious shame ; I doubt it not. 
 
 4 [49] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 Enter Dromio of Syracuse, Jrom the bay 
 
 Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum 
 That stays but till her owner comes aboard, 
 And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, 
 I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought 
 The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae. so 
 
 The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind 
 Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at all 
 But for their owner, master, and yourself. 
 
 Ant. E. How now ! a madman 1 Why, thou peevish 
 sheep. 
 What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ? 
 
 Dro. S. a ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope. 
 And told thee to what purpose and what end. 
 
 Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon : 
 You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. loo 
 
 Ant. E. I wiU debate this matter at more leisure. 
 And teach your ears to hst me with more heed. 
 To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight : 
 Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
 That 's cover 'd o'er with Turkish tapestry 
 There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it : 
 Tell her I am arrested in the street, 
 
 94-95 sheep . . . skip] For confusion in pronunciation of these words, 
 
 see note on L. L. L., II, i, 218. 
 99 a rope's end] Steevens completed the metre by inserting sir after 
 
 end, but Malone deemed rope's a dissyllable. 
 
 [50] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 And that shall bail me : hie thee, slave, be gone ! 
 On, officer, to prison tiU it come. 
 
 \Exeunt Sec. Merchant, Angejo, Officer, and Ant. E. 
 Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where we dined, no 
 
 Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband : 
 She is too big,' I hope, for me to compass. 
 Thither I must, although against my will, 
 For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Eadt. 
 
 SCENE II — THE HOUSE OF ANTIPHOLUS 
 OF EPHESUS 
 
 Enter Adriana and Luciana 
 
 Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ? 
 
 Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye 
 That he did plead in earnest ? yea or no ? 
 
 Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily ? 
 What observation madest thou, in this case. 
 Of his heart's meteors tUting in his face ? 
 
 Luc. First he denied you had in him no right. 
 
 Adr. He meant he did me none; the more my 
 spite. 
 
 Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger here. 
 
 Adr. 'And true he swore, though yet forsworn he 
 
 were. 
 
 10 
 
 Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 
 
 Ill Domsabet] A common name for a country wench. 
 
 [51] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 Adr. And what said he ? 
 
 Luc. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me. 
 
 Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love ? 
 
 Luc. With words that in an honest suit might move, 
 First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. 
 
 Adr. Didst speak him fair ? 
 
 Luc. Have patience, I beseech. 
 
 Adr. I cannot, nor 1 will not, hold me still ; 
 My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. 
 He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, 
 lU-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere ; so 
 
 Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind ; 
 Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. 
 
 Luc. Who would be jealous, then, of such a one ? 
 No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 
 
 Adr. Ah, but I think him better than I say. 
 
 And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. 
 Far from her nest the lapwing cries away : 
 
 My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. 
 
 Enter Deomio of Syracuse 
 
 Dro. S. Here ! go ; the desk, the purse ! sweet, now, 
 
 make haste. 
 Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? 
 Dro. S. By running fast. 30 
 
 Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he well ? 
 
 27 Far from her nest, etc.] A very common proverbial expression. Cf. 
 Lyly's Campaspe, II, ii, 12, 13: "You resemble the lapwing, 
 who crieth most where her nest is not." 
 
 [52] 
 
SCENE II THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Deo. S. No, he 's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. 
 A devil in an everlasting garment hath him ; 
 One vrhose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; 
 A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough ; 
 A wolf, nay, worse ; a fellow all in bufF ; 
 A back-Mend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands 
 The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands ; 
 A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot weU ; 
 One that, before the Judgment, carries poor souls to heU. 40 
 
 Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? 
 
 Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is 'rested on 
 the case. 
 
 Adr. What, is he arrested ? Tell me at whose suit. 
 
 Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well ; 
 But he 's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can 
 
 I tell. 
 Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in 
 his desk ? 
 
 32 in Tartar limbo] in gaol. 
 
 33 A devil, etc.] a bailiff or sergeant, whose buff jerkin was usually made 
 
 of stuff called "durance," which was reputed never to wear out. 
 35 fury] Theobald's alteration of the old reading fairi/, which is so 
 often found in the sense of elf or hobgoblin that it might well be 
 retained. 
 
 38 lands] Possibly lands is here identical with "launds," i. e. "glades." 
 
 The rhyme forbids the acceptance of the alternative reading lanes. 
 
 39 A hound that rum counter] To " run counter " is to run backwards or 
 
 on a false scent. Here there is a punning reference to the counter, 
 i. e. prison whither the sergeant carried his victims. To " draw 
 dry-foot " is to follow the scent on dry ground. 
 
 40 hell] a cant term for "prison." 
 
 [53] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act it 
 
 Adk. Go fetch it, sister. lEidt Ludana.] This I won- 
 der at. 
 That he, unknown to me, should be in debt. 
 Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? 
 
 Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; so 
 A chain, a chain ! Do you not hear it ring ? 
 
 Adr. What, the chain ? 
 
 Dro. S. No, no, the bell : ' t is time that I were gone : 
 It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. 
 
 Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. 
 
 Dro. S. O, yes ; if any hour meet a sergeant, 'a 
 turns back for very fear. 
 
 Adr. As if Time were in debt 1 how fondly dost 
 thou reason I 
 
 Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more 
 than he's worth to season. 
 Nay, he 's a thief too : have you not heard men say. 
 That Time comes stealing on by night and day ? eo 
 
 If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way, 
 Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day ? 
 
 Re-enter Luciana with a purse 
 
 Ard. Go, Dromio ; there 's the money, bear it straight ; 
 
 And bring thy master home immediately. 
 Come, sister : I am press'd down with conceit, — 
 
 Conceit, my comfort and my injury. {^Exeunt. 
 
 49 baTid] bond. This form of the word is common, and the quibbling 
 
 use of it, though feeble, is intelligible. 
 58 season] opportunity. 
 65 conceit] anxious thought. 
 
 [54] 
 
SCENE III THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 SCENE III — A PUBLIC PLACE 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse 
 
 Ant. S. There 's not a man I meet but doth salute 
 me 
 As if I were theu- well-acquainted friend ; 
 And every one doth call me by my name. 
 Some tender money to me ; some invite me ; 
 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
 Some offer me commodities to buy : 
 Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop. 
 And show'd me silks that he had bought for me. 
 And therewithal took measure of my body. 
 Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, lo 
 
 And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Syracuse 
 
 Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for. 
 What, have you got the picture of old Adam new- 
 appareUed ? 
 
 Ant. S. What gold is this ? what Adam dost thou 
 mean? 
 
 Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the Paradise, but 
 
 1 1 Lapland sorcerers'] The inhabitants of Lapland were commonly re- 
 puted to be sorcerers and witches. "Lapland witches," a common 
 expression in Elizabethan writers, figures in Milton's Paradise 
 Lost, II, 665. 
 
 13 have you . . . old Adarn\ Theobald reads, have you got rid of, etc. 
 
 [55] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 that Adam that keeps the prison : he that goes in the 
 calf s skin that was killed for the Prodigal ; he that 
 came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you 
 forsake your liberty. 
 
 Ant. S. I understand thee not. 
 
 Dko. S. No ? why, 't is a plain case : he that went, 
 like a base- viol, in a case of leather ; the man, sir, that, 
 when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob, and 'rests 
 them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives 
 them suits of durance ; he that sets up his rest to do 
 more exploits with his mace than a morris-pike. 
 
 Ant. S. What, thou meanest an officer ? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; he 
 that brings any man to answer it that breaks his band ; 
 one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, 
 " God give you good rest ! " 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there 
 any ship puts forth to-night ? may we be gone ? 
 
 Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, 
 that the bark Expedition put forth to-night ; and then 
 were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy 
 
 30 
 
 Dromio's inquiry is clearly equivalent to "What has become of 
 the sergeant ? " Dromio is asking in quibbling fashion where the 
 stout corporeal presence of old leather-clad Adam, as he playfully 
 calls the sergeant, has got to. 
 
 22 gives . . . m6] causes them a convulsive sigh. This is the reading 
 of the Folios, which Rowe changed to fob, assigning to that word 
 the unsupported meaning of " tap," or " light blow." 
 
 24 durance] See note on IV, ii, 33. There is a quibble on the sense 
 of durance, i. e. prison. The word also means cloth that does not 
 wear out. 
 
 [56] 
 
SCENE III THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver 
 you. 
 
 Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; 
 And here we wander in illusions : 
 Some blessed power deliver us from hence 1 
 
 Enter a Courtezan 
 
 CouR. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus, 4o 
 
 I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
 Is that the chain you promised me to-day ? 
 
 Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt me not. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan ? 
 
 Ant. S. It is the devU. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam ; 
 and here she comes in the habit of a light wench : and 
 thereof comes that the wenches say, " God damn me ;" 
 that 's as much to say, " God make me a Mght wench." 
 It is written, they appear to men like angels of hght : so 
 light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn ; ergo, hght 
 wenches will burn. Come not near her. 
 
 CouR. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. 
 Will you go with me ? We 'U mend our dinner here ? 
 
 Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat; or 
 bespeak a long spoon. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, Dromio ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon that must 
 eat with the devil. 
 
 54 We'll mend, cfc.] We '11 improve, make some addition to. 
 
 56 a long spoon\ This proverb is alluded to again in the Tempest, 11, ii, 103. 
 
 [57] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend I what tell'st thou me of 
 supping ? 66 
 
 Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : 
 I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. 
 
 CouR. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, 
 Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised. 
 And I '11 be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of one's 
 nail, 
 A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A nut, a cherry-stone ; 
 But she, more covetous, would have a chain. 
 Master, be wise : an if you give it her, to 
 
 The devil wiU shake her chain, and fright us with it. 
 
 CouR. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain : 
 I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. 
 
 Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch I Come, Dromio, let 
 us go. 
 
 Dro. S. " Fly pride," says the peacock : mistress, that 
 you know. [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. 
 
 CouR. Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad. 
 Else would he never so demean himself. 
 A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats. 
 And for the same he promised me a chain : 
 Both one and other he denies me now. so 
 
 The reason that I gather he is mad. 
 Besides this present instance of his rage. 
 Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner. 
 Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
 Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, 
 
 [68] 
 
SCENE IV THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
 
 My way is now to hie home to his house, 
 
 And tell his wife that, being lunatic. 
 
 He rush'd into my house, and took perforce 
 
 My ring away. This course I fittest choose ; so 
 
 For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Eant. 
 
 SCENE IV — A STREET 
 
 Enter Antiphouis of Ephesus and the Officer 
 
 Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break away : 
 I '11 give thee, ere 1 leave thee, so much money. 
 To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
 My wife is in a wayward mood to-day. 
 And wiU not lightly trust the messenger. 
 That I should be attach'd in Ephesus, 
 I tell you, 't will sound harshly in her ears. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope's-end 
 
 Here comes my man ; I think he brings the money. 
 How now, sir ! have you that I sent you for ? 
 
 Dro. E. Here 's that, I warrant you, will pay them all. lo 
 
 Ant. E. But where 's the money ? 
 
 Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. 
 
 Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope ? 
 
 Dro. E. I '11 serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. 
 
 Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home ? 
 
 Dro. E. To a rope's-end, sir ; and to that end am I 
 returned. 
 
 [59] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. 
 
 \Beatmg him. 
 
 Off. Good sir, be patient. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in 
 adversity, 20 
 
 Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain I 
 
 Dro. E. 1 would I were senseless, sir, that I might 
 not feel your blows. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and 
 so is an ass. 
 
 Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may prove it by 
 my long ears. I have served him from the hour of my 
 nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands 30 
 for my service but blows. When I am cold, he heats 
 me with beating ; when I am warm, he cools me with 
 beating : I am waked with it when I sleep ; raised with 
 it when I sit ; driven out of doors with it when I go 
 from home ; welcomed home with it when I return : 
 nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar wont her 
 brat ; and, I think, when he hath lamed me, I shall beg 
 with it from door to door. 
 
 Ant. E. Come, go along ; my wife is coming yonder. 
 
 Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and Pinch 
 Dro. E. Mistress, " respice finem," respect your end ; 
 or rather, the prophecy like the parrot, " beware the w 
 rope's-end." 
 
 40 the prophecy] This is the Folio reading. Dyee reads to prophesy, 
 which somewhat improves the construction, and may be right. 
 
 [60] 
 
SCENE IV THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk ? [Beating him. 
 
 CouR. How say you now ? is not your husband mad ? 
 
 A DR. His incivility confirms no less. 
 Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; 
 Establish him in his true sense again, 
 And I will please you what you will demand. 
 
 Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! 
 
 CouR. Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy 1 
 
 Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your 
 pulse. 
 
 Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. 4o 
 
 [StriJcing him. 
 
 Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man. 
 To yield possession to my holy prayers. 
 And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight : 
 I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven 1 
 
 Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ! I am not mad. 
 
 Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul ! 
 
 Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your customers ? 
 Did this companion with the saffron face 
 Revel and feast it at my house to-day. 
 Whilst upon me the guUty doors were shut, eo 
 
 And I denied to enter in my house ? 
 
 Adr. O husband, God doth know you dined at 
 home ; 
 Where would you had remain'd until this time, 
 Free from these slanders and this open shame 1 
 
 46 please i/ou] gratify you by paying. 
 
 48 trembles in his ecstasy'] Cf. Venus and Adonis, 895 : " Thus stands 
 she in a trembling ecstasy." 
 
 [61] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 Ant. E. Dined at home 1 Thou villain, what sayest 
 
 thou? 
 Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at 
 
 home. 
 Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut 
 
 out? 
 Dro. E. Perdie, your doors were lock'd, and you 
 
 shut out. 
 Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there ? 
 Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you there. ro 
 Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and 
 
 scorn me ? 
 Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal scom'd 
 
 you. 
 Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence ? 
 Dro. E. In verity you did; my bones bear wit- 
 ness. 
 That since have felt the vigour of his rage. 
 
 Adr. Is 't good to soothe him in these contraries ? 
 Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds his vein, 
 And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest 
 
 me. 
 Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, 8o 
 
 By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 
 
 Dro. E. Money by me! heart and good-wiU you 
 
 might ; 
 But surely, master, not a rag of money. 
 Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of 
 
 ducats ? 
 
 [62] 
 
SCENE IV THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. 
 
 Luc. And I am witness with her that she did. 
 
 Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me witness 
 That I was sent for nothing but a rope I 
 
 Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is pos- 
 sess'd ; 
 I know it by their pale and deadly looks : so 
 
 They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 
 
 Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth 
 to-day ? 
 And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? 
 
 Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 
 
 Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no gold ; 
 But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 
 
 Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both. 
 
 Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false lq aU, 
 And art confederate with a damned pack 
 To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : loo 
 
 But with these nails I '11 pluck out these false eyes, 
 That would behold in me this shameful sport. 
 
 Enter three orfovT, and offer to hind him. He strives 
 
 Adr. O, bind him, bind him! let him not come 
 
 near me. 
 Pinch. More company I The fiend is strong within 
 
 him. 
 Luc. Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks ! 
 Ant. E. What, will you murder me ? Thou gaoler, 
 thou, 
 
 [63] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them 
 To make a rescue ? 
 
 Off. Masters, let him go : 
 
 He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
 
 Pinch. Go bind this man, for he is frantic too. no 
 
 {They offer to bind Dro. E. 
 
 Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer ? 
 Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
 Do outrage and displeasure to himself? 
 
 Off. He is my prisoner : if I let him go, 
 The debt he owes will be required of me. 
 
 Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee : 
 Bear me forthwith unto his creditor. 
 And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
 Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd 
 Home to my house. O most unhappy day ! 120 
 
 Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet I 
 
 Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond for 
 you. 
 
 Ant. E. Out on thee, villain I wherefore dost thou 
 mad me ? 
 
 Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing ? be mad, 
 good master : cry, The devil I 
 
 Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk ! 
 
 Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me. 
 
 {Exeunt all but Adriana, Luciana, Officer and Cov/rtezan. 
 Say now ; whose suit is he arrested at ? 
 
 Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith: do you know 
 him? 
 
 Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he owes ? iso 
 
 [64] 
 
SCENE IV THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Off. Two hundred ducats. 
 
 Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 
 
 Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him. 
 
 Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it 
 not. 
 
 CouR. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day 
 Came to my house, and took away my ring, — 
 The ring I saw upon his finger now, — 
 Straight after did I meet him with a chain. 
 
 Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it. 
 Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is : 
 I long to know the truth hereof at large. no 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse zeith his rapier drawn, 
 a/nd Dromio of Syracuse 
 
 Luc. God, for thy mercy I they are loose again. 
 Adr. And come with naked swords. 
 Let 's call more help to have them bound again. 
 Off. Away ! they '11 kill us. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Ant. S. arid Dro. S. 
 Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of swords. 
 Dro. S. She that would be your wife now ran from 
 
 you. 
 Ant. S. Come to the Centaur ; fetch our stuff from 
 thence : 
 I long that we were safe and sound aboard. ug 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night ; they will surely 
 do us no harm : you saw they speak us fair, give us 
 gold : methinks they are such a gentle nation, that, but 
 s [65 J 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act iv 
 
 for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of 
 me, I could find in my heart to stay here still, and turn 
 witch. 
 
 Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town ; 
 Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exetmt. 
 
 155 stuff2 baggage. Shakespeare uses the word in this sense only 
 here, in V, i, 408, infra, and in Pericles, IV, ii, 19. It appears in 
 W. W.'s translation of Plautus' Mencechmi : " He go strait to the 
 inne, and deliver up my accounts, and all your stuffe." 
 
 [66] 
 
Angelo 
 
 ACT FIFTH — SCENE 1 
 
 A STREET BEFORE A PRIORY 
 
 Enter Second Merchant and Angelo 
 
 AM SORRY, SIR, THAT 
 
 I have hinder'd you ; 
 
 But, I protest, he had the chain 
 
 of me. 
 
 Though most dishonestly he doth 
 
 deny it. 
 
 Sec. Mer. How is the man 
 esteem'd here in the city ? 
 
 Ang. Of very reverent repu- 
 tation, sir. 
 
 Of credit infinite, highly beloved. 
 Second to none that lives here 
 in the city : 
 His word might bear my wealth at any time. 
 
 Sec. Mer. Speak softly : yonder, as I think, he walks. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dkomio of Syracuse 
 
 Ang. 'T is so ; and that self chain about his neck, lo 
 Which he forswore most monstrously to have. 
 
 [67] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 Good sir, draw near to me, I '11 speak to him ; 
 
 Signior Antipholus, I wonder much 
 
 That you would put me to this shame and trouble ; 
 
 And, not without some scandal to yourself. 
 
 With circumstance and oaths so to deny 
 
 This chain which now you wear so openly : 
 
 Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
 
 You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; 
 
 Who, but for staying on our controversy, 20 
 
 Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day : 
 
 This chain you had of me ; can you deny it ? 
 
 Ant. S. I think I had ; I never did deny it. 
 
 Sec. Mer. Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too. 
 
 Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or forswear it ? 
 
 Sec. Mer. These ears of mine, thou know'st, did 
 hear thee. 
 Fie on thee, wretch I 't is pity that thou hvest 
 To walk where any honest men resort. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus : 
 I 'U prove mine honour and mine honesty 30 
 
 Against thee presently, if thou darest stand. 
 
 Sec. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. 
 
 [They draw. 
 
 Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and others 
 
 Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake ! he is mad. 
 Some get within him, take his sword away : 
 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
 
 34 within hirn] at close quarters with him. 
 
 [68] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Deo. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, take a 
 house I 
 This is some priory. In, or we are spoiled ! 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory. 
 
 Enter the Lady Abbess 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you 
 hither ? 
 
 Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. 
 Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, 40 
 
 And bear him home for his recovery. 
 
 Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. 
 
 Sec. Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. 
 
 Abb. How long hath this possession held the man ? 
 
 Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad. 
 And much different from the man he was ; 
 But tiU this afternoon his passion 
 Ne'er break into extremity of rage. 
 
 Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of 
 sea? 
 Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his eye so 
 
 Stray'd his aiFection in unlawful love ? 
 A sin prevailing much in youthful men, 
 Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
 Which of these sorrows is he subject to ? 
 
 36 take a house'] enter, as in the phrase "a, dog takes the water." 
 
 46 nrnch'] The Second Folio improves the metre by reading much 
 
 much. The reading is worth adoption. 
 51 Stray'd his affection] Caused to stray, led astray ; the transitive use 
 
 of the word is extremely rare, if not unique. 
 
 [69] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 Adr. To none of these, except it be the last ; 
 Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. 
 
 Abb. You should for that have reprehended him. 
 
 Adr. Why, so I did. 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 
 
 Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. 
 
 Abb. Haply, in private. 
 
 Adr. And in assemblies too. eo 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not enough. 
 
 Adr. It was the copy of our conference : 
 In bed, he slept not for my urging it ; 
 At board, he fed not for my urging it ; 
 Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
 In company I often glanced it ; 
 Still did I teU him it was vile and bad. 
 
 Abb. And thereof came it that the man was mad. 
 The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
 Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 70 
 
 It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing : 
 And thereof comes it that his head is Ught. 
 Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraid- 
 
 ings: 
 Unquiet meals make Ul digestions ; 
 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
 And what 's a fever but a fit of madness ? 
 Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls : 
 
 62 copy] repeated theme. 
 
 69 venom] The noun is constantly used adjectivally for "venomous.' 
 Cf. lUch. Ill, I, iii, 291 : " His venom tooth." 
 
 [TO] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue 
 
 But moody and dull melancholy, 
 
 Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ; so 
 
 And at her heels a huge infectious troop 
 
 Of pale distemperatures and foes to life ? 
 
 In food, in sport, and hfe-preserving rest 
 
 To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast : 
 
 The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits 
 
 Have scared thy husband from the use of wits. 
 
 Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly. 
 When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and wildly. 
 Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not? 
 
 Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. so 
 
 Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 
 
 Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. 
 
 Adk. Then let your servants bring my husband 
 forth. 
 
 Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanctuary. 
 And it shall privilege him from your hands 
 Till I have brought him to his wits again. 
 Or lose my labour in assaying it. 
 
 Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse. 
 Diet his sickness, for it is my office. 
 
 And will have no attorney but myself ; loo 
 
 And therefore let me have him home with me. 
 
 79 moody, etc.'] The line is defective. Suggested interpolations are 
 "sadness" or "madness" after "moody," of which the latter is 
 the more reasonable. Others insert "moping" after "moody," 
 or substitute " duU-visaged " for "dull." 
 
 [71] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir 
 Till I have used the approved means 1 have, 
 With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers. 
 To make of him a formal man again : 
 It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
 A charitable duty of my order. 
 Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. 
 
 A DR. I will not hence, and leave my husband here : 
 And ill it doth beseem your holiness uo 
 
 To separate the husband and the wife. 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, and depart: thou shalt not have 
 him. lExit. 
 
 Luc. Complain unto the Duke of this indignity. 
 
 Adr. Come, go : I will faU prostrate at his feet. 
 And never rise until my tears and prayers 
 Have won his Grace to come in person hither. 
 And take perforce my husband from the abhess. 
 
 Sec. Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five : 
 Anon, I 'm sure, the Duke himself in person 
 Comes this way to the melancholy vale, 120 
 
 The place of death and sorry execution, 
 Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 
 
 Ang. Upon what cause ? 
 
 Sec. Mer. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant. 
 Who put unluckily into this bay 
 
 105 formal] in a normal state of mindj sane. Cf. Mens, for Meas., V. 
 
 i, 236 : " Poor informal women," i. e. women out of their senses. 
 121 deatli] The Third Folio's correction of the First and Second Folios' 
 
 reading depth. 
 
 [72] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Against the laws and statutes of this town, 
 Beheaded publicly for his offence. 
 
 Ang. See where they come : we will behold his death. 
 
 Luc. Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey. 
 
 Enter Duke, attended ; jEgeon bareheaded; with the Headsman 
 and other Officers 
 
 Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, iso 
 
 If any friend will pay the sum for him. 
 He shall not die ; so much we tender him. 
 
 Adr. Justice, most sacred Duke, against the abbess I 
 
 Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady : 
 It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. 
 
 Adr. May it please yom- Grace, Antipholus my hus- 
 band, — 
 Whom I made lord of me and all I had. 
 At your important letters, — this ill day 
 A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; 
 That desperately he hurried through the street, — no 
 
 With him his bondman, all as mad as he, — 
 Doing displeasure to the citizens 
 By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
 Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did hke. 
 Once did I get him bound, and sent him home. 
 Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, 
 That here and there his fury had committed. 
 
 146 take order for] take measures for settling, or dealing -with. Cf. 
 Rieh. Ill, IV, ii, 53 : "I will take order for her keeping close." 
 
 [73] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, 
 
 He broke from those that had the guard of him ; 
 
 And with his mad attendant and himself, iso 
 
 Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords. 
 
 Met us again, and, madly bent on us. 
 
 Chased us away ; till, raising of more aid. 
 
 We came again to bind them. Then they fled 
 
 Into this abbey, whither we pursued them ; 
 
 And here the abbess shuts the gates on us. 
 
 And wUl not suffer us to fetch him out. 
 
 Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. 
 
 Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy command 
 
 Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help. leo 
 
 Duke. Long since thy husband served me in my wars ; 
 And 1 to thee engaged a prince's word, 
 When thou didst make him master of thy bed. 
 To do him all the grace and good I could. 
 Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate. 
 And bid the lady abbess come to me. 
 I will determine this before I stir. 
 
 Enter a Servant 
 
 Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! 
 My master and his man are both broke loose. 
 Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor, ito 
 
 Whose beard thay have singed off" with brands of fire ; 
 And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him 
 Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair : 
 
 148 strong escape] escape effected by strength. 
 
 [74] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 My master preaches patience to him, and the while 
 His man with scissors nicks him Hke a fool ; 
 And sure, unless you send some present help. 
 Between them they will kOl the conjurer. 
 
 Adk. Peace, fool I thy master and his man are here ; 
 And that is false thou dost report to us. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I teU you true ; iso 
 
 I have not breathed almost since 1 did see it. 
 He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you. 
 To scorch your face and to disfigure you. \Cry within. 
 Hark, hark 1 I hear him, mistress : fly, be gone I 
 
 Duke. Come, stand by me ; fear nothing. Guard 
 with halberds ! 
 
 Adr. Ay me, it is my husband ! Witness you. 
 That he is borne about invisible : 
 Even now we housed him in the abbey here ; 
 And now he 's there, past thought of human reason 
 
 Enter Antipholds of Ephesus and Dromio of Ephesus 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, most gracious Duke, O, grant me 
 
 justice 1 190 
 
 Even for the service that long since I did thee. 
 When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took 
 Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood 
 That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 
 
 1 75 nicks\ clips or crops close. It seems to have been the customaiy 
 
 way in which fools' hair was cut. 
 192 beslrid\ stood over thee when fallen, protected thee. Cf. 1 Hen. 
 
 IV, V, i, 122: " If thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, 
 
 so: 'tis a point of friendship." 
 
 [76], 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 -^GE. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, 
 I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman 
 there ! 
 She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife. 
 That hath abused and dishonour 'd me 
 
 Even in the strength and height of injury : 300 
 
 Beyond imagination is the wrong 
 That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 
 
 Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. 
 
 Akt. E. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors 
 upon me. 
 While she with harlots feasted in my house. 
 
 Duke. A grievous fault 1 Say, woman, didst thou so ? 
 
 Adb. No, my good lord : myself, he and my sister 
 To-day did dine together. So befal my soul 
 As this is false he burthens me withal I 
 
 Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, 210 
 But she tells to your Highness simple truth 1 
 
 Ang. O perjured woman ! They are both forsworn : 
 In this the madman justly chargeth them. 
 
 Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say ; 
 Neither disturbed with the effect of wine. 
 Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire, 
 Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
 This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : 
 That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, 
 Could witness it, for he was with me then ; S30 
 
 205 harlots] a common term of reproach often applied to rascally men 
 as well as to wanton women. 
 
 [76] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OP ERRORS 
 
 Who parted with me to go fetch a chain. 
 
 Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, 
 
 Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
 
 Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
 
 I went to seek him : in the street I met him. 
 
 And in his company that gentleman. 
 
 There did this pequred goldsmith swear me down 
 
 That I this day of him received the chain. 
 
 Which, God he knows, I saw not : for the which 
 
 He did arrest me with an officer. sso 
 
 I did obey ; and sent my peasant home 
 
 For certain ducats : he with none retum'd. 
 
 Then fairly I bespoke the officer 
 
 To go in person with me to my house. 
 
 By the way we met my wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
 
 Of vUe confederates. Along with them 
 
 They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, 
 
 A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
 
 A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller, 
 
 A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, 240 
 
 A living dead man : this pernicious slave. 
 
 Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer ; 
 
 And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, 
 
 And with no face, as 't were, outfacing me. 
 
 Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together 
 
 They feU upon me, bound me, bore me thence. 
 
 And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
 
 246 They fell upon jne] The ordinary contemporary method of dealing 
 with lunatics. Cf. the treatment of Malvolio in Trv. Night, 
 III, iv. 
 
 [77] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 There left me and my man, both bound together ; 
 
 Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
 
 I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 250 
 
 Ran hither to your Grace ; whom I beseech 
 
 To give me ample satisfaction 
 
 For these deep shames and great indignities. 
 
 Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him. 
 That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
 
 DuKK. But had he such a chain of thee or no ? 
 
 Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in here, 
 These people saw the chain about his neck. 
 
 Sec. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine 
 Heard you confess you had the chain of him, seo 
 
 After you first forswore it on the mart : 
 And thereupon I drew my sword on you ; 
 And then you fled into this abbey here. 
 From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 
 
 Ant. E. I never came within these abbey-walls ; 
 Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me : 
 I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven ! 
 And this is false you burthen me withal. 
 
 Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this 1 
 I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup, 270 
 
 If here you housed him, here he would have been ; 
 If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : 
 You say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
 Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you ? 
 
 Deo. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por- 
 pentine. 
 
 CouR. He did ; and from my finger snatch'd that ring. 
 
 [78] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Ant. E. 'T is true, my liege ; this ring I had of her. 
 
 Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? 
 
 CouK. As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess 
 
 hither. ^ 
 
 I think you are all mated, or stark mad. 
 
 [EaAt one to the Abbess. 
 
 jEge. Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word : 
 Haply 1 see a friend will save my life. 
 And pay the sum that may deliver me. 
 
 Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. 
 
 ^ge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus ?^ 
 And is not that your bondman, Dromio ? 
 
 Dro. E. Within this hour 1 was his bondman, sir. 
 But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : 
 Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound. s9o 
 
 ^GE. I am sure you both of you remember me. 
 
 Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you ; 
 For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
 You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ? 
 
 Mge. Why look you strange on me ? you know me 
 well. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw you in my life till now. 
 
 JEge. O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last. 
 And careful hours with time's deformed hand 
 Have written strange defeatures in my face : 
 But teU me yet, dost thou not know my voice ? 300 
 
 281 mated] See note on III, ii, 54, supra. 
 
 298 careful liours] hours full of care, anxiety, sorrow. 
 
 299 defeaiures\ See note on II, i, 98, supra. 
 
 [79] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 Ant. E. Neither. 
 
 ^GE. Dromio, nor thou ? 
 
 Deo. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 
 
 Mgb. I am sure thou dost. 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not ; and what- 
 soever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. 
 
 Mg:e. Not know my voice 1 O time's extremity, 
 Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue 
 In seven short years, that here my only son 
 Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares ? 
 Though now this grained face of mine be hid 310 
 
 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow. 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up. 
 Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
 My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, 
 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
 AU these old witnesses — I cannot err — 
 Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 
 
 JEiGE.. But seven years since, in Sj^acusa, boy. 
 Thou know'st we parted : but perhaps, my son, 320 
 
 Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery. 
 
 Ant. E. The Duke and all that know me in the city 
 Can witness with me that it is not so : 
 I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 
 
 Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years 
 Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
 
 309 my feeble key, etc.\ my weak and discordant tone of voice which is 
 caused by my griefs. 
 
 310 grained\ furrowed like the grain of wood. 
 
 [80] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : 
 I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. 
 
 Re-enter Abbess, tdth Antipholus of Syi-acuse and Deomio 
 of Syracuse 
 
 Abb. Most mighty Duke, behold a man much 
 wrong'd. [^AH gather to see them. 
 
 Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. sso 
 
 Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other ; 
 And so of these. Which is the natural man, 
 And which the spirit ? who deciphers them ? 
 
 Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio : command him away. 
 
 Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio ; pray, let me stay. 
 
 Ant. S. -^geon art thou not ? or else his ghost ? 
 
 Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him 
 here? 
 
 Abb. Whoever bound him, I wiU loose his bonds, 
 And gain a husband by his Uberty. 
 
 Speak, old ^geon, if thou be'st the man 340 
 
 That hadst a wife once call'd Emilia, 
 That bore thee at a burthen two fair sons : 
 O, if thou be'st the same iEgeon, speak. 
 And speak unto the same iEmUia ! 
 
 tEge. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia : 
 If thou art she, tell me, where is that son » 
 
 That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 
 
 Abb. By men of Epidamnum he and I 
 And the twin Dromio, all were taken up ; 
 
 331 Genius] guardian angel or spirit. 
 
 6 [81] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth sso 
 
 By force took Dromio and my son from them, 
 And me they left with those of Epidamnum. 
 What then became of them I cannot tell ; 
 I to this fortune that you see me in. 
 
 Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right : 
 These two Antipholuses, these two so like. 
 And these two Dromios, one in semblance, — 
 Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, — 
 These are the parents to these children, 
 Which accidentally are met together. seo 
 
 Antipholus, thou camest from Corinth first ? 
 
 Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse. 
 
 Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which is 
 which. 
 
 Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious 
 lord, — 
 
 Dro. E. And I with him. 
 
 Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous 
 warrior, 
 Duke Menaphon. your most renowned uncle. 
 
 Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day ? 
 
 Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 
 
 Adr. And are not you my husband ? 
 
 Ant. E. No ; I say nay to that. are 
 
 Ant. S. And so do I ; yet did she call me so : 
 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here. 
 
 355-360 Why, here heffns, etc."] This speech of the Duke in the Folio 
 editions is wrongly placed before ^geon's speech (line 345). CapeU 
 made the necessary transposition. 
 
 [ 82 ] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Did call me brother. [To Ludana] What I told you then, 
 I hope I shall have leisure to make good ; 
 If this be not a dream 1 see and hear. 
 
 Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 
 
 Ant. S. I think it be, sir ; I deny it not. 
 
 Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. 
 
 Ang. I think I did, sir ; I deny it not. 
 
 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, sao 
 
 By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not. 
 
 Dro. E. No, none by me. 
 
 Ant. S. This pm-se of ducats I received from you. 
 And Dromio my man did bring them me. 
 I see we still did meet each other's man ; 
 And I was ta'en for him, and he for me ; 
 And thereupon these errors are arose. 
 
 Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 
 
 Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath his life. 
 
 Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 390 
 Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my good 
 cheer. 
 
 Abb. Renowned Duke, vouchsafe to take the pains 
 To go with us into the abbey here. 
 And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : 
 And all that are assembled in this place. 
 That by this sympathized one day's error 
 Have sufFer'd wrong, go keep us company. 
 And we shall make full satisfaction. 
 Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail 
 Of you, my sons ; and till this present hour 4oo 
 
 My heavy burthen ne'er delivered. 
 
 [83] 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS act v 
 
 The Duke, my husband, and my children both. 
 And you the calendars of their nativity. 
 Go to a gossips' feast, and go with me ; 
 After so long grief, such nativity I 
 
 Duke. With all my heart, I' 11 gossip at this feast. 
 
 {Exeunt all but Ant. S., Ant. E., Dro. S., and Dro. E. 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship- 
 board ? 
 Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou 
 
 embark'd ? 
 Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the 
 
 Centaur. 
 Ant. S. He speaks to me. I am your master, 
 
 Dromio : 410 
 
 Come, go with us ; we '11 look to that anon : 
 Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. S. and Ant. E. 
 Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house. 
 That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner : 
 She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not my 
 brother : 
 
 404, 406 gossips' Jeastl feast given to the sponsors at a christening. 
 
 405 such nativity] Thus the old reading. Hanmer substituted felicily 
 and later editors festivity, in the belief that " nativity " was a 
 printer's repetition, through an error of vision, of "nativity," the 
 last word of line 403. But "nativity" harmonises somewhat 
 better with the twice repeated reference to " gossips," »'. e. 
 sponsors at a christening. 
 
 407-408 stuff] See note on IV, iv, 155, supra. 
 
 409 lay at host] were lodged or stored. 
 
 [84] 
 
SCENE I THE COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. 
 Will you walk in to see their gossiping ? 
 
 Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 
 
 Dro. E. That 's a question : how shall we try it ? 420 
 
 Dro. S. We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then 
 lead thou first. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, then, thus : 
 We came into the world like brother and brother ; 
 And now let 's go hand in hand, not one before another. 
 
 [Eccetmt. 
 

 x-* 
 
 COPVRIQMT 190&. BV THE UNIVERSITV PRESS 
 
 
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 WITH ANNOTATIONS AND 
 A GENERAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY SIDNEY LEE 
 
 VOLUME I 
 
 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 WITH A SPECIAL INTEODUCTION BY RICHARD GARNETT 
 AND AN ORIGINAL FRONTISPIECE BY J. H. F. BACON 
 
 NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1906 
 By The Univehsity Press 
 
 Entered at Stationera' Hall, London 
 All Bights Beaerved 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 Introduction to The Two Gentlemen of 
 
 Verona by Richard Garnett ix 
 
 Text oe the Play. . 1 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 IHE TWO GENTLEMEN 
 OF VERONA" is far from 
 ranking among the greatest or 
 most famous plays of Shakespeare, 
 but it has many points of ex- 
 treme interest. It is remarkable 
 for its comparative deficiency in 
 Shakespeare's supreme gift, his in- 
 sight into human nature. It is 
 not that the poet fails in the en- 
 deavour to portray character ; he 
 simply makes no attempt to pene- 
 trate below the surface, and is con- 
 tent to produce such a comedy of mere incident as might 
 have proceeded from a dramatist wedded to classical tra- 
 dition. This alone, were the fact not certain on other ac- 
 counts, would prove the play to be a production of his 
 youth. On the other hand, the action, with some trifling 
 exceptions, is linked together with an ease and grace which 
 might have been thought to betoken some previous prac- 
 tice, and certainly appear in advance of " Love's Labour 's 
 
 [ix] 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Lost " and " The Comedy of Errors." One charm the 
 play possesses which in the nature of things coxild not 
 belong to a fruit of the writer's maturity : it breathes 
 the inspiration of eager, thoughtless, irresponsible youth. 
 Except the nearly contemporaneous "Romeo and 
 Juliet," none of Shakespeare's pieces is so entirely youth- 
 ful in sentiment. And when we consider that this aroma 
 of adolescence must at the time have clung around Shake- 
 speare himself, we may expect the drama to throw a reflex 
 light upon the dramatist at the most truly critical, though 
 not the most briUiant or eventful, period of his life. 
 
 These points wUl demand discussion, but before arriv- 
 ing at them it will be necessary to establish a foundation 
 by determining the date of the play and the source of 
 the plot ; neither investigations, fortunately, presenting 
 any serious difficulty. 
 
 Not only is " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " unani- 
 mously regarded as one of Shakespeare's earliest works, 
 but there are two reasons, slight but not entirely devoid 
 of weight, for considering it as the earliest of any. It is 
 placed first of the comedies in Francis Meres' list (1598) ; 
 and though Meres could not be expected to name the 
 plays in strict chronological succession, which he may 
 not have known, his order is so nearly that which, quite 
 independently of him, has been estabUshed by consider- 
 ations of external and internal evidence as to render it 
 pretty certain that he did not set them down at random. 
 Again, "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" is the first 
 play in the Folio in succession to " The Tempest." This 
 latter drama, though in fact the last, or almost the last, 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 of Shakespeare's compositions, was selected by the edi- 
 tors of the First Folio for the post of honour, probably 
 from the feeling that the earliest plays were too slight to 
 form the portal of so great an edifice. It would be only 
 natural that, due concession thus made to the artistic 
 sentiment, the claims of chronology should next find 
 recognition ; and, in fact, the succession of the comedies 
 in the Folio does appear to be roughly chronological. It 
 is, on the other hand, true, as has already been remarked, 
 that " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " exhibits an ad- 
 vance in dramatic construction upon " The Comedy of 
 Errors" and "Love's Labour's Lost," the other very early 
 plays ; but it must be remembered that one of these is 
 a farce adapted from ancient models, and the other a 
 satire, where the evolution of plot is designedly made 
 secondary to the dazzle of dialogue. The question of 
 absolute priority^ however, is not material to the play's 
 especial significance and especial claim to indulgence as 
 a youthful work, for there can be little question that it 
 appeared at some time within the period 1589-1592. 
 
 The source of the plot is equally certain. It is with- 
 out doubt expanded from an episode in the second book 
 of Jorge de Montemayor's famous Spanish romance, 
 " La Diana Enamorada," where Felismena is represented 
 as disguising herself in man's apparel, entering the ser- 
 vice of her false lover as a page, and employed by him 
 to recommend his suit to the new object of his devotion, 
 precisely Julia's relations to Proteus and Silvia. Shake- 
 speare, indeed, has ingeniously and with enhanced dra- 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 matic effect complicated the plot, and provided for a 
 fortunate solution by giving the false knight a friend to 
 whom he is as treacherous as to his mistress, but the 
 essence of the situation is in Montemayor. Some edi- 
 tors have doubted the connection between the novel and 
 the play, on the ground that ladies disguised in men's 
 attire are not infrequent figures in dramas and ro- 
 mances. But they have merely taken a general view of 
 the plot, and overlooked the minutiae which demonstrate 
 the connection. If we compare the scene between Julia 
 and her maid in the play with Felismena's account of 
 the same incident in the novel, we cannot doubt that 
 the later author had read his predecessor. 
 
 Julia. What ho ! Lucetta ! 
 
 Lucetta. What would your ladyship ? 
 
 Jul. Is it near dinner time ? 
 
 Luc. I would it were ; 
 
 That you might kill your stomach on your meat. 
 
 And not upon your maid. 
 Jul. What is 't that you 
 
 Took up so gingerly ? 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 Jul. Why did'st thou stoop then ? 
 
 Luc. To take up a paper that I let fall. 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing concerning me. 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 
 Lu£. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns 
 
 Unless it have a false interpreter. 
 Jul. Some love of yours has writ to you in rhyme. 
 
 Let's see your song. (Act I, sc. 2.) 
 
 [xiij 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Felismena, recounting her history, says, in Bartholo- 
 mew Young's translation : — 
 
 " When with a slower pace than I desired the wished day was 
 come, the discreet and subtle Rosina came into my chamber to help 
 make me ready, in doing whereof she let the letter closely fall, which 
 when I perceived. What is that fell down ? said I, let me see it. It is 
 nothing. Mistress, said she. Come, come, let me see it, said I, what ! 
 move me not, or else tell me what it is. Good Lord, Mistress, said 
 she, why would you see it ? it is the letter I would have given you 
 yesterday. Nay, that it is not, said I, wherefore show it me, that I 
 may see whether you lie or no. I had no sooner said so than she 
 •put it into my hands, saying, God never give me good if it be any 
 other thing ; and although I knew it well indeed, yet I said. What ! 
 this is not the same, for I know that well enough, but it is one of 
 thy lover's letters. I will read it to see in what need he standeth 
 of thy favour." 
 
 The incident of the disguised Julia's host innocently 
 inviting her to hear her false lover serenade her rival 
 (Act IV, sc. 2) is also taken from the romance: — • 
 
 " Midnight being a little past, mine host called at my chamber 
 door, and told me that if I was desirous to hear some brave music, I 
 should arise quickly and open a window towards the street : the 
 which I did by and by, and, making no noise at all, I heard how 
 Don Felix his page, called Fabius, whom I knew by his voice, said 
 to others that came with him, Now it is time, my masters, because 
 the lady is in her gallery over her garden taking the freshness of the 
 cool night. He had no sooner said so, but they began to wind 
 three comets and a sackbut, with such skill and sweetness that it 
 seemed celestial music." 
 
 Shakespeare's obligations to the "Diana Enamorada" 
 may thus be regarded as established, but a question 
 
 [ xiii ] 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 remains as to the channel through which he became 
 acquainted with the romance. If he knew it at first 
 hand he must have understood Spanish, a knowledge 
 which he could hardly have possessed without affording 
 some unequivocal manifestation of it in his works. The 
 English translation by Bartholomew Young was not 
 pubhshed until 1598 ; two other translations by Edward 
 Paston and Thomas Wilson, made between 1590 and 
 1600, were never pubhshed. Young, indeed, says that 
 he had kept his translation by him for sixteen years, and 
 it has been conjectured that Shakespeare may have had 
 access to it, a possibihty certainly, but no more. A more 
 probable source would be the manuscript of a play entitled 
 " Felix and Philomena," performed before Queen Eliza- 
 beth in 1584, the plot of which must, to aU appearance, 
 have been derived from Montemayor. If Shakespeare 
 ever saw or read this piece, he can have borrowed noth- 
 ing from it but the plot, for none of the plays attributed 
 to him is more unequivocally from a single hand or 
 bears more conclusive evidence of his authorship than 
 this. There woiild be nothing extraordinary in Shake- 
 speare's having seen this play, or in his not having seen 
 it : the supposition that he had, and the hypothesis of 
 his access to Young's manuscript, are alike mere specula- 
 tions, though not devoid of plausibihty. It has, so far 
 as we know, been reserved to us to indicate a more cer- 
 tain channel. 
 
 A translation of the first part of Montemayor' s ro- 
 mance, the only part of which he was himself the author, 
 and which contains the incident of the disguised Julia 
 
 [xivj 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 jMontemayor s Felismena) officiating as her own lover's 
 page, was printed at Tours in 1592, for Claude de Mon- 
 tr'oeil and Jean Richer. A copy is in the British Museum. 
 The translator was Nicolas Colin, the namesake, if not a 
 member, of an eminent hterary family of the period, but 
 of whom personally we have been able to ascertain no 
 more than that he subsequently translated the " Chris- 
 tian's Memorial," by Luis de Granada. The title-page of 
 the " Diana " declares that this was not the first edition, 
 adding, " Revise et corrigde outre les prSc^dentes impres- 
 sions," and the pubUshers' preface further sets forth that 
 they have added to Colin's work translations of the two 
 continuations by Alonzo Perez and Gil Polo, translated 
 by George Chappuys, " Vous donnant ainsi, outre ce qu'il 
 y avoit aux premieres impressions, cette belle adition." 
 Shakespeare, then, had some time, perhaps some years, 
 before the probable date of his play, the opportunity of 
 access to Montemayor's romance in a language which he 
 well understood. He would naturally wish to read so 
 celebrated a work, and a trifling circumstance almost 
 demonstrates that he did. The name of Julia's (FeUs- 
 mena's) maid, which both in the original Spanish and 
 the English translation is Bosina, in " The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona " becomes Lucetta. Why ? Because the 
 French translator had made it Rosette. 
 
 The origin of that portion of the plot for which Shake- 
 speare is not indebted to Montemayor presents an inquiry 
 of more difficulty, if inquiry be reaUy needed. There 
 seems nothing in it which might not, without extraneous 
 suggestion, have arisen naturally out of the necessity 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 under which Shakespeare lay of converting Monte- 
 mayor's tragedy into a comedy. The relations towards 
 Felismena of CeUa,, the Spanish comiterpart of Silvia, 
 are of another nature than Silvia's to Julia. Silvia, al- 
 ready* bound to Valentine, cannot of course fall in love 
 with the supposed youth ; but the heart-free Celia, hke 
 the Countess in " Twelfth Night," conceives a passion 
 for him ; and having, unlike the Countess, no Sebastian 
 to fill his place, carries her unhappy attachment to the 
 length of self-destruction. Don Felix's passion for her 
 being thus quenched in blood, FeUsmena regains him by 
 delivering him with her bow and shafts from an attack 
 of robbers. These romantic incidents suit the general 
 complexion of Montemayor's fiction, but would be en- 
 tirely out of place in a comedy, where the denouement 
 must give general content ; where, consequently, even 
 the faithless Proteus must be made happy, and much 
 more the lady who has disdained his suit. Shakespeare 
 was therefore compelled to provide SilAda with a success- 
 ful lover, and the further contrivance of making this 
 lover the friend of Proteus and a sufferer by his treach- 
 ery — skUful and thoroughly adequate as it is — grew so 
 naturally out of the situation that it may be doubted 
 whether any external suggestion was reqviired. 
 
 The alleged resemblances between " The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona " and other pieces are not, moreover, 
 convincing. The falsehood of a friend, indeed, is the 
 subject of " The Tragedy of JuHus and Hyppolita," one 
 of the plays acted in Germany towards the end of the 
 sixteenth century by the English itinerant players who 
 
 [xvi] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 at that time frequented that country, and printed in Mr. 
 Albert Cohn's valuable work, "Shakespeare in Ger- 
 many," Even if Shakespeare himself was not at one 
 time a member of one of these companies, he may well 
 have heard of this play from the actors on their return 
 to England ; but the rudeness of the piece is such as to 
 preclude the idea of his having given any serious atten- 
 tion to it. The case is different with another conjec- 
 tured source, Barnaby Rich's story of " ApoUonius and 
 Silla" (1581), of which, had he known it in time, Shake- 
 speare might perhaps have made such use as to transform 
 his drama entirely. The plot is nearly that of " Twelfth 
 Night," and Shakespeare would have been likely to have 
 preferred it to the comparatively artless story of " The 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona." If, indeed, this latter drama 
 immediately succeeded " The Comedy of Errors," he may 
 have thought it wise to refrain from so soon producing 
 another play founded on a bewildering resemblance of 
 personal appearance. In any case, he either did not 
 know Rich's story or abstained from turning it to the 
 account he might have done. Granting that he had 
 read it, it is not any more than " Julius and Hyppolita " 
 a perceptible factor in the dramatic economy of the play, 
 which is conditioned solely by the necessity of giving 
 the episode of the " Diana Enamorada " a happy turn, 
 and comphcating the plot sufficiently for theatrical pur- 
 poses. The problem is most successfully solved ; never- 
 theless in action as in diction, " The Two Gentlemen of 
 Verona " is one of Shakespeare's simplest and least ambi- 
 tious productions. It has the charm of the opening bud, 
 
 [ xvii J 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 the herald of the rose, but not yet the rose itself. " For 
 a judgment on the play at large," says that excellent 
 critic the late Mr. Watkiss Lloyd, " we may appeal to 
 Shakespeare himself, whose appreciation is discernible in 
 this remarkable fact, that its scenes, incidents, images, 
 and situations are met with in others of his later plays — 
 always extended, developed, and refined ; and we may 
 infer that the poet considered that in this work he had 
 recorded ideas of great poetical worth, but still with 
 a certain crudeness that made him feel no scruple in 
 making other appliance of them." Mr. Lloyd instances 
 the dialogue between Julia and Lucetta where the latter 
 enumerates her mistress's admirers as the germ of the sim- 
 ilar scene between Portia and Nerissa in " The Merchant 
 of Venice," and compares Julia's masculine disguise with 
 Rosalind's. In both cases the advance in art and depth 
 of feeling is obvious ; but the most evident testimony to 
 the development of Shakespeare's mind is afforded by 
 the comparison of " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " 
 with "Twelfth Night," where Julia has flowered into 
 Viola. No two of his plays are more nearly related in 
 apparent contrast ; and the relation is not wholly that of 
 the undeveloped to the mature, but also that between 
 two contending schools of dramatic authorship. 
 
 In almost aU. Shakespeare's works character takes the 
 lead of action : not that the action is not commonly most 
 absorbing, and in its conception and conduct an example 
 of supreme art, but that it seems to exist for the sake of 
 the characters, whUe the characters do not exist for it. 
 The primary purpose of " Macbeth " and " Hamlet," for 
 
 [ xviii J 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 example, is to depict the aspects of human nature revealed 
 in those personages, and the tremendous accompani- 
 ments, natural and supernatural, are but adjxmcts to this 
 design. In " The Two Gentlemen of Verona," on the 
 other hand, Shakespeare does not greatly concern him- 
 self with character painting. He writes such a play as a 
 good Italian dramatist of the age might have written, 
 diversified indeed with strokes of poetry and humour be- 
 yond the reach of any contemporary, but which in the 
 main appeals to the reader or spectator not by its char- 
 acter but by its incidents. The special gift in virtue of 
 which he so infinitely transcends all other dramatists is 
 in abeyance : we admire not so much the insight into 
 human nature as the easy grace by which the personages 
 are so nicely discriminated that they can never be con- 
 fused. Critics have pointed out the delicate antithesis 
 between characters in other respects but faintly individ- 
 ualised by which this object is mainly accompUshed. 
 "Proteus, the fickle," says Professor Dowden, "is set 
 against Valentine the faithful : Silvia, the bright and in- 
 tellectual, against Julia, the ardent and tender ; Launce, 
 the humourist, against Speed, the wit." The personages 
 all belong to the accepted types of the classical drama, 
 but all are Uving men and women, none mere masks as 
 in Plautus and Terence, the models of the contemporary 
 Italian stage. 
 
 The obvious reason of the inferiority of " The Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona " in the pourtrayal of character is 
 the youth of the author. Assuming 1590 as the year of 
 its production, Shakespeare would be twenty-six, in gen- 
 
 [xixj 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 eral the commencement of a period of great development 
 of genius on its intellectual side ; witness Byron, SheUey, 
 Wordsworth, and Coleridge. A few years later he 
 would have handled the subject differently ; in truth, 
 " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " would have become 
 " Twelfth Night." In everything that he did undertake, 
 nevertheless, his mastery is conspicuous. The play 
 which does not attempt character must appeal to action, 
 and here the young author approves himself already a 
 master. The interest created by the &st scene goes on 
 growing to the end. Julia gains upon us continually, 
 and the sympathy thus aroused serves to smooth over 
 the great difficulty inherent in the action, the disposal of 
 Proteus. It is shocking to poetical justice that a double 
 traitor to friend and mistress should make his final exit 
 hand in hand with so charming a creature ; but if the 
 arrangement is essential to the charming creature's hap- 
 piness, what can be said ? We must fortify ourselves by 
 the reflection that " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " is 
 in every respect the comedy of youth. Except the two 
 " heavy fathers " and the sage Panthino, there is not an 
 elderly person among the dramatis personce. The young 
 people have it all their own way, and elope, assume equiv- 
 ocal disguises, carry off other people's daughters, and be- 
 come captains of robbers on short notice with all the ease 
 and carelessness befitting the April of life. Hence, to 
 the apprehension of the more mature, the incidents and 
 sentiments sometimes assume a tinge of unreahty, which 
 they would not have suggested to the youthful author 
 and his youthful dramatis personce. It is significant 
 
 [XX] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 that in 1821 the play was actually converted into an 
 opera ; and, although the suggestion may appear profane, 
 it is the fact that Mr. Gilbert might have tried the same 
 experiment upon "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" 
 with more justification and more success than Dryden in 
 the case of " The Tempest." And this is not on account 
 of any absurdity in the play, but because it is so felici- 
 tous an impersonation of the levity of buoyant, unre- 
 flecting youth. 
 
 The dramatic economy of the piece is as praiseworthy 
 as its power of exciting sympathy. The progress of 
 the action is deUghtfully easy and natural. One scene 
 brings the next inevitably on ; or if any appear at first 
 parenthetical, they are indispensable as reliefs to the 
 more serious action, and assume their proper relation 
 with it upon a survey of the drama as a whole. If there 
 is any fault, it is that perhaps Julia's romantic resolu- 
 tion to seek her lover in male attire is insufficiently 
 motived. It would have been easy to justify it by the 
 introduction of some element of jealousy. Rumours 
 might have been supposed to have reached Julia's ears, or 
 she might have been swayed by the insinuations of a gos- 
 siping friend, or her extravagant estimate of Proteus' per- 
 fection might have suggested to her that her monopoly 
 of such a paragon might be rudely challenged. This 
 might have been expressed in a soliloquy, to avoid the 
 necessity of taking Lucetta entirely into her confidence. 
 We scarcely doubt that at a later period Shakespeare 
 would have devised something of this nature. In the 
 
 [xxi] 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 play as we have it he seems to avoid highly pitched 
 emotion and complication of whatever kind. His pen 
 must have travelled fleetly and lightly over his paper. If 
 this prevents him from manifesting his full power, there 
 is some compensation in the unusual transparency of his 
 language, which would hardly be consistent with a 
 weighty burden of thought or passion. 
 
 One most palpable fault is not a defect of construction, 
 but a vice inherent in the action, an instance, unique 
 in Shakespeare, of untruth to Nature — Valentine's mo- 
 mentary resignation of his mistress to Proteus in the fifth 
 act. The incident is absolutely inconceivable ; its only 
 apology is that Julia's swoon is essential to the denoue- 
 ment, and that Shakespeare apparently could not find, 
 nor have any of his critics since found for him, a more 
 effectual way of bringing it to pass. " Caesar did never 
 wrong, but with just cause." That he was dissatisfied 
 with it may be inferred from the extreme lightness with 
 which it is touched upon ; it is no sooner come than it is 
 gone. Here, at aU events, we may admire his art. Ere 
 the spectator has had time to take in Valentine's ingrati- 
 tude to Silvia, or his cool donation of her to another 
 without her consent, he is absorbed in compassion for 
 JuUa, around whose helpless form all the dramatis per- 
 sonce are immediately grouped. Silvia herself has no 
 time or opportunity to visit Valentine with the weight 
 of her indignation ; and when Julia opens her lips a new 
 situation is unfolded, and the occurrences of the last 
 five minutes belong to ancient history. There can there- 
 
 [ xxii ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 fore be no foundation for the notion that the scene has 
 been mutilated by the actors, and Shakespeare's avoid- 
 ance of the expository discourses from leading characters 
 which some have missed stands to the credit of his con- 
 summate judgment. It may be added that the incident, 
 impossible and offensive as it is, is quite in harmony with 
 the recklessness and inconsequence of youth which has 
 been noted as a leading element in " The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona," and that Shakespeare and his contem- 
 poraries were much more concerned about the effect of 
 their plays upon spectators than with the judgment of 
 readers in the closet, whose very existence they hardly 
 contemplated. Could Shakespeare have foreseen the 
 scrutiny which his works were to receive from the high- 
 est intellects, he might sometimes have written better, 
 but he might perhaps not have written at all. 
 
 " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " is remarkably ex- 
 empt from one class of faults incident to the early works 
 of men of genius. It is exceedingly unpretentious. It 
 reveals none of the vague and magnificent aspirations 
 so frequent and natural with gifted youth. The Hamlet 
 in Shakespeare's soul remains unfolded. He announces 
 no startling doctrines, attacks no estabUshed institutions, 
 affords no hint of any introspective tendency. Like 
 Goethe, who carried a Werther in him as Shakespeare a 
 Hamlet, he begins his career with a light and lively 
 piece, whose serious episodes are only conjured up to be 
 conjured away. The play, besides, has more practical 
 wisdom than might have been looked for in the work of a 
 young inexperienced writer. It is certainly an overstate- 
 
 [ xxiii ] 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 ment when Johnson says, " It abounds in yvcofiai beyond 
 most of his plays," but it would have been no overstate- 
 ment to have said that many of its sentences have 
 become aphorisms. The chief intellectual token of ju- 
 venUity is an occasional tendency to hyperbole and fine 
 writing, as when Valentine says : — 
 
 " Bear my lady's train, lest the bare earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
 And of so great a favour growing proud, 
 Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower 
 And make rude winter everlastingly." 
 
 This matches well with Romeo's 
 
 " Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
 Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
 To twinkle in their spheres till they return." 
 
 But such extravagance is exceptional. As a rule, Shake- 
 speare confines himself closely to the development of his 
 action, and does not seek to adorn it with the flowers of 
 poetry. When, however, a poetical thought springs up 
 under his pen, he does it fuU justice, and even seems to 
 linger lovingly upon it, as in the exquisite verses : — 
 
 " The current that with gentle murmur glides. 
 Thou knowest, being stopped, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But when his fair course is not hindered. 
 He makes sweet music with the enamelled stones, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays 
 With willing sport to the wild ocean." 
 [ xxiv ] 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The last line must have vibrated in Shakespeare's 
 memory virhen he wrote in "Henry V": — 
 
 " Swilled with the wide and wasteful ocean." 
 
 We have spoken of this comedy as essentially the 
 comedy of youth, but it must not be forgotten that it 
 is also a production of the youth of Shakespeare. It 
 shows us in a considerable degree what manner of man 
 he was while passing from adolescence to manhood. It 
 tells us that whatever varieties of company he may have 
 kept, and these were no doubt numerous, he was entirely 
 on a level with the best society, for which it seems to 
 indicate a marked preference. Except the serving folk, 
 all the personages, down to the outlawed robbers, are 
 ladies and gentlemen. Shakespeare evidently feels him- 
 self perfectly at ease in this society, which he could not 
 have depicted without intimacy of knowledge. Where 
 could he have obtained this ? Certainly not at Strat- 
 ford ; nor entirely, we should think, in London, consid- 
 ering the impediments interposed by his profession. We 
 feel well-nigh convinced that he had looked upon a 
 wider world than England could afford ; that the Con- 
 tinent was not unknown to him ; that when he makes 
 Valentine say, 
 
 " Home-keeping youths have ever homely wits," 
 
 he is repeating a lesson of experience. Whither he is most 
 likely to have wandered is a problem for his biographers ; 
 but we feel assured that if he indeed devoted any part 
 of his youth to the lawyer's office, or the schoolmaster's 
 
 [ XXV J 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 desk, such part was little to that spent in contact with 
 the life of courts and camps. 
 
 The only contemporary notice of " The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona" is its appearance upon Meres' list of 
 Shakespeare's plays, which proves that it was written 
 before 1598. It was printed for the first time in the 
 FoUo of 1623 ; the text is very correct. There is no 
 record of any performance of the play in Shakespeare's 
 time. It was revived in 1762 with alterations, and again 
 in 1784, 1790, and 1808. In 1821 it was converted into 
 an opera by the popular dramatist Frederick Reynolds, 
 under the management of Charles Kemble, and notwith- 
 standing some ludicrous miscarriages with the stage ma- 
 chinery, was performed with considerable success. It was 
 one of Phelps' Shakespearian revivals at Sadler's Wells, 
 but has not been seen since. Generally speaking, its 
 popularity as an acting play seems to have been much 
 below its desert, which may perhaps be accoimted for by 
 the difficulty of bringing together four youthftd perform- 
 ers quahfied to represent the four principal characters. 
 
 Richard Garnet^. 
 
 [ xxvi ] 
 
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS ^ 
 
 Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia. 
 T, ' \ the two Gentlemen. 
 
 rHOTEUS, J 
 
 Antonio, Father to Proteus. 
 Thueio, a foolish rival to Valentine. 
 Eglamour, Agent for Silvia in her escape. 
 Host, where Julia lodges. 
 Outlaws, with Valentine. 
 Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. 
 Launce, the like to Proteus. 
 Panthino, Servant to Antonio. 
 
 Julia, beloved of Proteus. 
 Silvia, beloved of Valentine. 
 LucEiTA, waiting-woman to Julia. 
 
 Servants, Musicians 
 
 Scene, Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantva 
 
 ^ The First Folio of l623, where this play was printed for the first time, 
 gave at the end of the piece " The names of all the actors." Later 
 editors have adopted that list with very slight alteration. The old 
 text is divided into both Acts and Scenes. No indication is given 
 of the " Scene " of the action. 
 
ACT FIRST — SCENE 1 — VERONA 
 
 AN OPEN PLACE 
 
 Enter Valentine and Peoteus 
 Valentine 
 
 EASE TO PERSUADE, MY 
 
 loving Proteus : 
 5^^(!s Home-keeping youth have ever 
 ^)^ homely wits. 
 
 7 Were't not affection chains thy 
 tender days 
 
 To the sweet glances of thy 
 honour'd love, 
 
 I rather would entreat thy com- 
 pany 
 
 To see the wonders of the world 
 abroad, 
 
 Than, living dully sluggardized 
 at home. 
 Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 But since thou lovest, love still, and thrive therein, 
 Even as I would, when I to love begin. lo 
 
 Peg. Wilt thou be gone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu 1 
 
 [3] 
 
 8 shapeless] purposeless. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest 
 
 Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel : 
 
 Wish me partaker in thy happiness. 
 
 When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy danger. 
 
 If ever danger do environ thee, 
 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers. 
 
 For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine. 
 
 Val. And on a love-book pray for my success ? 
 
 Pro. Upon some book I love I '11 pray for thee. i 
 
 Val. That 's on some shallow story of deep love : 
 How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. That 's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
 For he was more than over shoes in love. 
 
 Val. 'T is true ; for you are over boots in love. 
 And yet you never swum the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots. 
 
 Val. No, I wiU not, for it boots thee not. 
 
 Pro. What ? 
 
 22 Leander . . . Hellespont] Reference is again made to the stoiy of 
 Leander, in III, i, 119-120, infra. The legend was often treated 
 in Renaissance literature ; but Shakespeare probably knew it best 
 in Marlowe's verse translation of a portion of the Greek poem on 
 the subject by Musaeus. Marlowe's unfinished work was entered 
 on the Stationers' Register 18 September, 1593, but had probably 
 already circulated in manuscript ; it was not published till 1598. 
 Marlowe's translation of Musaeus's " Hero and Leander " was com- 
 pleted by Chapman, and the whole was published in l600. 
 
 27 give me not the boots] A proverbial phrase : "do not make a laughing 
 stock of me." Cf. Cotgrave Fr.-Eng. Did., l6ll: "Bailler foin en 
 come : to give one the boots." The text jestingly suggests that 
 the phrase embodied an allusion to the infliction of torture by the 
 instrument commonly called "the boots." 
 
 [4] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought with 
 groans ; 
 Coy looks with heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's 
 
 mirth so 
 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : 
 If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ; 
 If lost, why then a grievous labour won ; 
 However, but a folly bought with wit, 
 Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 
 
 Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. 
 
 Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear you 'U prove. 
 
 Peo. 'T is love you cavil at : I am not Love. 
 
 Val. Love is your master, for he masters you : 
 And he that is so yoked by a fool, 40 
 
 Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. 
 
 Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 
 
 Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow. 
 Even so by love the young and tender wit 
 Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud. 
 Losing his verdure even in the prime. 
 And aU the fair effects of future hopes. 50 
 
 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee. 
 That art a votary to fond desire ? 
 Once more adieu 1 my father at the road 
 Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
 
 42—44] Cf. Sonnet Ixx: " For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love." 
 
 [5J 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 
 
 Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
 To Milan let me hear fronai thee by letters 
 Of thy success in love, and what news else 
 Betideth here in absence of thy friend ; 
 And I likewise wiU visit thee with mine. eo 
 
 Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! 
 
 Val. As much to you at home ! and so, farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. He after honoiu' hunts, I after love : 
 He leaves his friends to dignify them more ; 
 I leave myself, my friends, and all, for love. 
 Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me. 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
 War with good counsel, set the world at nought ; 
 Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. 
 
 Enter Speed 
 
 Speed. Sir Proteus, save you 1 Saw you my master ? to 
 
 Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan. 
 
 Speed. Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already, 
 And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 
 
 Pro. Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray. 
 An if the shepherd be awhile away. 
 
 71 Milan\ Both Verona and Milan were inland towns, and Verona 
 alone is on a navigable river, Adige. Shakespeare's knowledge of 
 the geography of Northern Italy seems to be at fault in repre- 
 senting the journey between the two places as being made by 
 ship. Milan lies some ninety miles due east of Verona in the 
 most northerly latitude of Italy. 
 
 73 sheep] "Sheep" was pronounced "ship" in Elizabethan English. 
 See L. L. L., II, i, 218. 
 
 [6J 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd, 
 then, and I a sheep ? 
 
 Pro. I do. 
 
 Speed. Why, then, my horns are his horns, whether 
 I wake or sleep. 
 
 Pro. a siUy answer, and fitting well a sheep. 
 
 Speed. This proves me still a sheep. so 
 
 Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 
 
 Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. 
 
 Pro. It shall go hard but I 'U prove it by another. 
 
 Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
 sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my 
 master seeks not me : therefore 1 am no sheep. 
 
 Pro. The sheep for fodder foUow the shepherd ; the 
 shepherd for food follows not the sheep : thou for wages 
 foUowest thy master ; thy master for wages follows not 
 thee : therefore thou art a sheep. 90 
 
 Speed. Such another proof will make me cry " baa." 
 
 Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gavest thou my letter to 
 Julia ? 
 
 Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to 
 her, a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, 
 a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. 
 
 Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such store of 
 muttons. 
 
 Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best 
 stick her. 99 
 
 94 lost mutton . . . laced mutton^ Speed admits himself to be a sheep 
 whose master is lost. " Laced mutton " is a common name for a 
 courtesan wearing a tightly-laced bodice. 
 
 [7J 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 Pro. Nay : in that you are astray, 't were best pound 
 you. 
 
 Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for 
 carrying your letter. 
 
 Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, — a pinfold. 
 
 Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, 
 'T is threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. 
 
 Pro. But what said she ? 
 
 Speed. [First nodding] Ay. 
 
 Pro. Nod — Ay — why, that 's noddy. 
 
 Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and 
 you ask me if she did nod ; and I say, " Ay." no 
 
 Pro. And that set together is noddy. 
 
 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
 together, take it for your pains. 
 
 Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing the letter. 
 
 Speed. WeU, I perceive I must be fain to bear with 
 you. 
 
 Pro. Why, su-, how do you bear with me ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly ; having 
 nothing but the word " noddy " for my pains. 
 
 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 
 
 Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse, lao 
 
 Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: what 
 said she? 
 
 Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the 
 matter may be both at once delivered. 
 
 Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she ? 
 
 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you 'U hardly win her. 
 
 Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her ? 
 
 [8] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her ; 
 no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter : and 
 being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she '11 
 prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Give her no 
 token but stones ; for she 's as hard as steel. 133 
 
 Pro. What said she ? nothing ? 
 
 Speed. No, not so much as " Take this for thy pains." 
 To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned 
 me ; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters 
 yourself : and so, sir, 1 'LI commend you to my master. 
 
 Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, 
 Which cannot perish having thee aboard, 
 Being destined to a drier death on shore. [Exit Speed, uo 
 I must go send some better messenger : 
 I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 
 Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Esnt. 
 
 SCENE II — THE SAME 
 GARDEN OF JULIA'S HOUSE 
 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta 
 
 Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
 Wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love ? 
 
 140 a drier death] A variant of the proverbial expression " He who is 
 born to be hanged will not be drowned." Cf. Tempest, I, i, 
 77-78. 
 
 142 deigri] so. to receive. 
 
 Sc. II] This scene reads like a crude and feeble draft of the effective 
 duologue between Portia and Nerissa : Merck, of Ven., I, ii. 
 
 [9] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheedfiilly. 
 
 Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen 
 That every day with parle encounter me, 
 In thy opinion which is worthiest love ? 
 
 Luc. Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind 
 According to my shallow simple skill. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour ? 
 
 Luc. As of a knight weU-spoken, neat and fine ; lo 
 
 But, were I you, he never should be mine. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ? 
 
 Luc. Well of his wealth ; but of himself, so so. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? 
 
 Luc. Lord, Lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! 
 
 Jul, How now ! what means this passion at his name ? 
 
 Luc. Pardon, dear madam : 't is a passing shame 
 That I, unworthy body as I am. 
 Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 
 
 Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ? 20 
 
 Luc. Then thus, — of many good I think him best. 
 
 Jul. Your reason ? 
 
 Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason ; 
 I think him so, because I think him so. 
 
 Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him ? 
 
 Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. 
 
 Jul. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never moved me. 
 
 9 Sir Eglamour] Often used for a characterless inamorato. There is no 
 reference here to Sir Eglamonr the friend and agent of Silvia. See 
 Act IV, So. iii, seq. 
 
 27 moved me] solicited, approached me. Cf. Rom. and Jul., Ill, iv, 2, 
 ''we have had no time to move our daughter.'' 
 
 [10] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 
 
 Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. 
 
 Luc. Fire that 's closest kept bums most of all. 30 
 
 Jul. They do not love that do not show their love. 
 
 Luc. O, they love least that let men know their love. 
 
 Jul. I would I knew his mind. 
 
 Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 
 
 Jul. " To Julia." — Say, from whom ? 
 
 Luc. That the contents will show. 
 
 Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee ? 
 
 Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from 
 Proteus. 
 He would have given it you ; but I, being in the 
 
 way. 
 Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, I pray. 40 
 
 Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker 1 
 Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? 
 To whisper and conspire against my youth ? 
 Now, trust me, 't is an office of great worth. 
 And you an officer fit for the place. 
 There, take the paper : see it be return'd ; 
 Or else return no more into my sight. 
 
 Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. 
 
 Jul. Will ye be gone ? 
 
 •Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit 
 
 Jul. And yet I would I had o'erlook'd the letter : so 
 It were a shame to call her back again, 
 And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
 What fool is she, that knows I am a maid. 
 And would not force the letter to my view ! 
 
 [11] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 Since maids, in modesty, say " no " to that 
 
 Which they would have the profferer construe " ay." 
 
 Fie, fie, how wayward is this foohsh love, 
 
 That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, 
 
 And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod 1 
 
 How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, eo 
 
 When willingly I would have had her here I 
 
 How angrily I taught my brow to frown. 
 
 When inward joy enforced my heart to smile ! 
 
 My penance is, to call Lucetta back, 
 
 And ask remission for my folly past. 
 
 What, ho ! Lucetta ! 
 
 Re-enter Lucetta 
 
 Luc. What would your ladyship ? 
 
 Jul. Is 't near dinner-time ? 
 
 Luc. I would it were ; 
 
 That you might kill your stomach on your meat. 
 And not upon your maid. 
 
 Jul. What is 't that you took up so gingerly ? to 
 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then ? 
 
 Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing concerning me. 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 
 
 Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns. 
 Unless it have a false interpreter. 
 
 Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. 
 
 Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. so 
 
 [12] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 
 
 Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible. 
 Best sing it to the tune of " Light o' love." 
 
 Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
 
 Jul. Heavy ! belike it hath some burden, then ? 
 
 Luc. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you sing it. 
 
 Jul. And why not you ? 
 
 Luc. I cannot reach so high. 
 
 Jul. Let 's see your song. How now, minion 1 
 
 Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out : 
 And yet methinks I do not like this tune. 90 
 
 Jul. You do not ? 
 
 Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 
 
 Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 
 
 Luc. Nay, now you are too flat. 
 And mar the concord with too harsh a descant : 
 There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. 
 
 Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. 
 
 Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. 
 
 Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
 Here is a coU with protestation ! [Tears the letter. 
 
 Go get you gone, and let the papers lie : 100 
 
 81-82 set . . . by such toys^ A quibble on set, i. e., "set to music," 
 " compose," and set by {a thing), i. e., " make account of (a thing). 
 
 83 " Light o' love "] A popular air again mentioned in Much Ado, III, 
 iv, 38. 
 
 97 bid the base'\ The quibble, which has hitherto played with musical 
 terms, here alludes to the boys' game of " prisoner's base " in 
 which the players bid or challenge one another to exchange bases by 
 running without being caught. Cf. Fenus and Adonis, 303: " To 
 bid the wind a base." 
 
 [13] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 You would be fingering them, to anger me. 
 
 Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be best 
 pleased 
 To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! 
 
 hateful hands, to tear such loving words 1 
 Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey, 
 And kUI the bees, that yield it, with your stings I 
 1 11 kiss each several paper for amends. 
 
 Look, here is writ " kind Julia." Unkind Julia ! 
 
 As in revenge of thy ingratitude, m 
 
 1 throw thy name against the bruising stones. 
 Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
 And here is writ " love- wounded Proteus." 
 Poor wounded name ! my bosom, as a bed, 
 
 Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd ; 
 And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 
 But twice or thrice was " Proteus " written down. 
 Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away. 
 Till I have found each letter in the letter. 
 Except mine own name : that some whirlwind bear 120 
 Unto a ragged, fearful-hanging rock. 
 And throw it thence into the raging sea 1 
 Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, 
 " Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
 To the sweet Juha " : — that I '11 tear away. — 
 And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
 He couples it to his complaining names. 
 Thus will I fold them one upon another : 
 Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 
 
 [14] 
 
SCENE III TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Re-enter Lucetta 
 
 Luc. Madam, iso 
 
 Dinner is ready, and your father stays. 
 
 Jul. Well, let us go. 
 
 Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here ? 
 
 Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 
 
 Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down : 
 Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 
 
 Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see ; 
 I see things too, although you judge I wink. 
 
 Jul. Come, come ; will 't please you go ? [Exewit. i4o 
 
 SCENE III — THE SAME 
 ANTONIO'S HOUSE 
 
 Enter Antonio and Panthino 
 
 Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that 
 Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister ? 
 
 Pan. 'T was of his nephew Proteus, your son. 
 
 Ant. Why, what of him ? 
 
 Pan. He wonder'd that your lordship 
 
 Would suffer him to spend his youth at home. 
 While other men, of slender reputation. 
 Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : 
 Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
 Some to discover islands far away ; 
 
 Some to the studious universities. lo 
 
 [15] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 For any, or for all these exercises, 
 
 He said that Proteus your son was meet ; 
 
 And did request me to importune you 
 
 To let him spend his time no more at home, 
 
 Which would be great impeachment to his age, 
 
 In having known no travel in his youth. 
 
 Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to 
 that 
 Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
 I have consider'd well his loss of time, 
 And how he cannot be a perfect man, so 
 
 Not being tried and tutor'd in the world : 
 Experience is by industry achieved, 
 And perfected by the swift course of time. 
 Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? 
 
 Pan. I think your lordship is not ignorant 
 How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
 Attends the emperor in his royal court. 
 
 Ant. I know it well. 
 
 Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him 
 thither : 
 There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 30 
 
 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, 
 And be in eye of every exercise 
 Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 
 
 27 emperor] The German Emperors of the Holy Roman Empire fre- 
 quently held their court in Milan, where they were crowned with 
 the iron crown of Lombardy. The Duke of Milan was a vassal of 
 the Emperor. 
 
 32 be in eye of] be in sight of, observe. 
 
 [16] 
 
SCENE III TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Ant. I like thy counsel ; well hast thou advised : 
 And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it 
 The execution of it shall make known. 
 Even with the speediest expedition 
 I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 
 
 Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, 
 With other gentlemen of good esteem, 40 
 
 Are journeying to salute the emperor, 
 And to commend their service to his will. 
 
 Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus 
 go: 
 And, in good time 1 now will we break with him. 
 
 Enter Pkotehs 
 
 Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines I sweet life ! 
 Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 
 Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. 
 O, that our fathers would applaud our loves. 
 To seal our happiness with their consents I 
 O heavenly Julia 1 so 
 
 Ant. How now ! what letter are you reading 
 
 there ? 
 Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or 
 two 
 Of commendations sent from Valentine, 
 Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 
 
 Ant. Lend me the letter ; let me see what news. 
 Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he 
 writes 
 How happily he lives, how well beloved, 
 2 [17] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act i 
 
 And daily graced by the emperor ; 
 
 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 
 
 Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish ? eo 
 
 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will. 
 And not depending on his friendly wish. 
 
 Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish. 
 Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
 For what I will, I wlU, and there an end. 
 I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time 
 With Valentinus in the emperor's court : 
 What maintenance he from his friends receives, 
 Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. 
 To-morrow be in readiness to go : to 
 
 Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 
 
 Puo. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : 
 Please you, deliberate a day or two. 
 
 Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee : 
 No more of stay 1 to-morrow thou must go. 
 Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ'd 
 To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Ant. and Pan. 
 
 Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, 
 And drench'd me in the sea, where 1 am drown'd. 
 I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, so 
 
 Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
 And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
 Hath he excepted most against my love. 
 
 6s mil . . . nish'\ In this contrasted use of " will," " wish," which 
 reappears IV, ii, 88-89 infra, mill signifies obstinate resolution, and 
 Tvisk inclination. Wish is in effect the dimiautive of nnll. 
 
 [18] 
 
SCENE III TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 O, how this spring of love resembleth 
 
 The uncertain glory of an April day. 
 Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 
 
 And by and by a cloud takes all away 1 
 
 Re-enter Panthino 
 
 Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : 
 He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. 
 
 Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto, 90 
 
 And yet a thousand times it answers " no." [Exeunt. 
 
 84-87] Sonnet xxxiii Trorks up this image with gorgeous effect. 
 
 [19] 
 
ACT SECOND — SCENE I — MILAN 
 
 THE DUKE'S PALACE 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed 
 Speed 
 
 IR, YOUR GLOVE. 
 
 Val. Not mine ; my gloves 
 are on. 
 
 Speed. Why, then, this may 
 be yours, for this is but one. 
 
 Val. Ha! let me see : ay, give 
 it me, it 's mine : 
 
 Sweet ornament that decks a 
 thing divine 1 
 Ah, Silvia, Silvia ! 
 
 Speed. Madam Silvia! Madam 
 Silvia ! 
 
 Val. How now, sirrah ? 
 Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 
 Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her ? 
 Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 
 Val. Well, you 11 still be too forward. 
 
 10 
 
 2 but one] The quibble is on the common Elizabethan pronunciation of 
 " one " as " on." Cf. L. L. L., IV, ii, 80. 
 
 [20 J 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. 
 
 Val. Go to, sir : tell me, do you know Madam Silvia ? 
 
 Speed. She that your worship loves ? 
 
 Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, by these special marks : first, you 
 have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe your arms, 
 like a male-content ; to relish a love-song, like a robin- 
 redbreast ; to walk alone, like one that had the pesti- 
 lence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his 20 
 ABC; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her 
 grandam ; to fast, like one that takes diet ; to watch, 
 like one that fears robbing ; to speak puling, like a 
 beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you 
 laughed, to crow like a cock ; when you walked, to 
 walk like one of the lions ; when you fasted, it was 
 presently after dinner ; when you looked sadly, it was 
 for want of money : and now you are metamorphosed 
 with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly 
 think you my master. 
 
 Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceived without ye. so 
 
 Val. Without me ? they cannot. 
 
 Speed. Without you ? nay, that 's certain, for, with- 
 out you were so simple, none else would : but you are 
 so without these follies, that these follies are within 
 you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal, 
 
 22 takes diet] follows a curative regimen. 
 
 23 Hallowmas] All Saints' Day, November 1, when beggars were wont 
 
 to pursue their vocation with conspicuous energy. 
 25 the lions] i. e., the lions kept in the Tower of London. 
 
 [21] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 that not an eye that sees you but is a physician to 
 comment on your malady. 
 
 Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ? 
 
 Speed. She that you gaze on so as she sits at 
 supper ? 
 
 Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she, I mean. 
 
 Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 
 
 Vajl. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and 
 yet knowest her not ? 
 
 Speed. Is she not hard-favoured, sir ? 
 
 Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured. 
 
 Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 
 
 Val,. What dost thou knoM' ? 
 
 Speed. That she is not so fair as, of you, well- 
 favoured. 
 
 Val. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
 favour infinite. 
 
 Speed. That 's because the one is painted, and the 
 other out of all count. 
 
 Val. How painted ? and how out of count ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that 
 no man counts of her beauty. 
 
 Val. How esteemest thou me? I account of her 
 beauty. 
 
 Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed. 
 
 Val. How long hath she been deformed ? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; and still 
 I see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 
 
 [22 ] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Val. Why? 
 
 Speed. Because Love is blind. O, that you had 
 mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they were 
 wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going 
 ungartered 1 
 
 Val,. What should I see then ? 
 
 Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing de- 
 formity : for he, being in love, could not see to garter 
 his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on 
 your hose. 
 
 Val. Belike, boy, then, you are in love ; for last morn- to 
 ing you could not see to wipe my shoes. 
 
 Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I thank 
 you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the 
 bolder to chide you for yours. 
 
 Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 
 
 Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would 
 cease. 
 
 Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some Unes 
 to one she loves. 
 
 Speed. And have you ? so 
 
 Val. I have. 
 
 Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? 
 
 Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do for them. 
 Peace ! here she comes. 
 
 Speed. [Aside] O excellent motion ! O exceeding 
 puppet 1 Now wiU he interpret to her. 
 
 85 motion] puppet-show, of which the showman was often called 
 the interpreter (cf. 1. 86). 
 
 [2S ] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 Enter Silvia 
 
 Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-morrows. 
 
 Speed. [Aside] O, give ye good even ! here 's a million 
 of manners. 
 
 SiL. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. 9o 
 
 Speed. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she 
 gives it him. 
 
 Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter 
 Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
 Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, 
 But for my duty to your ladyship. 
 
 SiL. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly 
 done. 
 
 Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
 For, being ignorant to whom it goes, 
 I writ at random, very doubtfully. loo 
 
 SiL. Perchance you think too much of so much pains ? 
 
 Vai,. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write, 
 Please you command, a thousand times as much ; 
 And yet — 
 
 SiL. A pretty period I Well, I guess the sequel ; 
 And yet I will not name it ; — and yet I care not ; — 
 And yet take this again ; — and yet I thank you ; 
 Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
 
 Speed. [Asidel And yet you will ; and yet another 
 
 " yet." 
 
 Val. What means your ladyship ? do you not hke it ? 
 SiL. Yes, yes : the lines are very quaintly writ ; m 
 
 97 servani\ often used for a lover; a rendering of the Italian cavaliere 
 servente. 
 
 [24] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 But since unwillingly, take them again. 
 Nay, take them. 
 
 Val. Madam, they are for you. 
 
 Sll. Ay, ay : you writ them, sir, at my request ; 
 But I will none of them ; they are for you ; 
 I would have had them writ more movingly. 
 
 Val. Please you, 1 11 write your ladyship another. 
 
 SiL. And when it 's writ, for my sake read it over, 
 And if it please you, so ; if not, why, so. 120 
 
 Val. If it please me, madam, what then ? 
 
 SiL. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour : 
 And so, good morrow, servant. lExit. 
 
 Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible. 
 As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple ! 
 My master sues to her ; and she hath taught her 
 
 suitor. 
 He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
 O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better. 
 That my master, being scribe, to himself should write 
 the letter? 
 
 Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with 
 yourself ? isj 
 
 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming : 't is you that have the 
 reason. 
 
 Val. To do what ? 
 
 Speed. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia. 
 
 Val. To whom ? 
 
 Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure. 
 
 Val. What figure? 
 
 Speed. By a letter, I should say. 
 
 [25] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act n 
 
 Val. Why, she hath not writ to me ? i^q 
 
 Speed. What need she, when she hath made you write 
 to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest ? 
 
 Val. No, believe me. 
 
 Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir. But did you 
 perceive her earnest? 
 
 Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 
 
 Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 
 Val. That 's the letter I writ to her friend. 
 
 Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there 
 an end. i^ 
 
 Val. I would it were no worse. 
 
 Speed. I '11 warrant you, 't is as weU : 
 For often have you writ to her ; and she, in modesty, 
 Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; 
 Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind 
 
 discover, 
 Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her 
 lover. 
 
 All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why 
 muse you, sir ? 't is dinner-time. 
 
 Val. I have dined. ii9 
 
 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the chameleon 
 Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished 
 by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not 
 like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. 
 
 ] 57 in print] The four preceding lines are doubtless a quotation, though 
 the source has not been traced. There is a quibble on the collo- 
 quial use of " in print " in the sense of " with exactness, precision." 
 
 163 be moved] have compassion. 
 
 [26] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 SCENE II — VERONA 
 JULIA'S HOUSE 
 
 Enter Proteus and Julia 
 
 Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
 
 Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
 
 Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 
 
 Jul. If you turn not, you wiU return the sooner. 
 Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 
 
 [Gimng a ring. 
 
 Pro. Why, then, we'll make exchange; here, take 
 you this. 
 
 Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
 
 Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
 And when that hour o'erslips me in the day 
 Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, lo 
 
 The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! 
 My father stays my coming ; answer not ; 
 The tide is now : — nay, not thy tide of tears ; 
 That tide wiU stay me longer than I should. 
 Juha, farewell ! {Exit Julia 
 
 What, gone without a word ? 
 Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
 For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. 
 
 7 holy kiss] one of the formal observances of a betrothal. Cf Ttv. 
 Night, V, i, 152. The holy close of lips. 
 
 [27] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 JE}nter Pantino 
 
 Pan, Sir Proteus, yoii are stay'd for. 
 Pro. Go ; I come, I cotne. 20 
 
 Alas I this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. {Exewni. 
 
 SCENE III — THE SAME 
 A STREET 
 
 Enter Launce leading a dog 
 
 Launce. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done 
 weeping ; all the kind of the Launces have this very 
 fault. I have received my proportion, like the pro- 
 digious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the 
 Imperial's cj)urt. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest- 
 natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, my father 
 wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat 
 wringing her hands, and all our house in a great per- 
 plexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one 
 tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no 
 more pity in him than a dog : a Jew would have wept 10 
 to have seen our parting ; why, my grandam, having 
 no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. 
 Nay, I '11 show you the manner of it. This shoe is my 
 father : no, this left shoe is my father : no, no, this left 
 shoe is my mother : nay, that cannot be so neither : yes, 
 it is so, it is so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with 
 
 2 Mnd\ stock, family. 
 
 [28] 
 
SCENE III TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father ; a 
 vengeance on 't I there 't is : now, sir, this staff is my 
 sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small 
 as a wand : this hat is Nan, our maid : I am the dog : 
 no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog, — Oh I the 20 
 dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I 
 to my father ; Father, your blessing : now should not 
 the shoe speak a word for weeping : now should 1 kiss 
 my father ; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my 
 mother: Oh, that she could speak now like a wood 
 woman 1 Well, I kiss her, why, there 't is ; here 's my 
 mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my 
 sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all 
 this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but see 
 how I lay the dust with my tears. 
 
 Enter Panthino 
 
 Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard I thy master is so 
 shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What 's 
 the matter ? why weepest thou, man ? Away, ass 1 you '11 
 lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 
 
 Launce. It is no matter if the tied were lost ; for it is 
 the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 
 
 Pan. What 's the unkindest tide ? 
 
 Launce. Why, he that 's tied here. Crab, my dog. 
 
 25 wood rvoman\ mad, crazy woman ; Theobald's emendation of the 
 
 Folio reading would-woman. 
 
 26 up and down] all over. 
 
 34 tied] The quibble on tide and tied is of common occurrence in Eliza- 
 bethan writers, Cf. Lyly's Endimion, IV, ii, Q-1 2. 
 
 [29] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou 'It lose the flood : and, in 
 losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voy- 
 age, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy 40 
 service, and, in losing thy service, — Why dost thou stop 
 my mouth ? 
 
 Launce. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. 
 
 Pan. Where should I lose my tongue ? 
 
 Launce. In thy tale. 
 
 Pan. In thy tail I 
 
 Launce. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 
 master, and the service, and the tied ! Why, man, if 
 the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears ; 
 if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my 
 sighs. 
 
 Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to call thee, jo 
 
 Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest. 
 
 Pan. Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV — MILAN 
 THE DUKE'S PALACE 
 
 Enter Silvia, Valentine, amd Speed 
 
 SiL. Servant ! 
 
 Val. Mistress? 
 
 Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on yoti. 
 
 "V AX. Ay, boy, it 's for love. 
 
 Speed. Not of you. 
 
 [SO] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Val. Of my mistress, then. 
 
 Speed. 'T were good you knocked him. [Exit. 
 
 SiL. Servant, you are sad. 
 
 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
 
 Thu. Seem you that you are not ? lo 
 
 Val. Haply I do. 
 
 Thu. So do counterfeits. 
 
 Val. So do you. 
 
 Thu. What seem I that I am not ? 
 
 Val. Wise. 
 
 Thu. What instance of the contrary ? 
 
 Val. Your folly. 
 
 Thu. And how quote you my folly ? 
 
 Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 
 
 Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 20 
 
 Val. Well, then, J '11 double your folly. 
 
 Thu. How? 
 
 SiL. What, angry. Sir Thurio ! do you change colour ? 
 
 Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind of chame- 
 leon. 
 
 Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood 
 than live in your air. 
 
 Val. You have said, sir. 
 
 Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir ; you always end ere you begin. 
 
 SiL. A fine voUey of words, gentlemen, and quickly 30 
 shot off. 
 
 18 quote] observe. Cf. Hamlet, II, i, 111-112: "I am sorry that with 
 better heed and judgment I had not quoted him." 
 
 [31] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 Val. 'T is indeed, inadam ; we thank the giver. 
 
 SiL. Who is that, servant ? 
 
 Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire. Sir 
 Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and 
 spends what he borrows kindly in your company. 
 
 Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall 
 make your wit bankrupt. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an exchequer of 
 words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your follow- « 
 ers, for it appears, by their bare liveries, that they live by 
 your bare words. 
 
 SiL. No more, gentlemen, no more : — here comes my 
 father. 
 
 Enter Duke 
 
 Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
 Sir Valentine, your father 's in good health : 
 What say you to a letter from your friends 
 Of much good news ? 
 
 Val. My lord, I will be thankful 
 
 To any happy messenger from thence. 
 
 Duke. Know ye Don Antonio, your countrjmtian ? 40 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
 To be of worth, and worthy estimation. 
 And not without desert so well reputed. 
 
 Duke. Hath he not a son ? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well deserves 
 The honour and regard of such a father. 
 
 Duke. You know him well ? 
 
 Val. I know him as myself ; for from our infancy 
 We have conversed and spent our hours together : 
 
 [32 J 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 And though myself have been an idle truant, eo 
 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time 
 
 To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection. 
 
 Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that 's his name, 
 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
 
 His years but young, but his experience old ; 
 
 His head unmellow'd but his judgement ripe ; 
 
 And, in a word, for far behind his worth 
 
 Comes all the praises that I now bestow, 
 
 He is complete in feature and in mind 
 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good. 
 He is as worthy for an empress' love 
 As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
 Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me. 
 With commendation from great potentates ; 
 And here he means to spend his time awhile : 
 I think 't is no unwelcome news to you. 
 
 Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 
 
 Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. 
 Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio, > i 
 
 For Valentine, I need not cite him to it : 
 I wUl send him hither to you presently. [Exit. 
 
 Val. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship 
 Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
 Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
 
 SiL. Belike that now she hath enfranchised them. 
 Upon some other pawn for fealty. 
 
 Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners 
 still. 
 3 [33] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 SiL. Nay, then, he should be blind ; and, being blind, 
 How could he see his way to seek out you ? 90 
 
 Val. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
 
 Thu. They say that Love hath not an eye at all. 
 
 Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself : 
 Upon a homely object Love can wink. 
 
 SiL. Have done, have done ; here conies the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Enter Peoteus 
 
 Val. Welcome, dear Proteus 1 Mistress, I beseech 
 you. 
 Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 
 
 SiL. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither. 
 If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from, 
 
 Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him 100 
 
 To be my feUow-servant to your ladyship. 
 
 SiL. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 
 
 Pro. Not so, sweet lady : but too mean a servant 
 To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 
 
 Val. Leave off discourse of disability : 
 Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
 
 Pro. My duty will I boast of ; nothing else. 
 
 SiL. And duty never yet did want his meed : 
 Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 
 
 Pro. I 'U die on him that says so but yourself. 110 
 
 SiL. That you are welcome ? 
 
 Pro. That you are worthless. 
 
 no I'll die on hini] I'll challenge him to mortal combat. Cf. Look 
 about ym. (Dodsley's ' Old Plays,' VII, 442). « I 'U die upon the 
 slanderer." 
 
 [84] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Ihter Servant 
 Serv. Madam, my lord your father would speak with 
 
 you. 
 SiL. I wait upon his pleasure. {EoAt Serv.'\ Come, Sir 
 Thurio, 
 Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome : 
 1 'U leave you to confer of home affairs ; 
 When you have done, we look to hear from you. 
 Pro. We 'U both attend upon your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt Silvia and Thurio, 
 
 Val. Now, teU me, how do all from whence you came ? 
 
 Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much 
 commended. 
 
 Val. And how do yours I 
 
 Pro. I left them aU in health. 120 
 
 Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives your love ? 
 
 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ; 
 I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 
 
 Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : 
 I have done penance for contemning Love, 
 Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
 With bitter fasts, with penitential groans. 
 With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs ; 
 For, in revenge of my contempt of love. 
 Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes, 130 
 
 And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. 
 O gentle Proteus, Love 's a mighty lord. 
 And hath so humbled me, as I confess 
 There is no woe to his correction. 
 Nor to his service no such joy on earth. 
 
 [35] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 Now no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep, 
 Upon the very naked name of love. 
 
 Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye. 
 Was this the idol that you worship so ? uu 
 
 Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ? 
 
 Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 
 
 Val. Call her divine. 
 
 Pro. I will not flatter her. 
 
 Val. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 
 
 Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills ; 
 And I must minister the like to you. 
 
 Val. Then speak the truth by her ; if not divine, 
 Yet let her be a principahty. 
 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
 
 Pro. Except my mistress. 
 
 Val. Sweet, except not any ; uo 
 
 Except thou wilt except against my love. 
 
 Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own ? 
 
 Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too : 
 She shall be dignified with this high honour, — 
 To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
 And, of so great a favour growing proud, 
 Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, 
 And make rough winter everlastingly. 
 
 148 a principality] a high order of angels. Cf. Romans, viii, 38, "nor 
 
 angels, nor principalities, nor powers." 
 158 summer-swelling] expanding in summer into full bloom. Cf. 
 
 "aestate tumentes," used of the shore in Lucan's Pharsalia, 
 
 [36] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? leo 
 
 Val. Pardon me, Proteus : all 1 can is nothing 
 To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing ; 
 She is alone. 
 
 Pro. Then let her alone. 
 
 Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine own ; 
 And I as rich in having such a jewel 
 As twenty seas, if aU their sand were pearl, 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
 Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, 
 Because thou see'st me dote upon my love. 
 My foolish rival, that her father likes no 
 
 Only for his possessions are so huge. 
 Is gone with her along ; and I must after. 
 For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 
 
 Pro. But she loves you ? 
 
 Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd: nay, more, our 
 marriage-hour. 
 With all the cunning manner of our flight, 
 Determined of; how I must climb her window ; 
 The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
 Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. 
 Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, iso 
 
 In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 
 
 Pro. Go on before ; I shall inquire you forth 
 I must unto the road, to disembark 
 Some necessaries that I needs must use ; 
 And then I '11 presently attend you. 
 
 and translated by Sir Arthur Gorges (1614, Bk. VIII, p. 354) as 
 " sommer-swelling.'' 
 
 [37] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 Val. Will you make haste ? 
 
 Pro. I will. lEidt Val. 
 
 Even as one heat another heat expels, 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another. 
 So the remembrance of my former love 190 
 
 Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 Is it mine, or Valentine's praise. 
 Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
 That makes me reasonless to reason thus ? 
 She is fair ; and so is Julia, that I love, — 
 That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 
 Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire. 
 Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
 Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold. 
 And that I love him not as I was wont. 200 
 
 O, but I love his lady too too much 1 
 And that 's the reason I love him so little. 
 How shall I dote on her with more advice. 
 That thus without advice begin to love her I 
 'T is but her picture I have yet beheld. 
 And that hath dazzled my reason's Ught ; 
 But when I look on her perfections. 
 There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
 If I can check my erring love, I wiU ; 
 If not, to compass her I '11 use my skill. [Eidt. 210 
 
 192] This is the Folio reading. A word is certainly wanting to com- 
 plete the sense. Theobald read, " Is it mine eye or Valentino's 
 praise." Malone read, " Is it her mien or Valeniinus' praise." 
 Theobald's emendation seems the better. 
 
 [38] 
 
SCENE V TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 SCENE V — THE SAME 
 A STREET 
 
 Enter Speed wnd Launce severally 
 
 Speed. Launce 1 by mine honesty, welcome to Padua 1 
 
 Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for I am 
 not welcome. I reckon this always — that a man is 
 never undone till he be hanged ; nor never welcome to 
 a place tiU some certain shot be paid, and the hostess 
 say " Welcome ! " 
 
 Speed, Come on, you madcap, I '11 to the alehouse 
 with you presently ; where, for one shot of five pence, 
 thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, 
 how did thy master part with Madam Julia ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they lo 
 parted very fairly in jest. 
 
 Speed. But shall she marry him ? 
 
 Launce. No. 
 
 Speed. How, then ? shall he marry her ? 
 
 Launce. No, neither. 
 
 Speed. What, are they broken ? 
 
 Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 
 
 Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter with them ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, thus ; when it stands well with him, 
 it stands well with her. 20 
 
 Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand thee 
 not. 
 
 Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst notl 
 My staff understands me. 
 
 [39] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 Speed. What thou sayest ? 
 
 Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I '11 but 
 lean, and my staiF understands me. 
 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 
 
 Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all 
 one. 
 
 Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match ? 
 
 Launce. Ask my dog : if he say ay, it will ; if he 3o 
 say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail and say nothing, 
 it will. 
 
 Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. 
 
 Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me 
 but by a parable. 
 
 Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
 how sayest thou, that my master is become a notable 
 lover ? 
 
 Launce. I never knew him otherwise. 
 
 Speed. Than how ? 
 
 Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him 
 to be. 
 
 Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me. m 
 
 Launce. Why fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy 
 master. 
 
 Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot 
 lover, 
 
 Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn 
 himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the ale- 
 house ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not 
 worth the name of a Christian. 
 
 Speed. Why ? 
 
 [40] 
 
SCENE VI TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Laxjnce. Because thou hast not so much charity in 
 thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go ? 
 Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 50 
 
 SCENE VI — THE SAME 
 THE DUKE'S PALACE 
 
 Enter Proteus 
 
 Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To wrong my Mend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
 And even that power, which gave me first my oath, 
 Provokes me to this threefold perjury ; 
 Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear. 
 O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd. 
 Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it 1 
 At first I did adore a twinkling star, 
 
 But now I worship a celestial sun. 10 
 
 Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken ; 
 And he wants wit that wants resolved wiU 
 To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. 
 Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad. 
 Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
 
 49 ale] A quibble on two colloquial senses of the word, i. e., " ale- 
 house/' and "festivity." In the latter sense the monosyllable 
 is often treated as a terminative particle, e. g., " Bride-ale " (i. e., 
 wedding-festivity) and " church-a^e," a festivity when money was 
 collected for church purposes. 
 
 [41] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 
 
 I cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 
 
 For there I leave to love where I should love. 
 
 Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 
 
 If I keep them, I needs must lose myself ; 20 
 
 If I lose them, thus find I by their loss 
 
 For Valentine, myself, for Julia, Silvia. 
 
 I to myself am dearer than a friend. 
 
 For love is still most precious in itself ; 
 
 And Silvia — witness Heaven, that made her fair ! — 
 
 Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
 
 I will forget that Julia is alive. 
 
 Remembering that my love to her is dead ; 
 
 And Valentine I '11 hold an enemy, 
 
 Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter fi-iend. 30 
 
 I cannot now prove constant to myself. 
 
 Without some treachery used to Valentine. 
 
 This night he meaneth with a corded ladder 
 
 To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-vdndow ; 
 
 Myself in counsel, his competitor. 
 
 Now presently I '11 give her father notice 
 
 Of their disguising and pretended flight ; 
 
 Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine ; 
 
 For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter ; 
 
 But, Valentine being gone, I '11 quickly cross 40 
 
 By some sly trick blunt Thurio's duU proceeding. 
 
 Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. 
 
 As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift 1 lExit. 
 
 [42] 
 
SCENE VII TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 SCENE VII — VERONA 
 JULIA'S HOUSE 
 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta 
 
 Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist me ; 
 And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee. 
 Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
 Are visibly character'd and engraved. 
 To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean. 
 How, with my honour, I may undertake 
 A journey to my loving Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long ! 
 
 Jul. a true-devoted pilgrim is not weary- 
 To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ; lo 
 Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly. 
 And when the flight is made to one so dear. 
 Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Better forbear till Proteus make return. 
 
 Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's 
 food? 
 Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 
 By longing for that food so long a time. 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words. s. 
 
 Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire. 
 
 4 chardcler'i\ The word is here accented on the second syllable. 
 
 [43] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act ii 
 
 But qualify the fire's extreme rage, 
 
 Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 
 
 Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it 
 burns. 
 The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But when his fair course is not hindered. 
 He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones. 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; so 
 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays. 
 With wining sport, to the wild ocean. 
 Then let me go, and hinder not my course : 
 I 'U be as patient as a gentle stream. 
 And make a pastime of each weary step, 
 TUl the last step have brought me to my love ; 
 And there I 'H rest, as after much turmoU 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 
 
 Luc. But in what habit will you go along ? 
 
 Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 40 
 
 The loose encounters of lascivious men : 
 Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
 As may beseem some well-reputed page. 
 
 Luc. Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair. 
 
 Jul. No, girl ; I '11 knit it up with silken strings 
 With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots. 
 To be fantastic may become a youth 
 Of greater time than I shall show to be. 
 
 Luc. What fashion, madam, shaU I make your 
 breeches ? 
 
 [44] 
 
SCENE VII TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Jul. That fits as well as, " Tell me, good my lord, so 
 What compass will you wear your farthmgale ? " 
 Why even what fashion thou best Ukest, Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, 
 madam. 
 
 Jul. Out, out, Lucetta ! that will be ill-favour'd. 
 
 Luc. A round hose, madam, now 's not worth a pin, 
 Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. 
 
 Jul. Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me have 
 What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. 
 But tell me, wench, how wiU the world repute me 
 For imdertaking so unstaid a journey ? eo 
 
 I fear me, it will make me scandalized. 
 
 Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. 
 
 Jul. Nay, that I wiU not. 
 
 Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
 If Proteus like your journey when you come. 
 No matter who 's displeased when you are gone : 
 I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal. 
 
 Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear : 
 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
 And instances of infinite of love, to 
 
 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
 
 Luc. AU these are servants to deceitful men. 
 
 Jul. Ease men, that use them to so base effect 1 
 But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
 His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
 
 70 instances . . . of love] proofs of love's infinity. 
 
 [45 1 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act n 
 
 His tears pure messengers sent from his heart ; 
 His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. 
 
 Luc. Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him ! 
 
 Jul. Now, as thou Ibvest me, do him not that wrong, so 
 To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
 Only deserve my love by loving him ; 
 And presently go with me to my chamber, 
 To take a note of what I stand in need of. 
 To furnish me upon my longing journey. 
 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose. 
 My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
 Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. 
 Come, answer not, but to it presently I 
 I am impatient of my tarriance. [ExewU. so 
 
 [46] 
 
ACT THIRD — SCENE I — MILAN 
 
 ANTE-ROOM IN THE DUKE'S PALACE 
 _^ Enter Duke, Thurio, and Pkoteus 
 
 Duke 
 
 ^IR THURIO, GIVE US 
 
 leave, I pray awhile ; 
 
 We have some secrets to confer 
 
 about. [Exit Thu. 
 
 Now, tell me, Proteus, what's 
 
 your wiU with me ? 
 
 Pbo. My gracious lord, that 
 
 which I would discover 
 
 The law of friendship bids me to 
 
 conceal ; 
 
 But when I call to mind your 
 
 gracious favours 
 
 Done to me, undeserving as I am. 
 My duty pricks me on to utter that 
 Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
 Know, worthy prince. Sir Valentine, my friend, lo 
 
 This night intends to steal away your daughter : 
 
 1 give us leave] vrithdraw. 
 
 [471 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iii 
 
 Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
 
 I know you have determined to bestow her 
 
 On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; 
 
 And should she thus be stol'n away from you, 
 
 It would be much vexation to your age. 
 
 Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
 
 To cross my friend in his intended drift 
 
 Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
 
 A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, 20 
 
 Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 
 
 Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care ; 
 Which to requite, command me while I live. 
 This love of theirs myself have often seen. 
 Haply when they have judged me fast asleep ; 
 And oftentimes have purposed to forbid 
 Sir Valentine her company and my court : 
 But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err. 
 And so, unworthily disgrace the man, 
 A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, 30 
 
 I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
 That which thyself hast now disclosed to me. 
 And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this. 
 Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower. 
 The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
 And thence she cannot be convey 'd away. 
 
 Peg. Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean 
 How he her chamber-window wiU ascend. 
 And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 40 
 
 For which the youthful lover now is gone, 
 
 [48] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 And this way comes he with it presently ; 
 Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
 But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly 
 That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
 For, love of you, not hate unto my friend. 
 Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
 That I had any light from thee of this. 
 
 Pro. Adieu, ray Lord ; Sir Valentine is coming. lExit. so 
 
 Enter Valentine 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? 
 
 Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
 That stays to bear my letters to my friends. 
 And I am going to dehver them. 
 
 Duke. Be they of much import ? 
 
 Val. The tenour of them doth but signify 
 My health and happy being at your court. 
 
 Duke. Nay then, no matter ; stay with me awhile ; 
 I am to break with thee of some affairs 
 That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. go 
 
 'T is not unknown to thee that I have sought 
 To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. 
 
 Val. I know it well, my Lord ; a,nd, sure, the match 
 Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman 
 Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and quahties 
 Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
 Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him ? 
 
 Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevish, sullen, froward. 
 Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty ; 
 * [49] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act hi 
 
 Neither regarding that she is my child, ro 
 
 Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
 
 And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers. 
 
 Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; 
 
 And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
 
 Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
 
 I now am full resolved to take a wife. 
 
 And turn her out to who wiU take her in : 
 
 Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; 
 
 For me and my possessions she esteems not. 
 
 Val. What would your Grace have me to do in 
 
 this ? 80 
 
 Duke. There is a lady in Verona here 
 Whom I affect ; but she is nice and coy. 
 And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
 Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, — 
 For long agone I have forgot to court ; 
 Besides, the fashion of the time is changed, — 
 How and which way I may bestow myself, 
 To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 
 
 Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words : 
 Dumb jewels often in their sUent kind so 
 
 More than quick words do move a woman's mind. 
 
 Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 
 
 81 in Feronaj This is the reading of the Folio. The present scene 
 passes in Milan. Suggested readings are in Milan, or Milano, and 
 of Verona. Of Verona makes the better sense, while the textual 
 change is very slight. Cf. V, iv, 129, infra. 
 
 89-91] Cf. Marlowe's Hero and Leander, Sestiad II, "a. gift prevails 
 When deep persuading oratory fails." 
 
 [50] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Val. a woman sometime scorns what best contents 
 her. 
 Send her another ; never give her o'er ; 
 For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
 If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you, 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone ; 
 For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
 Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; loo 
 
 For " get you gone," she doth not mean " away ! " 
 Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
 Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. 
 That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man. 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 Duke. But she I mean is promised by her friends 
 Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
 And kept severely from resort of men. 
 That no man hath access by day to her. 
 
 Val. Why, then, I would resort to her by night. no 
 
 Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe. 
 That no man hath recourse to her by night. 
 
 Val. What lets but one may enter at her window ? 
 
 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the groimd. 
 And buUt so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
 Without apparent hazard of his Ufe. 
 
 Val. Why, then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords. 
 To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks. 
 Would serve to scale another Hero's tower. 
 
 1 19 Hero] see note on I, i, 22, supra. 
 
 [61] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act hi 
 
 So bold Leander would adventure it. 120 
 
 Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood. 
 Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 
 
 Val. When would you use it ? pray, sir, teU me that. 
 
 Duke. This very night ; for Love is like a child. 
 That longs for every thing that he can come by. 
 
 Val. By seven o'clock I 'U get you such a ladder. 
 
 Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone : 
 How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? 
 
 Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
 Under a cloak that is of any length. iso 
 
 Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn ? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : 
 
 I 'U get me one of such another length. 
 
 Val. Why, any cloak wiU serve the turn, my lord. 
 
 Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak ? 
 1 pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. 
 What letter is this same ? What 's here ? To " Silvia " I 
 And here an engine fit for my proceeding. 
 I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 
 
 " My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly ; 140 
 
 And slaves they are to me, that send them flying : 
 O, could their master come and go as lightly, 
 
 Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying ! 
 My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ; 
 
 While I, their king, that thither them importune. 
 Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them, 
 
 Because myself do want my servants' fortune : 
 I curse myself, for they are sent by me. 
 That they should harbour where their lord would be." 
 
 [52] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 What 's here ? iso 
 
 " Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee." 
 
 'T is so ; and here 's the ladder for the purpose. 
 Why, Phaethon, — for thou art Merops' son, — 
 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car. 
 And with thy daring foUy burn the world ? 
 Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ? 
 Go, base intruder ! overweening slave I 
 Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
 And think my patience, more than thy desert, 
 Is privilege for thy departure hence : leo 
 
 Thank me for this more than for all the favotirs, 
 Which all too much I have bestow'd on thee. 
 But if thou linger in my territories 
 Longer than swiftest expedition 
 WlQ give thee time to leave our royal court. 
 By heaven 1 my wrath shall far exceed the love 
 I ever bore my daughter or thyself. 
 Be gone ! I will not hear thy vain excuse ; 
 But, as thou lovest thy hfe, make speed from hence. [Exit. 
 Val. And why not death rather than living torment ? no 
 To die is to be banish'd from myself; 
 And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her. 
 Is self from self: a deadly banishment 1 
 
 153 Phaethon] See Ovid's Metamorphoses, II, 31 seq., for the story of 
 Phaethon, and his doubts whether Merops, a mere mortal, were his 
 father. A Uke mention of Phaethon " mistrusting sUly Merops for 
 his sire '' figures in the pre-Shakespearean play of King John, 1591. 
 
 171-173 To die . . . 6arewAmere<] CfiZom.aretZJaZ., Ill, iii, 19-21,40-43. 
 
 [53] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act m 
 
 What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? 
 
 What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
 
 Unless it be to think that she is by. 
 
 And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
 
 Except I be by Silvia in the night. 
 
 There is no music in the nightingale ; 
 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day, igo 
 
 There is no day for me to look upon : 
 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be. 
 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 
 Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive. 
 
 I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
 
 Tarry I here, I but attend on death : 
 
 But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 
 
 Enter Pkoteps and Launce 
 
 Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out, 
 Launce. Soho, soho ! 
 
 Pro. What seest thou ? 190 
 
 Latin CE. Him we go to find : there 's not a hair on 's 
 head but 't is a Valentine. 
 Pro, Valentine? 
 Val. No. 
 
 Pro. Who then ? his spirit ? 
 Val. Neither. 
 Pro. What then ? 
 Val. Nothing. 
 
 182 leave to be] cease to be, die. 
 
 1 89 Soho] the cry raised by hunters of the hare, when the quarry was 
 found. Hence the quibble on hair in line 191. 
 
 [54] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Launce. Can nothing speak ? Master, shall I strike ? 
 
 Peo. Who wouldst thou strike ? . 200 
 
 Launce. Nothing. 
 
 Peg. VillaiQ, forbear. 
 
 Launce. Why, sir, I '11 strike nothing : I pray you, — 
 
 Pro, Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a 
 word. 
 
 Val. My ears are stopt, and cannot hear good news, 
 ^So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
 
 Peo. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine. 
 For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. 
 
 Val. Is Silvia dead ? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. gio 
 
 Val. No Valentrue, indeed, for sacred Silvia. 
 Hath she forsworn me ? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. 
 What is your news ? 
 
 Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are 
 vanished. 
 
 Pro. That thou art banished — O, that 's the 
 news ! — 
 From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. 
 
 Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already. 
 And now excess of it wiU make me surfeit. 220 
 
 Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 
 
 Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom — 
 Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force — 
 A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
 Those at her father's churhsh feet she tender'd ; 
 
 [55] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act m 
 
 With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
 
 Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them 
 
 As if but now they waxed pale for woe : 
 
 But neither bended knees, pure hands held up. 
 
 Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 230 
 
 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 
 
 But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
 
 Besides, her intercession chafed him so. 
 
 When she for thy repeal was suppUant, 
 
 That to close prison he commanded her. 
 
 With many bitter threats of biding there. 
 
 Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou 
 speak'st 
 Have some mahgnant power upon my life : 
 If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear. 
 As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 240 
 
 Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, 
 And study help for that which thou lament'st. 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of aU good. 
 Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; 
 Besides, thy staying wiU abridge thy hfe. 
 Hope is a lover's staff ; walk hence with that. 
 And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; 
 Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 26o 
 
 The time now serves not to expostulate : 
 Come, 1 11 convey thee through the city-gate ; 
 And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
 Of all that may concern thy love-affairs. 
 
 [56] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself. 
 Regard thy danger, and along with me I 
 
 Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy. 
 Bid him make haste, and meet me at the North-gate. 
 
 Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. 
 
 Vai,. O my dear Silvia ! Hapless Valentine ! 260 
 
 [Exeunt Val. and Peo. 
 
 Launce. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I have 
 the wit to think my master is a kind of a loiave : but 
 that's aU one, if he be but one knave. He lives not 
 now that knows me to be in love ; yet I am in love ; 
 but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me ; nor 
 who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what 
 woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk- 
 maid ; yet 't is not a maid, for she hath had gossips ; 
 yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and 
 serves for wages. She hath more quaUties than a 
 water-spaniel, — which is much in a bare Christian. 
 [Pulling out a paper ] Here is the cate-log of her condi- 
 tion. " Imprimis : She can fetch and carry." Why, 
 a horse can do no more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, 
 but only carry ; therefore is she better than a jade. 
 " Item : She can milk ; " look you, a sweet virtue in 
 a maid with clean hands. 
 
 263 one knave^ a single, not a double villain. The poor quibble is often 
 met with. Cf. Richard Edward's Damon and Pythias, 1571 (Dods- 
 ley's " Old Plays " iv, 20) : " You lose money by him if you sell 
 him for one knave ; for he serves for twain." 
 
 268 gossips\ The word means women attending a lying-in as well as 
 sponsors or god-parents. 
 
 [57] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act hi 
 
 Enter Speed 
 
 Speed. How now, Signior Launce I what news with 
 your mastership ? 
 
 Launce. With my master's ship ? why, it is at sea. 
 
 Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word. 
 What news, then, in your paper ? 28o 
 
 Launce. The blackest news that ever thou heardest. 
 
 Speed. Why, man, how black ? 
 
 Launce. Why, as black as ink. 
 
 Speed. Let me read them. 
 
 Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head I thou canst not read. 
 
 Speed. Thou liest ; I can. 
 
 Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this : who begot 
 thee? 
 
 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 
 
 Launce. O illiterate loiterer I it was the son of thy 
 grandmother : this proves that thou canst not read. s9o 
 
 Speed. Come, fool, come ; try me in thy paper. 
 
 Launce. There ; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed 1 
 
 Speed, [reads] " Imprimis : She can milk." 
 
 Launce. Ay, that she can. 
 
 Speed. " Item : She brews good ale." 
 
 Launce. And thereof comes the proverb : " Blessing 
 of your heart, you brew good ale." 
 
 292 St. Nicholas] St. Nicholas was the patron saint of clerks and 
 
 scholars. 
 296 " Blessing of your heart . . . ale "] Ben Jonson makes allusion to 
 
 the same proverb in his Masque of Augurs ; 
 
 " Our ale 's o' the best, 
 And each good guest, 
 Prays for their souls that brew it." 
 [58] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Speed. " Item : She can sew." 
 Launce. That 's as much as to say, Can she so ? 
 Speed. " Item : She can knit." soo 
 
 Launce. What need a man care for a stock with a 
 
 wench, when she can knit him a stock ? 
 Speed. " Item : She can wash and scour." 
 Launce. A special virtue ; for then she need not be 
 
 washed and scoured. 
 Speed. " Item : She can spin." 
 Launce. Then may I set the world on wheels, when 
 
 she can spin for her living. 
 
 Speed. " Item : She hath many nameless virtues." 309 
 Launce. That 's as much as to say, bastard virtues ; 
 
 that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have 
 
 no names. 
 
 Speed. " Here foUow her vices." 
 
 Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
 
 Speed. " Item : She is not to be kissed fasting, in 
 
 respect of her breath." ' 
 
 Launce. Well, that fault may be mended with a 
 
 breakfast. Read on. 
 Speed. " Item : She hath a sweet mouth." 
 Launce. That makes amends for her sour breath. 320 
 Speed. " Item : She doth talk in her sleep." 
 Launce. It 's no matter for that, so she sleep not in 
 
 her talk. 
 Speed. " Item : She is slow in words." 
 Launce. O villain, that set this down among her 
 
 319 a srveel •mouih'\ a sweet tooth. 
 
 [591 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act hi 
 
 vices! To be slow in words is a woman's only vir- 
 tue : I pray thee, out with 't, and place it for her chief 
 virtue. 
 
 Speed. " Item : She is proud." 
 
 Launce. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, 
 and cannot be ta'en from her. 33o 
 
 Speed. " Item : She hath no teeth." 
 
 Launce. I care not for that neither, because I love 
 crusts. 
 
 Speed. " Item : she is curst." 
 
 Launce. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to 
 bite. 
 
 Speed. " Item : She will often praise her Uquor." 
 
 Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will 
 not, I will ; for good things should be praised. 
 
 Speed. " Item : She is too liberal." 339 
 
 Launce, Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ 
 down she is slow of ; of her purse she shall not, for that 
 I '11 keep shut : now, of another thing she may, and that 
 cannot I help. Well, proceed. 
 
 Speed. "Item: She hath more hair than wit, and 
 more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults." 
 
 Launce. Stop there ; I '11 have her : she was mine, and 
 not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse 
 that once more. 
 
 Speed. " Item : She hath more hair than wit," — 349 
 
 Launce. More hair than wit ? It may be; I '11 prove 
 
 344! more hair than mit] An old proverb, implying that abundance of 
 hair denotes scarcity of wisdom. 
 
 [60] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 it. The cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it 
 is more than the salt ; the hair that covers the wit is 
 more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. What 's 
 next? 
 
 Speed. " And more faults than hairs," — 
 
 Launce. That 's monstrous : O, that that were out ! 
 
 Speed. " And more wealth than faults." 
 
 Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. 
 WeU, I '11 have her : and if it be a match, as nothing is 
 impossible, — 
 
 Speed. What then ? seo 
 
 Launce. Why, then will I tell thee — that thy master 
 stays for thee at the North-gate ? 
 
 Speed. For me ? 
 
 Launce. For thee I ay, who art thou ? he hath stayed 
 for a better man than thee. 
 
 Speed. And must I go to him ? 
 
 Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed 
 so long, that going wiU scarce serve the turn. 
 
 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? pox of your 
 love-letters I [Emt. 3to 
 
 Launce. Now wiU he be swinged for reading my 
 letter, — an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself 
 into secrets ! I 'U after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. 
 [Exit. 
 
 351 o/" the salt] i. e., of the salt cellar, which was commonly a large 
 
 ornamental piece of plate set at the head of the dinner-table. 
 357 the faults gracious] the faults acceptable. Cf. M. Wives, III, iv, 
 32-33 : 
 
 " O what a world of vile ill-favoured fcmlts 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year." 
 [61] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act hi 
 
 SCENE II — THE SAME 
 
 THE DUKES PALACE 
 
 Enter Duke and Thurio 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you, 
 Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 
 
 Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me most. 
 Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me. 
 That I am desperate of obtaining her. 
 
 Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
 Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat 
 Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen thoughts. 
 And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. lo 
 
 Enter Proteus 
 
 How now, Sir Proteus ! Is your countryman. 
 According to our proclamation, gone ? 
 
 Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 
 
 Pro. a little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 
 
 Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. 
 Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee — 
 For thou hast shown some sign of good desert — 
 Makes me the better to confer with thee. 
 
 Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace 20 
 
 Let me not live to look upon your Grace. 
 
 Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would eiFect 
 The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. 
 
 [62] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Pro. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
 How she opposes her against my will. 
 
 Peo. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 
 
 Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
 What might we do to make the girl forget 
 The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio ? 30 
 
 Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
 With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent. 
 Three things that women highly hold in hate. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but she 11 think that it is spoke in 
 hate. 
 
 Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
 Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken 
 By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. 
 
 Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. 
 
 Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do : 
 'T is an ill office for a gentleman, 4,0 
 
 Especially against his very friend. 
 
 Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him. 
 Your slander never can endamage him ; 
 Therefore the office is indifferent. 
 Being entreated to it by your friend. 
 
 Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it 
 By aught that I can speak in his dispraise. 
 She shall not long continue love to him. 
 But say this weed her love from Valentine, 
 It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. 50 
 
 Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him. 
 Lest it should ravel and be good to none, 
 
 [63] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act in 
 
 You must provide to bottom it on me ; 
 Which must be done by praising me as much 
 As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. 
 
 Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, 
 Because we know, on Valentine's report, 
 You are already Love's firm votary. 
 And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
 Upon this warrant shall you have access eo 
 
 Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
 For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, 
 And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; 
 Where you may temper her by your persuasion 
 To hate young Valentine and love my friend. 
 
 Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : 
 But you. Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
 You must lay lime to tangle her desires 
 By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
 Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. to 
 
 Duke. Ay, 
 Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. 
 
 Pro. Say that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : 
 Write tin your ink be dry, and vidth your tears 
 Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line 
 That may discover such integrity : 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung vdth poets' sinews ; 
 
 53 bottom it on me] A bottom is a ball of thread round which the 
 skeins are wound. Hence "to bottom it [i. e. her love] on me " 
 means to make me the baU or bottom round which to wind 
 her love. 
 
 [64] 
 
SCENE 11 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
 
 Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans so 
 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
 
 After your dire-lamenting elegies, 
 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 
 
 With some sweet consort ; to their instruments 
 
 Tune a deploring dump : the night's dead silence 
 
 Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance. 
 
 This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 
 
 Duke. This discipHne shows thou hast been in love. 
 
 Thu. And thy advice this night I 'U put in practice. 
 Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, so 
 
 Let us into the city presently 
 To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. 
 I have a sonnet that will serve the turn 
 To give the onset to thy good advice. 
 
 Duke. About it, gentlemen ! 
 
 Pro. We '11 wait upon your Grace tUl after supper, 
 And afterward determine our proceedings. 
 
 Duke. Even now about it 1 I will pardon you. [Exeuni. 
 
 84 cojisort] " concert," a band of musicians. 
 
 [65] 
 
ACT FOURTH — SCENE I — THE 
 FRONTIERS OF MANTUA 
 
 A FOREST 
 
 Enter certain Outlaws 
 
 First Outlaw 
 
 ELLOWS, STAND FAST ; I 
 
 see a passenger. 
 
 Sec. Out. If there be ten, 
 shrink not, but down with 'em. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed 
 
 Third Out. Stand, sir, and 
 throw us that you have about 
 ye: 
 
 If not, we '11 make you sit, and 
 rifle you. 
 
 Speed. Sir, we are undone ; 
 these are the villains 
 That all the travellers do fear so much. 
 Val. My friends, — 
 
 First Out. That 's not so, sir : we are your enemies. 
 Sec. Out. Peace I we 'U hear him. 
 Third Out. Ay, by my beard, will we, for he 's a 
 
 proper man. lo 
 
 [66] 
 
SCENE I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Val. Then know that I have little wealth to lose : 
 A man I am cross'd with adversity ; 
 My riches are these poor habiliments, 
 Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
 You take the sum and substance that I have. 
 
 Sec. Out. Whither travel you ? 
 
 Val. To Verona. 
 
 First Out. Whence came you ? 
 
 Val. From Milan. 
 
 Third Out. Have you long sojourned there ? 20 
 
 Val. Some sixteen months, and longer might have 
 stay'd. 
 If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 
 
 First Out. What, were you banish'd thence ? 
 
 Val. I was. 
 
 Sec. Out. For what offence ? 
 
 Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse : 
 I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
 But yet I slew him manfully in fight, 
 Without false vantage or base treachery. 
 
 First Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. so 
 But were you banish'd for so small a fault ? 
 
 Val. 1 was, and held me glad of such a doom. 
 
 Sec. Out. Have you the tongues ? 
 
 Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy. 
 Or else I often had been miserable. 
 
 Third Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat 
 friar. 
 This fellow were a king for our wild faction ! 
 
 S6 Robin Hood's fat Jriar] Friar Tuck. 
 
 [67] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 FiEST Out. We '11 have him. Sirs, a word. 
 
 Speed. Master, be one of them ; it 's an honourable 
 kind of thievery. 40 
 
 Val. Peace, villain I 
 
 Sec. Out. TeUusthis: have you any thing to take to? 
 
 Val. Nothing but my fortune. 
 
 Third Out. Know, then, that some of us are gentle- 
 men. 
 Such as the fury of ungovem'd youth 
 Thrust from the company of awful men : 
 Myself was from Verona banished 
 For practising to steal away a lady. 
 An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
 
 Sec. Out. And 1 from Mantua, for a gentleman, so 
 Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 
 
 First Out. And I for such like petty crimes as these. 
 But to the purpose, — for we cite our faults. 
 That they may hold excused our lawless lives ; 
 And partly, seeing you are beautified 
 With goodly shape, and by your own report 
 A linguist, and a man of such perfection 
 As we do in our quality much want, — 
 
 Sec. Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, 
 Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : eo 
 
 Are you content to be our general ? 
 
 46 an)fu^ full of awe or respect for authority. Cf Rick. II, III, iii, 
 
 76 : " How dare thy joints forget to pay their atvful duty.'' 
 49 and near] Theobald's brilliant emendation of the old reading and 
 
 Neece. 
 
 [68] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 To make a virtue of necessity, 
 
 And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? 
 
 Third Out. What say'st thou ? wilt thou be of our 
 consort ? 
 Say ay, and be the captain of us all : 
 We '11 do thee homage and be ruled by thee. 
 Love thee as our commander and our king. 
 
 First Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 
 
 Sec. Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have 
 ofFer'd. 
 
 Val. I take your offer, and wiU live with you, to 
 
 Provided that you do no outrages 
 On siUy women or poor passengers. 
 
 Third Out. No, we detest such vile base practices. 
 Come, go with us, we 'U bring thee to our crews. 
 And show thee aU the treasure we have got ; 
 Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II — MILAN 
 
 OUTSIDE THE DUKE'S PALACE, UNDER 
 SILVIA'S CHAMBER 
 
 Enter Peoteus 
 
 Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
 And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
 Under the colour of commending him, 
 I have access my own love to prefer : 
 But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
 
 74 crews'] Collier reads cave, and Singer caves. But Delias' reading, 
 crew, may well be right. 
 
 [69] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
 
 When I protest true loyalty to her, 
 
 She twits me with my falsehood to my friend ; 
 
 When to her beauty I commend my vows, 
 
 She bids me think how I have been forsworn lo 
 
 In breaking faith with Juha whom I loved : 
 
 And notAvithstanding all her sudden quips. 
 
 The least whereof would quell a lover's hope. 
 
 Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, 
 
 The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
 
 But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window. 
 
 And give some evening music to her ear. 
 
 Enter Thueio and Musicians 
 
 Thu. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us ? 
 
 Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for you know that love 
 Win creep in service where it cannot go. . so 
 
 Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 
 
 Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
 
 Thu. Who? Silvia? 
 
 Pro. Ay, Silvia ; for your sake. 
 
 Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen. 
 Let 's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 
 
 Enter, at a distance. Host, cmd Julia m bor/'s clothes 
 Host. Now, my young guest, methinks you 're ally- 
 choUy : I pray you, why is it ? 
 Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 
 
 20 creep in service . . . cannot go] Cf. the Scottish proverb : " Kindness 
 will creep where it cannot gang." 
 
 [70] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Host. Come, we '11 have you merry : I '11 bring you 
 where you shaU hear music, and see the gentleman that 30 
 you ask for. 
 
 Jul. But shall I hear him speak ? 
 
 Host. Ay, that you shall. 
 
 Jul. That will be music. [Mime plat/s. 
 
 Host. Hark, hark ! 
 
 Jul. Is he among these ? 
 
 Host. Ay : but, peace ! let 's hear 'em. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Who is Silvia ? what is she. 
 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she ; 40 
 
 The heaven such grace did lend her. 
 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind as she is fair ? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness. 
 Love doth to her eyes repair, 
 
 To help him of his blindness, 
 And, being help'd, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing. 
 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 She excels each mortal thing SO 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 Host. How now 1 are you sadder than you were 
 before ? How do you, man ? the music hkes you not. 
 
 38-52] No musical setting earlier than that of Richard Leveridge of 
 1727 is extant. Schubert's setting of 1826 is now the best known. 
 There are at least sixteen other nineteenth-century settings. 
 
 [71] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not. 
 
 Host. Why, my pretty youth ? 
 
 Jul. He plays false, father. 
 
 Host. How ? out of tune on the strings ? 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my very 
 heart-strings. so 
 
 Host. You have a quick ear. 
 
 Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf ; it makes me have a 
 slow heart. 
 
 Host. I perceive you delight not in music. 
 
 Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 
 
 Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music 1 
 
 Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. 
 
 Host. You would have them always play but one 
 thing ? 
 
 Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. 
 But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on to 
 
 Often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 
 
 Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, — 
 he loved her out of all nick. 
 
 Jul. Where is Launce ? 
 
 Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which to-morrow, by his 
 master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady. 
 
 Jul. Peace ! stand aside : the company parts. 
 
 Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you : I will so plead, 
 That you shall say my cunning drift excels. 
 
 Thu. Where meet we ? 
 
 Pro. At Saint Gregory's well. 
 
 Thu. Farewell, so 
 
 [Exeunt Thu. and Musicicms. 
 [72] 
 
90 
 
 SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Enter Silvia ahove 
 
 Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 
 
 SiL. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. 
 Who is that that spake ? 
 
 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, 
 You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. 
 
 SiL. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 
 
 Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 
 
 SiL. What 's your will ? 
 
 Pro. That I may compass yours. 
 
 SiL. You have your wish ; my will is even this : 
 That presently you hie you home to bed. 
 Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man ! 
 Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless. 
 To be seduced by thy flattery. 
 That hast deceived so many with thy vows ? 
 Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
 For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear, 
 I am so far from granting thy request. 
 That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ; 
 And by and by intend to chide myself 
 Even for this time 1 spend in talking to thee. loo 
 
 Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
 But she is dead. 
 
 Jul. {Aside\ 'T were false, if I should speak it ; 
 For I am sure she is not buried. 
 
 SiL. Say that she be ; yet Valentine thy friend 
 Survives ; to whom, thyseK art witness, 
 
 88-89 mil . . . wish] See note on I, iii, 63, supra. 
 
 [73] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 I am betroth'd : and art thou not ashamed 
 To wrong him with thy importunacy ? 
 
 Pro. I hkewise hear that Valentine is dead. 
 
 SiL. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave 
 Assure thyself my love is buried. no 
 
 Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 
 
 SiL. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence ; 
 Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. 
 
 Jul. [Aside] He heard not that. 
 
 Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate. 
 Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love. 
 The picture that is hanging in your chamber ; 
 To that I 'U speak, to that 1 'U sigh and weep : 
 For since the substance of your perfect self 
 Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 120 
 
 And to your shadow will I make true love. 
 
 Jul. [Aside] If 't were a substance, you would, sure, 
 deceive it, 
 And make it but a shadow, as I am. 
 
 SiL. I am very loath to be your idol, sir ; 
 But since your falsehood shall become you well 
 To worship shadows and adore false shapes, 
 Send to me in the morning, and I '11 send it : 
 And so, good rest. 
 
 Pro. As wretches have o'emight 
 That wait for execution in the morn. 
 [Exeunt Pro. and SU. severally. 
 
 Ill rake] uncover. 
 
 120 else devoted] dedicated elsewhere, to another. 
 125-126 your falsehood . . . shapes] your deceitful behaviour harmon- 
 
 [74] 
 
SCENE III TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Jul. Host, will you go ? iso 
 
 Host. By my halidom, I was fast asleep, 
 
 Jul. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus ? 
 
 Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 't is 
 almost day. 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
 That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. \Exevnt. 
 
 SCENE III— THE SAME 
 
 Enter Eglamour 
 
 Egl. This is the hour that Madam Silvia 
 Entreated me to call and know her mind : 
 There 's some great matter she Id employ me in. 
 Madam, madam ! 
 
 JEynter Silvia above 
 
 SiL. Who calls ? 
 
 Egl. Your servant and your friend ; 
 
 One that attends your ladyship's command. 
 
 SiL. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow. 
 
 Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself: 
 According to your ladyship's impose, 
 I am thus early come to know what service 
 It is your pleasure to command me in. lo 
 
 SiL. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, — 
 Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not, — 
 Valiant, wise, remorseful, weU accomplish'd : 
 
 ises well with your worship of shadows and your adoration of 
 unrealities. 
 
 [75] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 Thou art not ignorant what dear good will 
 
 I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
 
 Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
 
 Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. 
 
 Thyself hast loved ; and I have heard thee say 
 
 No grief did ever come so near thy heart 
 
 As when thy lady and thy true love died, 20 
 
 Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
 
 Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
 
 To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode ; 
 
 And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
 
 I do desire thy worthy company, 
 
 Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
 
 Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
 
 But think upon my grief, a lady's grief, 
 
 And on the justice of my flying hence. 
 
 To keep me from a most unholy match, 30 
 
 Which heaven and fortune stiU rewards with plagues. 
 
 I do desire thee, even from a heart 
 
 As fuU of sorrows as the sea of sands. 
 
 To bear me company, and go with me : 
 
 If not, to hide what I have said to thee. 
 
 That I may venture to depart alone. 
 
 Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances ; 
 Which since I know they virtuously are placed, 
 I give consent to go along with you ; 
 Recking as little what betideth me 40 
 
 37-38 grievances . . . placed] Your griefs (in love), which since I know 
 they rest on virtuous foundations, i. e., are virtuous. 
 
 [76] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 As much I wish all good befortune you. 
 When will you go ? 
 
 SiL. This evening coming. 
 
 Egl. Where shall I meet you ? 
 
 SiL. At Friar Patrick's cell, 
 
 Where I intend holy confession. 
 
 Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, 
 gentle lady. 
 
 SiL. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE IV— THE SAME 
 
 Enter Launce, with his Dog 
 
 Launce. When a man's servant shall play the cur 
 with him, look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up 
 of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when 
 three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to 
 it ! I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, 
 "thus I would teach a dog." I was sent to deUver him 
 as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master ; and I 
 came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps 
 me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg : O, 't is a 
 foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all com- lo 
 panics ! I would have, as one should say, one that 
 takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a 
 dog at all things. If 1 had not had more wit than he, 
 to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verUy he 
 had been hanged for 't ; sure as I live, he had suiFered 
 for 't : you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the 
 
 [77] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 company of three or four gentlemanlike dogs, under 
 the duke's table : he had not been there — bless the 
 mark 1 — a pissing whUe, but all the chamber smelt him. 
 " Out with the dog ! " says one : " What cur is that ? " 
 says another : " Whip him out," says the third : " Hang 20 
 him up," says the duke. I, having been acquainted 
 with the smeU before, knew it was Crab, and goes me 
 to the fellow that whips the dogs: "Friend," quoth 
 I, " you mean to whip the dog ? " " Ay, marry, do I," 
 quoth he. " You do him the more wrong," quoth I ; 
 " 't was I did the thing you wot of." He makes me no 
 more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How 
 many masters would do this for his servant ? Nay, I 'II 
 be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath 
 stolen, otherwise he had been executed ; I have stood on 
 the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had 30 
 suffered for 't. Thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I 
 remember the trick you served me when I took my 
 leave of Madam Silvia : did not I bid thee still mark 
 me, and do as I do ? when didst thou see me heave up 
 my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's far- 
 thingale ? didst thou ever see me do such a trick ? 
 
 Enter Peoteus and Julia 
 
 Pro. Sebastian is thy name ? — I like thee well. 
 And will employ thee in some service presently. 
 
 23 fellow that whips the dogs] : This was part of the duty of the usher 
 of the table in great households. Cf. Mucedonts, 1598 (Dods- 
 ley's "Old Plays" Vol. VII, p.240), where the function is fully 
 described.. 
 
 [78] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Jul. In what you please : 1 11 do what I can. 
 
 Pro. I hope thou wilt. [To Launce] How now, you 
 
 whoreson peasant I 40 
 
 Where have you been these two days loitering ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog 
 you bade me. 
 
 Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells 
 you currish thanks is good enough for such a present. 
 
 Pro. But she received my dog ? 
 
 Launce. No, indeed, did she not: here have 1 
 brought him back again. 
 
 Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me ? so 
 
 Launce. Ay, sir ; the other squirrel was stolen from 
 me by the hangman boys in the market-place : and then 
 I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of 
 yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 
 
 Pro. Go get thee hence, and find my dog again. 
 Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
 Away, 1 say ! stay'st thou to vex me here ? 
 
 [Exit Launce. 
 A slave, that stiU an end turns me to shame ! 
 Sebastian, 1 have entertained thee, 
 
 Partly that 1 have need of such a youth, eo 
 
 That can with some discretion do my business. 
 For 't is no trusting to yond foolish lout ; 
 But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, 
 
 52 the hangman boys] This is Singer's happy emendation of the Folio 
 reading, " the Hangmans boyes.' " Hangman " is here used 
 adjectively, in the sense of rascally or mischievous. 
 
 [79] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 Which, if my augury deceive me not, 
 Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
 Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
 Go presently, and take this ring with thee, 
 DeUver it to Madam SUvia : 
 She loved me well deliver'd it to me. 
 
 Jul. It seems you loved not her, to leave her token, to 
 She is dead, belike ? 
 
 Pro. Not so ; I think she lives. 
 
 Jul. Alas 1 
 
 Pro. Why dost thou cry, " alas " ? 
 
 Jul. I cannot choose 
 
 But pity her. 
 
 Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ? 
 
 Jul. Because methinks that she loved you as well 
 As you do love your lady Silvia : 
 She dreams on him that has forgot her love ; 
 You dote on her that cares not for your love. 
 T is pity love should be so contrary ; 
 And thinking on it makes me cry, " alas ! " so 
 
 Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
 This letter. That 's her chamber. TeU my lady 
 I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
 Your message done, hie home unto my chamber. 
 Where thou shalt find me, sad and solitary. [Easit. 
 
 Jul. How many women would do such a message ? 
 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
 A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. 
 Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him 
 
 That with his very heart despiseth me ? so 
 
 [80] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 
 
 Because I love him, I must pity him. 
 
 This ring 1 gave him when he parted from me. 
 
 To bind him to remember my good wUl ; 
 
 And now am I, unhappy messenger. 
 
 To plead for that which I would not obtain. 
 
 To carry that which I would have refused. 
 
 To praise his faith which I would have dispraised. 
 
 I am my master's true-confirmed love ; 
 
 But cannot be true servant to my master, loo 
 
 Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
 
 Yet wiU I woo for him, but yet so coldly. 
 
 As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 
 
 Enter Silvia, attended 
 
 Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean 
 To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. 
 
 SiL. What would you with her, if that I be she ? 
 
 Jul,. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
 To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 
 
 SiL. From whom ? 
 
 Jul. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. no 
 
 SiL. O, he sends you for a picture. 
 
 Jul. Ay, madam. 
 
 SiL. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
 Go give your master this : teU him, from me, 
 One Juha, that his changing thoughts forget. 
 Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 
 
 Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. — 
 Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvised 
 6 [81J 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 Deliver'd you a paper that I should not : 
 
 This is the letter to your ladyship, 120 
 
 SiL. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 
 
 Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 
 
 SiL. There, hold I 
 I wiU not look upon your master's lines : 
 I know they are stuffd with protestations. 
 And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break 
 As easily as I do tear his paper. 
 
 Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 
 
 SiL. The more shame for him that he sends it me ; 
 For I have heard him say a thousand times 130 
 
 His Julia gave it him at his departure. 
 Though his false finger have profaned the ring, 
 Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 
 
 Jul. She thanks you. 
 
 SiL. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Jul. 1 thank you, madam, that you tender her. 
 Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 
 
 SiL. Dost thou know her ? 
 
 Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself : 
 To think upon her woes I do protest 140 
 
 That I have wept a hundred several times. 
 
 SiL. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. 
 
 Jul. I think she doth ; and that 's her cause of sorrow. 
 
 SiL. Is she not passing fair ? 
 
 Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is : 
 When she did think my master loved her well. 
 She, in my judgement, was as fair as you ; 
 But since she did neglect her looking-glass, 
 
 [82] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away. 
 
 The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks, iso 
 
 And pinch'd the hly-tincture of her face. 
 
 That now she is become as black as I. 
 
 SiL. How tall was she ? 
 
 Jul. About my stature : for, at Pentecost, 
 When all our pageants of delight were play'd. 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part. 
 And I was trinmi'd in Madam Julia's gown ; 
 Which served me as fit, by all men's judgements. 
 As if the garment had been made for me : 
 Therefore I know she is about my height. leo 
 
 And at that time I made her weep agood. 
 For I did play a lamentable part : 
 Madam, 't was Ariadne passioning 
 For Theseus' peijury and unjust flight ; 
 Which I so lively acted with my tears. 
 That my poor mistress, moved therewithal. 
 Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, 
 If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 
 
 SiL. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. 
 Alas, poor lady, desolate and left ! ito 
 
 1 weep myself to think upon thy words. 
 Here, youth, there is my purse : I give thee this 
 For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lovest her. 
 Farewell. [Exit Silvia, with attendants. 
 
 Jul. And she shall thank you for 't, if e'er you know 
 her. 
 A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful I 
 I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
 
 [83] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act iv 
 
 Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
 
 Alas, how love can trifle with itself ! 
 
 Here is her picture : let me see ; I think, iso 
 
 If 1 had such a tire, this face of mine 
 
 Were fuU as lovely as is this of hers : 
 
 And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 
 
 Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
 
 Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
 
 If that be all the difference in his love, 
 
 I 'U get me such a colour'd periwig. 
 
 Her eyes are grey as glass ; and so are mine : 
 
 Ay, but her forehead 's low, and mine 's as high. 
 
 What should it be that he respects in her, i9o 
 
 But I can make respective in myself. 
 
 If this fond Love were not a bhnded god ? 
 
 Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up. 
 
 For 't is thy rival. O thou senseless form. 
 
 Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, loved, and adored I 
 
 And, were there sense in his idolatry, 
 
 My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
 
 I 'U use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake. 
 
 That used me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 
 
 I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 200 
 
 To make my master out of love with thee ! [Exit. 
 
 200 unseeing eyes] Cf. Mach., Ill, iv, 95 : " Thou hast no speculation in 
 those eyes." 
 
 [84] 
 
Eglamoue, 
 
 ACT FIFTH — SCENE I — MILAN 
 
 AN ABBEY 
 Enter EGLAMOua 
 
 HE SUN BEGINS TO GILD 
 
 the western sky ; 
 And now it is about the very- 
 hour 
 
 That Silvia, at Friar Patrick's 
 cell, should meet me. 
 She wUl not fail, for lovers break 
 not hours, 
 
 Unless it be to come before their 
 time ; 
 
 So much they spur their expedi- 
 tion. 
 See where she comes. 
 
 Enter Silvia 
 
 Lady, a happy evening ! 
 SiL. Amen, amen I Go on, good Eglamour, 
 Out at the postern by the abbey- wall : 
 I fear I am attended by some spies. lo 
 
 [85] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act v 
 
 Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off; 
 If we recover that, we are sure enough. lExewit. 
 
 SCENE II — THE SAME 
 THE DUKE'S PALACE 
 
 Enter Thukio, Peoteus, and Julia 
 
 Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? 
 
 Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was ; 
 And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
 
 Thu. What, that my leg is too long ? 
 
 Pro. No ; that it is too little. 
 
 Thu. I 'U wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder. 
 
 Jul. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd to what it 
 loathes. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my face ? 
 
 Pro. She says it is a fair one. 
 
 Thu. Nay then, the wanton lies ; my face is black. lo 
 
 Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is. 
 Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 
 
 Jul. [Aside] 'T is true, such pearls as put out ladies 
 eyes ; 
 For I had rather wink than look on them. 
 
 Thu. How likes she my discourse ? 
 
 Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 
 
 12 Black men . . eyes] A proverbial phrase. Cf. A black man is a 
 
 jewel in a fair momans eye (Ray's Proverbs). 
 
 13 pearls] A quibble on the word " pearl " in the sense of cataract. 
 
 [86] 
 
SCENE II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and peace ? 
 Jul. [Jside] But better, indeed, when you hold your 
 
 peace. 
 Thu. What says she to my valour ? 
 Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 20 
 
 Jul. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it 
 
 cowardice. 
 Thu. What says she to my birth ? 
 Pro, That you are well derived. 
 Jul. [Aside] True ; from a gentleman to a fool. 
 Thu. Considers she my possessions ? 
 Pro, O, ay ; and pities them. 
 Thu. Wherefore? 
 
 Jul. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them. 
 Pro. That they are out by lease. 
 Jul. Here comes the duke. 30 
 
 Enter Ddke 
 
 Duke. How now. Sir Proteus 1 how now, Thurio 1 
 Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late ? 
 
 Thu. Not I. 
 
 Pro.; Nor I. 
 
 Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 
 
 Pro. Neither. 
 
 DiiKE. Why then, 
 Sh^ s fled unto that peasant Valentine : 
 
 2' doubt] A quibble on the word in the sense of " fear." 
 29 out by lease] Not enjoyed by the owner, but leased out to be en- 
 joyed by another. The insinuation is that the wise man keeps 
 his possessions for his own enjoyment. 
 
 [87] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act v 
 
 And Eglamour is in her company. 
 
 'T is true ; for Friar Laurence met them both, 
 
 As he in penance wander'd through the forest ; 
 
 Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she. 
 
 But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it ; 40 
 
 Besides, she did intend confession 
 
 At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not ; 
 
 These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
 
 Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse. 
 
 But mount you presently, and meet with me 
 
 Upon the rising of the mountain-foot 
 
 That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled : 
 
 Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 
 
 Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl. 
 That flies her fortune when it follows her. 50 
 
 1 11 after, more to be revenged on Eglamour 
 Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love 
 Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love 
 Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III — THE FRONTIERS OF MANTUA 
 THE FOREST 
 
 Enter Outlaws with Silvia 
 
 FiKST Out. Come, come, 
 Be patient ; we must bring you to our captain. 
 
 SiL. A thousand more mischances than this one 
 Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 
 
 [88] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Sec. Out. Come, bring her away. 
 
 First Out. Where is the gentleman that was with 
 her? 
 
 Third Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us. 
 But Moses and Valerius follow him. 
 Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; 
 There is our captain : we '11 follow him that 's fled ; lo 
 
 The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 
 
 First Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's 
 cave : 
 Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, 
 And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
 
 SiL. O Valentine, this I endure for thee ! [Exevnt. 
 
 SCENE IV 
 ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST 
 
 Enter Valentine 
 
 Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
 Here can 1 sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
 Tune my distresses and record my woes. 
 O thou that dost inhabit in my breast. 
 Leave not the mansion so long tenantless. 
 Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, 
 And leave no memory of what it was ! lo 
 
 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
 
 [89] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act v 
 
 Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain 1 
 
 What halloing and what stir is this to-day ? 
 
 These are my mates, that make their wills their law. 
 
 Have some unhappy passenger in chase. 
 
 They love me weU ; yet I have much to do 
 
 To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 
 Withdraw thee, Valentine : who 's this comes here ? 
 
 Enter Proteus, Silvia, emd Jttlia 
 
 Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you. 
 Though you respect not aught your servant doth, 20 
 
 To hazard hfe, and rescue you from him 
 That would have forced your honour and your love ; 
 Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; 
 A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, 
 And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 
 
 Val. lAsidel How like a dream is this I see and hear I 
 Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. 
 
 SiL. O miserable, unhappy that I am ! 
 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; 
 But by my coming I have made you happy. 30 
 
 SiL. By thy approach thou makest me most tmhappy. 
 
 Jul. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your 
 presence. 
 
 SiL. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 I would have been a breakfast to the beast. 
 Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
 O, Heaven be judge how I love Valentine, 
 Whose life 's as tender to me as my soul I 
 And full as much, for more there cannot be, 
 
 [90] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 I do detest false pequred Proteus. 
 
 Therefore be gone ; solicit me no more. 4o 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, 
 Would I not undergo for one calm look ! 
 O, 't is the curse in love, and still approved, 
 WTien women cannot love where they 're beloved ! 
 
 SiL. When Proteus cannot love where he 's beloved. 
 Head over Julia's heart, thy first, best love. 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
 Descended into perjury, to love me. 
 
 Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou 'dst two, so 
 
 And that 's far worse than none ; better have none 
 Than plural faith which is too much by one : 
 Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 
 
 Pro, In love 
 
 Who respects friend ? 
 
 SiL. All men but Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form, 
 I '11 woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, 
 And love you 'gainst the nature of love, — force ye. 
 
 SiL. O heaven 1 
 
 Pro. I '11 force thee yield to my desire. 
 
 Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch, eo 
 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
 
 Pro. Valentine ! 
 
 Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love. 
 
 62 cormrum\ worthless. 
 
 [91] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act v 
 
 For such is a friend now ; treacherous man ! 
 
 Thou hast beguUed my hopes ; nought but mine eye 
 
 Could have persuaded me : now I dare not say 
 
 I have one friend ahve ; thou wouldst disprove me. 
 
 Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand 
 
 Is perjured to the bosom ? Proteus, 
 
 I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 70 
 
 The private wound is deepest : O time most accurst, 
 
 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst ! 
 
 Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me. 
 Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
 Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
 I tender 't here ; I do as truly suffer 
 As e'er I did commit. 
 
 Val. Then I am paid ; 
 
 And once again I do receive thee honest. 
 Who by repentance is not satisfied 
 
 Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased. so 
 
 By penitence the Eternal's wrath 's appeased : 
 And, that my love may appear plain and free. 
 All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 
 
 Jul. O me unhappy ! [Swoons. 
 
 Pro. Look to the boy. 
 
 67 The reading of the Second, Third, and Fourth Folios, The First 
 Folio omits nom. 
 
 71 A twelve-syllabled line, a rare irregularity in Shakespeare's early 
 plays. 
 
 82-83 Critics are unanimous in condemning as the fruit of hasty com- 
 position Valentine's unhesitating surrender of Silvia to Proteus. 
 
 [92] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Val. Why, boy ! why, wag I how now ! what 's the 
 matter ? Look up ; speak. 
 
 Jul. O good sir, my master charged me to deliver a 
 ring to Madam SUvia, which, out of my neglect, was 
 never done. ^ 
 
 Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 
 
 Jul. Here 't is ; this is it. 
 
 Pro. How 1 let me see : 
 Why, this is the ring I gave to JuUa. 
 
 Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook : 
 This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 
 
 Pro. But how camest thou by this ring? At my 
 depart 
 I gave this unto Julia. 
 
 Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
 And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 
 
 Pro. How I JuHa 1 loo 
 
 Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths. 
 And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. 
 How oft hast thou with pequry cleft the root ! 
 O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
 Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me 
 Such an immodest raiment, if shame live 
 In a disguise of love ; 
 It is the lesser blot, modesty finds. 
 Women to change their shapes than men their minds. 
 
 101 that gave aim . . . oaths] the object at which all your oaths were 
 
 aimed. 
 103 cleft the root"] hit the root (of her heart), the centre of the target ; 
 
 an allusion to cleaving the pin in archery. 
 
 [93] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act v 
 
 Pro. Than men their minds ! 't is true. O heaven, 
 
 were man no 
 
 But constant, he were perfect ! That one error 
 Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all the 
 
 sins: 
 Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. 
 What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
 More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye ? 
 
 Val. Come, come, a hand from either : 
 Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
 'T were pity two such friends should be long foes. 
 
 Peg. Bear witness. Heaven, I have my wish for ever. 
 
 Jul. And I mine. 120 
 
 ETiter Outlaws, with Duke and Thubio 
 
 Outlaws. A prize, a prize, a prize 1 
 
 Val. Forbear, forbear, 1 say ! it is my lord the duke. 
 Your Grace is welcome to a man disgraced. 
 Banished Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Thu. Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia 's mine. 
 
 Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death ; 
 Come not within the measure of my wrath ; 
 Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
 Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands : 
 Take but possession of her with a touch : *^ 
 
 I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. 
 
 129 Verona] This is the reading of the old editions. The sense de- 
 mands a change to Milan or Milano. Cf. Ill, 1, 81, supra. The 
 error is probably due to the author's hasty composition. 
 
 [94] 
 
SCENE IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I : 
 I hold him but a fool that will endanger 
 His body for a girl that loves him not : 
 I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 
 
 Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou. 
 To make such means for her as thou hast done, , 
 And leave her on such shght conditions. 
 Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 
 I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 140 
 
 And think thee worthy of an empress' love : 
 Know, then, I here forget all former griefs. 
 Cancel, all grudge, repeal thee home again. 
 Plead a new state in thy unrival'd merit. 
 To which I thus subscribe : Sir Valentine, 
 Thou art a gentleman, and well derived ; 
 Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved her. 
 
 Val. I thank your grace, the gift hath made me 
 happy. 
 I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake. 
 To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. ^^ 
 
 Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be. 
 
 Val,. These banish'd men that I have kept withal 
 Are men endued with worthy qualities : 
 Forgive them what they have committed here. 
 And let them be recall'd from their exile : 
 
 137 To make such means far her] To adopt such unworthy measures to 
 secure her. "One that made means to come by what he had." 
 Cf. Rich. Ill, V, iii, 248. 
 
 144 Plead . . . merit] Declare or decree a new estate or rank for you 
 in view of your unrivalled merit. 
 
 [95] 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA act v 
 
 They are reformed, civil, full of good. 
 And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 
 
 Duke. Thou hast prevail'd ; 1 pardon them and thee ; 
 Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. 
 Come, let us go : we will include all jars leo 
 
 With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 
 
 Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold 
 With our discourse to make your Grace to smUe. 
 What think you of this page, my lord ? 
 
 Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him ; he blushes. 
 
 Val. I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy. 
 
 Duke. What mean you by that saying ? 
 
 Val. Please you, I '11 teU you as we pass along. 
 That you will wonder what hath fortuned. 
 Come, Proteus ; 't is your penance but to hear iro 
 
 The story of your loves discovered : 
 That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ; 
 One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. [Exeunt. 
 
 [96]