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 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
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 MAY 11 
 
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 3 1924 064 950 458 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis 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/cu31924064950458 
 
DEAMATISTS OF THE EESTOEATION. 
 
 D'AVENANT. 
 V 
 
Printed for Subscribers only. 
 
 450 copies Small Paper. 
 150 „ Large Paper. 
 30 „ Whatman's Paper. 
 4 ,, Vellum. 
 
THE DRAMATIC 
 WORKS OF WILLIAM D'AVENANT. 
 
 WITH PREFATORY MEMOIR AND NOTES. 
 
 VOLUME THE FIFTH. 
 
 MDCCCLXXIV. 
 
 EDINBUEGH: WILLIAM PATEESON. 
 LONDON : H. SOTHEEAN & CO. 
 
 OC' 
 
/i J2Srf 
 
 /cornel^ 
 
 UNfVERSilYI 
 *^s,^LIBRARYv' 
 
 X id^rJi 
 
 t_ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TuE Man's the Mastei;, 
 
 The Law against Loveks, 
 
 The Eivals, 
 
 Macbeth, 
 
 The TEiiPEST, 
 
 Addenda et CorauGENDA, 
 
 Page 
 1 
 
 109 
 213 
 ^95 
 395 
 623 
 
THE MAN'S THE MASTER. 
 
 V. 
 
The Man's the Master ; A comedy, written by Sir 
 William VAvenant, Knight. In the Savoy ; Printed for 
 Henry Herringham, at the Blew Anchor, in the Lower 
 Walk of the New Exchange. 1669, 4«o. 
 
 TVie same in the folio edition of Sir William D'Avenanfs 
 works. 1673. 
 
 The Man's the Master ; A Comedy, in Five Acts, as now 
 performed at the Theatre-Royal, Covent Garden; written 
 by Sir William lyAvenant. London : Printed for T. 
 Evans, in the Strand, near York Buildings. 1775. 8vo. 
 
This play was acted in our author's lifetime, with 
 great applause, though not published till after his de- 
 cease. The design and a portion of the language is 
 borrowed (without hope of return, as is usual in such 
 cases) from Scarron's " Jodelet, ou le Maistre Valet," 
 and part from his " L'Heritier ridicule." 
 
 The materiel of which this piece is composed has been 
 variously used by Le Sage, CoUey Gibber, and latterly 
 by O'Keefe in his Castle of Andalusia. 
 
 It was first produced at Lincoln's-Inn-Fields on the 
 26th March 1668, and was the last new play performed 
 there, as well as being the last play Sir William D'avenant 
 ever wrote, "he dying presently after, and was buried in 
 Westminster Abbey, near Mr Chaucer's monument, our 
 whole company attending his funeral. The comedy in 
 general was very well performed, especially the Master 
 by Mr Harris." — Downes. Harris acted Don John, and 
 Underbill Jodelet. The epilogue was sung by Harris 
 and Sandford as two street ballad singers. Greneste 
 remarks — " This is a good comedy by D'avenant. It was 
 revived at Lincoln's-Inn-Fields I5th July 1726, and at 
 Covent Garden 3d November 1775. It is the only one 
 of D'avenant's sixteen plays which has been acted for 
 years." 
 
 " Ibth July 1726. — Not acted twelve years, ' Man's 
 the Master.' Don John by Milward; Loveworth, Chap- 
 man ; Belinda, Mrs Grace from Dublin. Acted four 
 limes." 
 
 On the production of this piece at Covent Garden on 
 3d November 1775, some slight alterations were made, 
 it is believed by Woodward. These appear as footnotes 
 in the present edition. The following version of the song 
 was substituted for that of Don John towards the end of 
 the third act, and was sung by Bettris, Mrs Mattocks. 
 
 The comedy, which was thus cast, was again acted four 
 times : — 
 
 Don John, Mr Lewis ; Jodelet (his servant) Mr Wood- 
 ward ; Don Lewis, Mr Wroughton ; Stephano (his ser- 
 vant), Mr Lee Lewis ; Don Ferdinand, Mr Dunstall . 
 
4 THE man's the master. 
 
 Sancho (his steward), Mr Quick ; Isabella, (daughter to 
 Don Ferdinand), Miss Leeson,* her first appearance 
 there ; Bettris (her woman), Mrs Mattocks ; Lucilla 
 (sister to Don John), Mrs Bulkley. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Bettris. 
 I. 
 
 The bread is bak'd, 
 
 Tlie embers are rak'd, 
 And the lads and the lasses are cooing ; 
 
 Let us laugh and carouse, 
 
 For none in the house 
 Can disturb us in what we are doing. 
 
 Then let us have posset, and posset again, 
 
 And hey for the maids, and ho for the men ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The cloister-bells ring ! 
 
 Sad dirges they sing. 
 Whilst we spend the night in laughter and love ; 
 
 Our time we employ 
 
 In mirth and in joy. 
 Leave discord and care to our betters above. 
 
 Then let us have posset, and posset again, 
 
 And hey for the maids, and ho for the men ! 
 
 Dispatch it away 
 
 Before it be day, 
 'Twill quickly grow early when it is late ; 
 
 A health then to thee. 
 
 To him and to me. 
 And all who love beauty and. business hate. ' 
 
 Then let us have posset, and posset again, 
 
 And hey for the maids, and ho for the men ! 
 
 In connection with one of the earlier performances of 
 " The Man's the Master," Downes has this note : — " Mr 
 
 * Subsequently married to Mr Lewis, who acted her lover in 
 this piece. 
 
THE man's the master. 5 
 
 Cademan in this play, not long after our company began 
 in Dorset Garden, his part being to fight with Mr 
 Harris, was unfortunately, with a sharp foil, pierced 
 near the eye ; which so maim'd both his hand and his 
 speech, that he can make but little use of either ; for 
 which mischance he has received a pension ever since 
 1673, being 35 years ago." Cademan, it is supposed, 
 was also a bookseller. 
 
 Of Harris and Sandford, the original representatives 
 of Don John and Don Lewis, notices will be found in 
 the introduction to " Juliana," in the first volume of 
 Crowne's Works in the present series. Cave Underbill, 
 the original Jodelet, was, according to Colley Gibber's 
 account, " a correct and natural comedian." His pecu- 
 liar excellence was in stiff, heavy, stupid characters, such 
 as Obediah in the " Committee," and 1 .olpoop in " The 
 Squire of Alsatia." In ridiculous parts, Sir Sampson 
 Legend, and Justice Clodpole, in " Epsom Wells," for 
 instance, he met with great favour, and his Gravedigger 
 in " Hamlet " was much applauded. 
 
 Underbill's last performance in London was on 1 2th May 
 1710, when he took a benefit. The play was D'avenant and 
 Dryden's alteration of the Tempest, in which he played 
 Duke Trincalo, his original character. He acted again 
 and for the last time, at Greenwich, on 26th August in the 
 same year, under the management of Pinkethman. The 
 Play was the Rover : " Ned Blunt, by the famous true 
 comedian. Cave Underbill, to oblige Pinkethman's 
 friends ; with an Epilogue by Pinkethman on an ass." 
 
 There is a letter from Leigh to Underbill, and one from 
 Underbill to I^eigh among Tom Brown's Letters from the 
 Dead to the Living. 
 
 Although Cibber and Downes assert that Underbill 
 was a good actor, Anthony Aston, says of him, that he 
 was more admired by the actors than the audience, that 
 his few good parts were : The Gravedigger, in Hamlet ; 
 Sancho Panca, in the 1st part of Don Quixote ; Ned Blunt 
 the Host in the Villain ; and more especially Lolpoop. 
 Aston further observes, " he was six feet high and corpu- 
 lent, his face long and broad, his nose flattish and short, 
 his upper lip thick,his mouth wide, and his chin short, his 
 voice was churlish and his action awkward. He would 
 
6 THE man's the master. 
 
 often leap up -with both legs at a time when he conceived 
 anything waggish ; and afterwards hug himself at the 
 thought. Tho' he was much cried up in his time, yet he 
 W9S so stupid as not to know why." 
 
 Downes in 1708 says : " Sir William D'Avenant, 40 
 years ago, judged Underhill the truest comedian in his 
 company." — Underhill performed Sir Morglay Thwack, 
 and subsequently Cutter in the Wits. 
 
 The folio edition of "The Man's the Master " is a reprint 
 of the 4to. edition, slightly abbre-\-iated. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 1. 
 No country lady ever yet did ask 
 Such shrewd advice before a ball or masque, 
 When curious dressing is the court's great task, 
 
 2. 
 
 As now young poets do, in this nice age, 
 To gain the froward lovers of the stage ; 
 Whose heat of humours nothing can assuage. 
 
 3. 
 
 The Muse, disdain'd, does as fond women do ; 
 Instead of being courted she courts you : 
 But women are less valu'd when they woo. 
 
 4 
 
 And as young poets, like young ladies, fear 
 
 A concourse, great as this assembly here, 
 
 Till they seek counsel how they should appear, 
 
 5. 
 
 So all old poets, like old ladies, may 
 Be more afraid to venture the survey 
 Of many apt to censure their decay. 
 
 6. 
 Both know they have been out of fashion long ; 
 And, ere they come before a shining throng. 
 Would dress themselves by patterns of the young. 
 
 7. 
 Well, our old poet hopes this comedie 
 Will somewhat in the fine new fashion be ; 
 But, if all gay, 'twould not with age agree. 
 
8 THE man's the master. 
 
 8. 
 A little he was fain to moralize 
 That he might serve your minds as well as eyes 
 The proverb says, "Be merry and be wise." 
 
 9. 
 This, gentlemen, is all he bad me say 
 Of his important trifle, call'd a play ; 
 For which, he does confess, you dearly pay. 
 
 10. 
 But he did fear that he could hardly make 
 A prologue so in fashion as might take, 
 For he does much of too much boldness lack. 
 
 11. 
 He never durst, nor ever thought it fit. 
 To censure those who judges are of wit. 
 Now you expect the rhyme will end in pit. 
 
THE PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Don Ferdinand, Father to Isabella. 
 Don John, Suitor to Isabella. 
 Don Lewis, Ms Rival. 
 Sancho, Steward to Don Ferdinand. 
 JoDELET, Servant to Don John. 
 Stephano, Servant to Don Lewis. 
 Isabella, Daughter to Don Ferdinand. 
 Lucilla, Sister to Don John. 
 Bettris, Isabella's maid. 
 Laura, Lucilla's maid. 
 
 The Scene — Madrid. 
 And in one House. 
 
THE MAN'S THE MASTER. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 Enter LuciLLA, and Laura with a dark lanthorn. 
 
 Luc. You have served me but two days, and are 
 you weary already 1 
 
 Lau. Pray add the nights to the days ; for I 
 have not slept since I came into your service. 
 
 Luc. Love has ordain'd us for these journeys ; 
 and will, I hope, bring us at last where we may 
 rest quietly. 
 
 Lau. Yes, to the last inn of all travellers, where 
 we shall meet worms instead of fleas. Lovers never 
 rest quietly till they lodge at the sign of the grave. 
 
 Luc. Prithee be patient, Laura. 
 
 Lau. If I had been waiting-woman to Will of 
 the Wisp, I could not have wander'd with so much 
 uncertainty as when I follow a mistress led about 
 by love. 
 
 Luc. But, Laura, I follow you now. 
 
 Lau. You may with ease enough, when I'm so 
 tir'd that I can go no further. This is the pretty 
 foot belonging to a leg, which, though I say't, 
 was fit to lead a dance in Hymen's hall. 
 
 Luc. And does it limp now, and grow weary of 
 the errands of two days 1 
 
 Lau. You have little reason to blame that leg 
 which has been so nimble in your service ; but the 
 other will follow it no further. Methinks it has 
 got a shackle instead of a garter. [She limps a little. 
 
12 THE man's the master. 
 
 Enter Sancho with a dark lanthorn. 
 
 Luc. Take heed, Laura ! I see light. 
 
 Lau. Why, what would you see— darkness t. Are 
 not your eyes made for the light ? 
 
 Luc. 'Tis a man! he seems to seek somebody 
 with a lanthorn. 
 
 Lau. He seeks me here by appointment. 
 
 Luc. I'll retire to this portico. 
 
 Lau. Do, whilst I accost him. 
 
 Luc. What is he ? 
 
 Lau. 'Tis Sancho, Don Ferdinando's steward ! 
 he was my sworn brother over a posset ; he is, by 
 the length of his beard and the heat of his consti- 
 tution, a very goat. 
 
 Luc. For heaven's sake lose no time ! 
 
 Lau. You need not fear his loss of time ; I use 
 to call him my brother Brevity ; he is so thrifty of 
 his speech, that his tongue does seldom allow his 
 thoughts above two words to express them. 
 
 San. Laura! 
 
 Lau. Are not you my brother Sancho ? 
 
 San. I am. 
 
 Lau. Have you contriv'd a way to conceal my 
 lady in your master's house ? 
 
 San. Yes. 
 
 Lau. Can you admit her now ? 
 
 San. No. 
 
 Lau. May it be to-morrow ■? 
 
 San. It may. 
 
 Lau. I'll attend you in the morning. 
 
 San. Do. 
 
 Lau. Pray name the hour. 
 
 San. Nine. 
 
 Lau. My mistress is very sensible of your care, 
 and would know if I may have leave to give you 
 this gold ■? 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 13 
 
 San. You may. 
 
 Lau. I hope you hate not me, nor the present. 
 
 San. Neither. 
 
 Lau. Are we both acceptable ? 
 
 San. Both. [He looks on the gold. 
 
 Lau. Tis very gold ! and Signior Sancho you 
 shall find me to be as true metal as it. 
 
 San. I'll try. [Offers to kiss her. 
 
 Lau. Not so soon, good Signior Sancho. Bring 
 me to the wedding night, and then try, if, like gold, 
 I can endure the touch. 
 
 San. Humph ! 
 
 Lau. Lovers may pretend to have true metal, 
 but marriage is the touch-stone. 
 
 San. Of fools. [Jside. 
 
 Lau. Hands off, good Signior Sancho. You 
 want sleep. Good night ! Pray let me go ! 
 
 San. Pass! [Exit Sancho. 
 
 Lau. Come, madam, we may hasten home. Nine 
 is the appointed hour when you shall have admit- 
 tance. 
 
 Luc. After I have sought opportunity, I am 
 afraid to find it. 
 
 Lau. Madam, I do not yet understand your in- 
 trigues of love. You are afraid to find the oppor- 
 tunity you seek, and I, poor wretch, seek more 
 opportunities than I fear I shall find. 
 
 Luc. Lord help thee ! thou dost want a great 
 deal of sorrow to make thee a little wise. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Don John and Jodelet. 
 
 JoD. Sir, by your favour, you are either mad, or 
 the devU is malicious to bring you to Madrid, at so 
 unseasonable an hour, after riding post, or rather 
 flying, without meat or drink, as empty as wild 
 hawks, and as uncertain of your quarry. 
 
 D. John. I confess thou may'st be tir'd all over 
 
14 THE man's the master. 
 
 all 'but thy tongue, and that can never be weary. 
 The street where we are now is that which I have 
 sought. 
 
 JOD. What will you do here ? Go, see Don Ferdi- 
 nand when 'tis past midnight ! 
 
 D. John. Yes, and this very night I'll visit 
 Isabella. 
 
 JoD. 'Tis ill to have an empty stomach, but 
 worse to have an empty head. 
 
 D. John. Jodelet ! I know you are hungry, but 
 hunger makes you fitter for watching. I'll not stir 
 out of this street till I see my mistress. 
 
 JoD. Remember 'tis past one, a season when 
 Don Ferdinando's gates are always shut. We have 
 ridden this morning from Burgos. I know no 
 kind of lovers but owls would have chosen the 
 night for a journey. 
 
 D. John. To love nothing but sleep, and eating, 
 is to be a beast in the habit of a serving-man. 
 
 JoD. How I hate raillery ! 
 
 D. John. And I eating and sleep, in comparison 
 of this picture of Isabella. 
 
 JoD. You are one of those who are fiU'd with 
 wild-fire at sight of a cold picture ; and if Master 
 Painter has luckily drawn a snout of ivory and a 
 mouth of coral, which perhaps does inclose an ill 
 tongue and worse teeth ; then he makes you mad 
 of a mistress. Will a picture reveal whether her 
 crooked body be arm'd with a coat of mail, or 
 whether she be some skeleton whose beauties lye 
 at night upon her dressing-cloth? you'll not be 
 much pitied if men find you ill provided of a 
 woman, since you'll be guU'd with one before you 
 have seen her. 
 
 D. John. Thou art as froward at this time o' 
 th' night as a wak'd child. 
 
 JoD. Wou'd any man keep patience about him 
 
THE man's the master. 15 
 
 when he must run in the dark from street to street, 
 and grope out his way Hke a blind man without a 
 dog^ or stand so long under a balcony (lifting 
 himself upon one leg to stare higher about him)* till 
 he shift his feet as often as a stork "i 
 
 D. John. Jodelet ! 
 
 JoD. Don John ! 
 
 D. John. My picture was rarely drawn ; and 
 sure it could not chuse but please my mistress. 
 
 JoD. I know the contrary. 
 
 D. John. What say'st thou 1 
 
 JoD. I tell you it has rather displeas'd her. 
 
 D. John. How the devil can'st thou know that t 
 
 JoD. Alas ! I know it too well. 
 
 D. John. Ha ! teU me how 1 
 
 JoD. Grood sir, have patience ! Instead of your 
 picture, she received mine. 
 
 D. John. Traitor ! 'tis well thou dost not use to 
 speak truth, for else I should search for thy life in 
 the very bottom of thy bowels, t 
 
 JoD. You may, sir, and begin at my throat ; but 
 in piercing my body, I pray spare my doublet, for 
 I made it new at Burgos. 
 
 D. John. Pox of your raillery ! Tell me what 
 thou hast done ? 
 
 JoD. Sir, put your anger up first. 
 
 D. John. I never had so much cause to let it 
 out. But speak ! and let not fear fright truth from 
 thee. 
 
 JoD. Sir, when we left Flanders 
 
 D. John. Well, proceed ! 
 
 JoD. You having your brother kill'd, and a sister 
 carried away by stealth, not knowing where, nor 
 
 / * This sentence in brackets is in the edition of 1775 put in 
 italics, as though it were a stage direction. 
 
 t This altered, in same edition, to "In every atom of thy 
 vile carcase." 
 
16 THE man's the master. 
 
 how, nor wherefore, nor by whom — you rode so 
 fast that you left all your judgement a great way 
 behind you. 
 
 D. John. To what purpose, villain, dost thou 
 open these two wounds? Proceed apace to thy 
 picture. 
 
 JoD. Sir, I go as fast as I can ; but your anger 
 interrupts me so, that I'm fain sometimes to go 
 back to recover my tongue, though I have nothing 
 within me but what is much to the purpose. 
 
 D. John. Why dost thou not render it in few 
 words 1 
 
 JoD. I cannot, sir, for I always speak things 
 in order, but for your picture which I had e'en 
 forgot^ 
 
 D. John. Was ever man so tir'd with the 
 tedious length of nothing 1 
 
 JoD. We were biit newly return'd to Castile 
 when Don Ferdinand de Eochas propos'd his 
 daughter to you in marriage : her picture was 
 made a present to you, and the offer of twenty 
 thousand crowns in portion, and then you, t'enchaut 
 her with your own picture as much as you were 
 charm'd by hers, made haste to send her it : and 
 so, as the proverb says, put an old cat to an old 
 rat. It was a lover's stratagem, and viUanoUsly 
 subtle. But Heav'n, not always a friend to lovers, 
 ordain'd a success in spite of expectation.* 
 
 D. John. Art thou about the history of the 
 world: and wilt thou not finish it till the world 
 ends'! 
 
 JoD. Yes, sir ! but I must refresh my memory, 
 for it is almost weary. 
 
 D. John. I would thy tongue were so too. 
 
 JOD. You remember that your painter, in thank- 
 fulness for the great reward you gave him, would, 
 
 * Infolio— "Contrary to your expectation. " 
 
THE man's the master. 1 7 
 
 after he had drawn your picture, take a little pains 
 about mine. 
 
 D. John. I know that : but proceed ! 
 
 JOD. Then you likewise know it cost me nothing. 
 Well, that Fleming's a brave man. None of your 
 Jan Van Lievens, nor your Elshamers, nor your 
 Brauwers, nor your Joos Van Winghens ever drew 
 like him. Then give him but a rummer, over a 
 pickled herring, and he will drink so kindly, as if 
 he had the heart of a whale. 
 
 D. John. Wilt thou never conclude 1 Hast thou 
 sold, burnt, eat, or drank my picture 1 Have I it 
 yet, or was it sent to Isabella 1 Speak and be quick ! 
 
 JoD. If you have not patience to stay awhile 
 rather than hear ill news, but will needs ride post 
 to overtake the devil, I will leave Flanders and 
 go the nearest way to the purpose. 
 
 D. John. Still wilt thou be tedious 1 
 
 JoD. Nay, sir, since you love unwelcome brevity, 
 know when I was to send away the last packet, I 
 would, being a little curious, compare the work- 
 manship of my picture with yours. I set them 
 opposite to one another, turning my eyes often 
 from this to that, and, being call'd for in haste by 
 the post-boy, I put my little picture in the packet 
 instead of yours. 
 
 D. John. How ? yours instead of mine 1 
 
 JOD. Sir, your picture had the happy laziness to 
 stay here ; but mine was destin'd to ride post with 
 the devil to your mistress. 
 
 D. John. Canst thou live, or I either, after I 
 have heard this 1 
 
 JoD. Good sir, make use of patience as I did. 
 Time, which wears out sorrows as well as joys, has 
 since th'unhappy accident given me a few quiet 
 nights, and I have ceas'd to grieve for fear of being 
 sick. 
 
18 THE man's the master. 
 
 D. John. Dog ! What will she say of thy horn- 
 face, and of thy badger's nose t 
 
 JOD. Alas, Sir ! she will not think you very 
 handsome, I mean in my picture ; but if we were 
 both our own painters we should not want beauty; 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 D. John. Peace ! there comes one who perhaps 
 knows Don Ferdinand's house ; Go, ask him ! 
 
 JoD. But sir 
 
 D. John. Well, speak low ! 
 
 JOD. Perhaps he'll expect a reward if he tells us. 
 In Madrid you must hold out your money if you 
 do but ask what's a clock. 
 
 D. John. Unlucky rogue, would he would 
 cudgel thee. 
 
 JoD. He has not leisure to do it ; he seems in 
 haste. 
 
 Steph. Who goes there ? 
 
 JoD. Not to displease you, sir, where dwells 
 Don Ferdinand 1 
 
 Steph. This is his house. 
 
 JoD. Are we in the right already 1 For this bout 
 my master has reason, the father-in-law is found ; 
 and the son-in-law-elect has nothing to do but to 
 knock. 
 
 Steph. I begin to find myself a fool for having 
 shew'd them where my master is secretly entered, 
 and whence I expect he'll presently come forth. I 
 must find some expedient. 
 
 JoD. Does he dwell here 1 
 
 Steph. Yes, but he is sick, and does not love 
 noise. What are you 1 
 
 JOD. We, sir, are night-walkers ; or rather men 
 of Norway, a northern-country where he is curs'd 
 who does not sleep continually. For my part I 
 
THE man's the master. 19 
 
 never sleep. And that's my master, sir, the greatest 
 waker in the world. 
 
 Steph. Or rather the greatest robber. He shall 
 give me satisfaction for what he lately took from 
 me ; I know him well enough, and you were with 
 him. 
 
 JOD. You are very choleric, and I think some- 
 what mad. If I were so too, you would have little 
 safety but in flying. Sir, as sober as I am, I can 
 scarce keep my hand from my hilt. {To Don John.) 
 Sir ! Sir ! advance a little ! I begin to grow soft, and, 
 were it not dark, I should appear somewhat pale too. 
 
 D. John {to Steph.) Approach, Sir ! Come on 
 towards me. I'll make you civil ! 
 
 Steph. How, Don of the dark, are you so brisk 
 but I shall take the pains to drive you a mile hence : 
 for though you are two — would I were rid of 
 'em — , if you dare follow me as fast as I'll lead the 
 way, ye shall come to a better place for fighting. 
 
 D. John. Say you so. Sir ? I'll follow you ! Stay ! 
 I hear a noise. It seems to be above us. 
 
 JoD. Pox on this choleric cur ! if his barking 
 had not frighted me, I had, perhaps, without any 
 danger, broke his very bones. But whence the devil 
 comes that other devil ? 
 
 \p. Lewis descends from the balcony. 
 
 T>. Lewis. Stephano ! 
 
 JoD. They are going. 
 
 D. John. Sure that's his man whom he calls : he 
 who gets way before us. 
 
 D. Lewis. Either I am much cousen'd, or I am 
 watch'd. But the noise of a quarrel will fright 
 Isabella. In care of her I must neglect my honour. 
 Let's steal away, since it must be so ! 
 
 [Exeunt Don Lewis, Stephano. 
 
 D. John (to Jod.) Stay, or thou art dead ! Stay 
 but one thrust ! 
 
20 THE man's the master. 
 
 Job. My master has mettle, but I'm no touch- 
 stone to try it on. 
 
 D. John. Give me thy name, or I'll take thy life ! 
 
 Job. I am Don Jodelet of Segovia. 
 
 D. John. Three curses on thee, and a thousand 
 on him that leapt from the balcoiiy. What's 
 become of him 1 
 
 JoD. He flew through the dark like lightning, 
 and I, like a furious fool, followed him like thunder, 
 till the invisible rogue threaded a lane as narrow 
 as a needle's eye. Well I I'm the Hercules whom 
 you always expose against two. You are a little 
 prompt, but by your leave. Master, is it the custom 
 of Madrid to scape thus out of a window 1 
 
 D. John. Did'st thou perfectly discern him ? 
 
 Job. Yes ! , 
 
 D. John. I am amaz'd ! 
 
 JoD. And I, if it were possible, am quite con- 
 founded ! 
 
 D. John. I must not here take up a quarrel at 
 the first bound. 
 
 JoD. Methinks your mind is a little troubled. 
 
 D. John. It is ! and I have much cause, but 
 let's consult upon't. 
 
 JoD. That's well said ; I never found my self so 
 much inclin'd to reasoning, and, if you please, let's 
 consult soundly. 
 
 D. John. I was born at Burgos ; left poor. But 
 of a long* race exempted, even as far as my self, 
 from all disgraces. 
 
 JoD. Very well ! 
 
 D. John. At my return from the war to Burgos, 
 I found my self attacqu'd with two different evils : 
 I had a brother murder'd, and was rob'd of a 
 sister ; though she was bred with all the cares of 
 
 * In foho— "Noble." 
 
THE man's the master. 21 
 
 honour. And this makes me exceeding choleric. 
 
 JOD. That's ill ! very ill ! exceeding ill ! 
 
 D. John. Don Ferdinand chose me for a husband 
 to Isabella ; and she has receiv'd thy picture instead 
 of mine. 
 
 JoD. That's not very ill ! 
 
 D. John. We treated of this business in secret ; 
 and I took horse for Madrid, where I now arrive 
 late at night. 
 
 JoD. That's a little ill ! 
 
 D. John. Without seeking out a lodging my 
 love leads me directly hither. 
 
 JoD. That's a little too soon ! 
 
 D. John. I met before Don Ferdinand's house 
 a serving-man who thrusts me, by design, upon an 
 Almain quarrel. 
 
 JoD. That's very true ! But somewhat unwillingly, 
 like a coward as he is. 
 
 D. John. Perhaps 'twas for fear of scandal ; for 
 he did not approach us like a coward. 
 
 JoD. How did the unlucky thief come then 1 
 
 D. John. He came on like the lover of Isabella. 
 
 JOD. That's very ill ! 
 
 D. John. 'Tis that which will wound my head 
 more than his sword. 
 
 JoD. Let's fall to to reasoning again. 
 
 D. John. Ah ! no more reasoning, when reason 
 grows superfluous. But, prithee, mark the counsel 
 which love suggests to me. My hope lies in thee. 
 To-morrow, my dear Jodelet, thou must pass for 
 my master, and I for thy man. Thy picture is to 
 work miracles. Wbat ail'st thou ? Dost thou shake 
 thy ears ? 
 
 JoD. These kind of disguises smell too much of 
 the cudgel. I'ld rather proceed to reasoning again. 
 For what will the world say ? Don John is grown 
 the man, and Jodelet the master, and by ill fortune 
 
22 THE man's the master. 
 
 too ; for perhaps, at last, your mistress may love 
 me, and I her. 
 
 D. John. Fear not that ; for then the mischief 
 will be mine : but I, being Jodelet, may get ac- 
 quainted with my rival's man. I'll be a lover from 
 the kitchen to the garret ; and my presents shall 
 open the locks of every bosom : whilst thou shalt 
 shine in gold chains like the king of Peru, without 
 having any share of my sorrows. 
 
 Joi). I begin to like the invention. 
 
 D. John. Thou shalt be feasted and cramm'd at 
 Don Ferdinand's, whilst I am chok'd with my 
 jealousies. 
 
 JOD. But may I not, to represent Don John the 
 better, give your shoulders now and then a taste 
 of the cudgel 1 
 
 D. John. Yes, when we are all alone, without 
 witnesses. 
 
 JoD. Well ! Vermechulli shall my palate please, 
 Serv'd in with bisques, ragouts, and entermets. 
 Wait close upon Don Jodelet thy master ; 
 And thou mayst be my carver, or my taster, 
 If thou dost fetch me girls, and watch, and trudge 
 
 well, 
 Thou shalt have food, if not, thou shalt have cudgel. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Act II. Scene I. 
 Enter Isabella, Bettris. 
 
 ISAB. Bettris, make up your packet,* without 
 thinking to reconcile me by long tattle. I'll have no 
 more of you. 
 
 Bet. Truly, Mistress, I'm ignorant of the cause 
 of your anger. 
 
 * "Pack."— In folio. 
 
THE man's the mastee. 23 
 
 TsAB. You know it not 1 
 
 Bet. If I do, may I never be haunted again by 
 men of honour. 
 
 ISAB. 'Tis no matter ! I dismiss you. 
 
 Bert. Well, my conscience is clear. But if I 
 have ever failed to serve you, may I burst like a 
 boil'd pudding for want of pricking. But let 
 flatterers go fine while truth must be shut out o' 
 doors and walk naked. 
 
 ISAB. Yes, Dame Bettris, you are innocent 1 you 
 have not opened my balcony to-night, nor have 
 walkt bare-footed to make less noise ? 
 
 Bet. Alas ! is that it 1 I left your lac'd linen dry- 
 ing on a line, and went into the garden for fear 
 some body should steal it. 
 
 IsAB. Yes, and you discourst with my linen : my 
 ears deceiv'd me, I did not hear you talk 1 
 
 Bet. Perhaps I was at prayers. 
 
 ISAB. What, so loud 1 
 
 Bet. Yes, that Heav'n might hear me. 
 
 IsAB. And 'twas no man, but my linen, that 
 leapt down from my balcony. 
 
 Bet. Pray do not believe it. 
 
 ISAB. I saw it, Bettris ! 
 
 Bet. Ah, my dear mistress, it is true. But Don 
 Lewis 
 
 ISAB. Heaven ! how that name hurts me ] 
 Was it Don Lewis 1 
 
 Bet. Yes, madam, your fair cousin. 
 
 ISAB. My fair cousin ! Thou black wretch ! for 
 what design had he admittance i 
 
 Bet. If 'tis a great sin to be charitable you have 
 cause to be angry. But if you will but hear me 
 speak 
 
 ISAB. You may speak long enough before I be- 
 lieve you. 
 
 Bet. 'Twas last night when that delicate Don 
 
24 THE man's the master. 
 
 Lewis came to see you, and because it rain'd I let 
 him into the hall ; and much against my will, for 
 I am tender of scandal : but the poor man, being 
 impatient, went up, and presently after I heard 
 your father Don Ferdinand spit aloud, for he always 
 coughs when he spits, and will be heard far enough. 
 I'll warrant him as sound as any man of Madrid. 
 
 IsAB. "Well, proceed to the ill purpose ! 
 
 Bet. At this noise Don Lewis sav'd himself in 
 your balcony, which he found half open, and I lockt 
 him in till you arrived with the old man; with 
 whom you discourst too long, and made Don Lewis 
 impatient again. 
 
 IsAB. Troth we were very uncivil to him. 
 
 Bet. I stay'd till you were a-bed ; and then, 
 being in my nature always inclin'd to charitable 
 deeds, I went to free him from his imprisonment. 
 
 IsAB. Good heart ! 
 
 Bet. He said he must needs speak with you one 
 moment, but, I warrant you, I was sharp enough, 
 and told him plainly that your curtains were 
 drawn. 
 
 IsAB. That was severe indeed ! 
 
 Bet. I saw tears fall from his eyes, and at the 
 same time felt a few pistoles drop into my hand. 
 He conjur'd me with such sweet words ; calling me, 
 my heart, my dear Bettris, and then put on my 
 finger a diamond-ring j which did so vex me, that 
 I was ready to fly in's face. 
 
 IsAB. That had been too cruel ! 
 
 Bet. Nay, not but that his suffrings wrought me 
 again into pity ; for truly I cannot hate the man. 
 But in your int'rest I know no body. 
 
 ISAB. I thank you, good Mistress Bettris ! 
 
 Bet. But when he saw I was so much in earnest, 
 that my face was all fire 
 
 ISAB. He saw the flushing of your anger though 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 25 
 
 it were dark ; but indeed all kind of fire is most 
 visible at night. 
 
 Bet. He leapt from the balcony into the street ; 
 where I heard them cry, kill ! kill ! and this is the 
 notable cause of your putting me away. 
 
 IsAB. Well, you'll forgive me, if 1 must needs be 
 to blame. 
 
 Bet. I built my happiness upon your marriage. 
 But if my zeal to serve you were known to Don 
 John, who they say is come to town, I should hope 
 for as ill success as I have now. 
 
 IsAB. How 1 Don John, too 1 the man I fear 
 and most abhor. After my rage against Don Lewis 
 do you think to assuage me with the mention of 
 Don John 1 Fare you well, maid of honour ! let me 
 see you no more. 
 
 Bet. Let the devil take Don Lewis who is the 
 cause of this. [Exit Isabella. 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand at the other door. 
 
 Ferd. What's the matter Bettris ? are you weep- 
 ing ■! 
 
 Bet. Your daughter, Sir, has dismist me from 
 her service ; and for nothing. Sir, but for wishing 
 her favourable opinion of Don John, because he 
 deserves it, and you desire it. 
 
 D. Ferd. That's a small cause for your dismis- 
 sion ; but I'll endeavour to reconcile you. Bid 
 your mistress come hither. [Exit Bettris.] They 
 have often little quarrels ; sometimes for a curl 
 disordered, or a black patch mis-placed ; and more 
 often they differ in expounding of dreams ; but this 
 is no time for expulsion of servants. If Don John 
 D' Alverad come, who is expected to-night, I'll 
 throw away my staff, which is my third leg, and 
 with my other two lead 'em a dance. 
 
THE man's the master. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 IsAB. Sir, you are perhaps contriving my mar- 
 riage with Don John ; but I hope you'll ordain me 
 a death less cruel. 
 
 D. Fred. Minion! you are for some unexperienc'd 
 gallant that never travell'd but Northward, and 
 that was to observe the variety of flaxen hair, and 
 to bring home periwigs for presents at Court; who 
 spends the morning in tiring good men with the 
 repetition of ill verses, and in the afternoon lies 
 stretched out at length in his open gilt coach, like 
 the image of laziness drawn in triumph through 
 
 the city The baggage laughs when I would have 
 
 her weep. 
 
 ISAB. Sir, you have reason to be angry, but 
 I've as much cause to laugh when I behold this 
 picture of a suitor so deform'd that he seems 
 ridiculous. 
 
 D. Ferd. You judge of a man by his picture ; 
 let me see it ! — Ho-n^ the devil have I baited my 
 hook at court, that I have been six months a fishing 
 for this cods-head 1 Yet many have told me that 
 Don John d'Alverad was a person highly esteem'd. 
 
 IsAB. If he had been tolerably handsome, your 
 command might be obey'd. 
 
 D. Ferd. Well, however, you shall promise me 
 to use him civilly, and then I'll find a remedy for 
 your grief. 
 
 Enler LuciLLA, veil'd. 
 
 But here comes a lady that will not shew her self 
 I wonder who let her in, and would not first ask, 
 whether we would be visible? Madam, without 
 seeing your face, or enquiring your name, you may 
 freely command me ! 
 
 Luc. Don Ferdinand, I expect no less from your 
 civil reputation. I come to you for refuge, and 
 
THE man's the master. 27 
 
 beseech you without any witness I may tell you 
 my misfortunes. 
 
 Feed. You may. Daughter retire ! [Exit Isabella. 
 
 Luc. I would I could so express my griefs that 
 you might find some excuse for my fauits. But if 
 you could number my tears perhaps you would 
 confess that my eyes have been sufficiently punislit 
 by my crimes. 
 
 Feed. This stranger has no ill behaviour. 
 
 Luc. Sir ! let me embrace your knees, and not 
 rise from mine till I obtain that succour which I 
 hope you will afford me. 
 
 Ferd. This style is somewhat romantic. My 
 foolish daughter never read romances, but, for my 
 part, I esteem Amadis and all such ancient and 
 discreet records of love and honour. Madam, you 
 seem not a person to whom a gentleman should 
 refuse any thing. 
 
 Luc. Sir ! I must then give you the trouble of 
 knowing my race, and of hearing my misfortunes. 
 My race you will easily know, for my dead father 
 often told me that he had made a friendship with 
 you at Rome, and that you are a person both 
 obliging and brave. 
 
 Ferd. I owe him much for that character, and 
 shall be ready to pay the debt to you. 
 
 Luc. Sir ! Burgos is the town where I receiv'd 
 my first being, and unfortunately the flames of 
 love. My mother died at my birth, and my father 
 deceas'd soon after, when he perceiv'd the misfor- 
 tune of my love. His name was Diego d'Alverad. 
 He bred me with great care and bounty, and he 
 had much hope of my infancy ; but alas ! it was a 
 false hope. My two brothers were no less oherisht 
 by him, and I as much by them ; with whom I 
 happily liv'd. But oh, how love did change my 
 destiny ! 
 
28 THE man's the master. 
 
 Ferd. a thousand curses take that devil love ! 
 it embroils us all. 
 
 Luc. A stranger who came to see the triumphs 
 at Burgos did in those tournaments appear to have 
 no equal. We first saw one another in an assembly; 
 I was courted by him, and did endure his courtship, 
 or rather I was charm'd by him. He pretended to 
 love me, and I lov'd him ; but now, Sir, let my tears 
 speak for me. 
 
 Ferd. Sure all lovers were born in April : they 
 never mention sun-shine without a shower after it. 
 This may teach me to marry my daughter to some 
 gentleman whom she does not love. But, madam, 
 pray proceed ! 
 
 Luc. The rest is fatal, sir, and full of shame ! 
 Alas my fault depriv'd me of a brother, and my 
 afflicted father soon died after him. My passion 
 had so overmaster'd my reason, that I still ador'd 
 my unfaithful lover, whose return to Burgos I did 
 two years vainly expect, and at last found that I 
 was cruelly forsaken : and then I forsook my 
 kindred, and, cursing fatal love, am hither guided 
 by madness to seek that false man whom more than 
 justly I ought to hate. 
 
 Ferd. Is not this sufficient to teach parents to 
 marry their daughters without any least mention 
 of love ? Madam, how the devil could you be 
 cousen'd with love ? 
 
 Luc. Alas, sir ! he told me he would be faithful. 
 But women shou'd never believe that beauty can 
 sufficiently oblige the hearts of men, especially if 
 men be so handsome as to prevail on women. 
 
 Ferd. I am glad Don John's picture renders 
 him ugly. 
 
 Luc. Oh Don Ferdinand ! I am a fearful 
 example for having too much believ'd a cruel tiger, 
 who triumphs over me, disguising his name as 
 
THE man's the master. 29 
 
 falsely as his faith : a name which no man seems 
 to know, yet I am certain he lurks hereabouts. 
 To you I address my self as my last remedy, and I 
 demand your aid to find him out ! I know the 
 quality you bear about this place may apprehend 
 him, and force him to do me reason. 
 
 Feed. I shall be one of Cupid's baylies, and 
 watch to arrest a man for debts of love. 
 
 Luc. I'll not alledge my father nor his memory, 
 but by your own glory will conjure you, and not 
 oblige you by any phrase of flattery. 
 
 Ferd. Madam, to be short, I. am your humble 
 servant ; and such 1 have been ever to your father, 
 who did me the honour to call me brother. Dispose 
 of all my power ! My daughter shall endeavour to 
 assuage your griefs. 
 
 Enter Bettris. 
 
 Bet. Your nephew, sir, desires your ear for 
 something of importance. 
 
 Ferd. [To Ludlla.^ Madam, my return shall be 
 sudden ! Bettris lead her to my apartment, and 
 admit my nephew presently. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucilla, Bettris. 
 
 The chance is odd that this lady proves the sister 
 of my elected son-in-law. I must present her to 
 him if he will see her. My nephew and I will 
 join our powers to seek her lover, and to do her 
 justice. 
 
 Enter Don Lewis. 
 
 dear Don Lewis, my brave nephew, what 
 brings you hither? How may I serve you? 
 
 D. Lewis. Sir, a friend of mine has lately adver- 
 tis'd me of a quarrel coming towards me, and I am 
 come for your advice, who are a perfect judge of 
 combats of honour. 
 
30 THE man's the master. 
 
 Ferd. If you can employ no other whom you 
 love more than me, nor that loves you more than 
 I do, I'm at your service. What is that paper in 
 your hand 1 
 
 D. Lewis. I'll read it to you. 
 
 Ferd. Do ! for I have lost my spectacles. 
 
 D. Lewis (reads) : — " The younger brother of 
 him whom you killed upon some love accompts, 
 departs from this place to-day to go where you are. 
 I know not perfectly the occasion, but am certain 
 that to give you notice of it is not ill done by your 
 servant, Don Pedro Ossorio." 
 
 Ferd. Where did you encounter him who is slain 1 
 
 D. Lewis. In Burgos ! 
 
 Ferd. Was he a cavalier 1 
 
 D. Lewis. Yes ! and my great friend. 
 
 Ferd. In single combat 1 
 
 D. Lewis. No, by mistake, in the darkness of 
 the night. 
 
 Ferd. TeU me the manner of it. 
 
 D. Lewis. Y'ou remember the triumplis at 
 Burgos for the first Infante. A friend of mine in- 
 vited me thither to shew me the common valour of 
 our nation in the Juego de Toros. The night 
 after the triumph he led me to see the ladies at a 
 ball, where I was conquer'd by a beauty, and she 
 by me ; but this great happiness soon turn'd into 
 a great misfortune. 
 
 Ferd. Well, sir, proceed ! 
 
 D. Lewis. I was allow'd the honour the next 
 day to give her a visit, lov'd her sincerely, and be- 
 ing one night together I heard an attempt to break 
 open the door. I saw her tremble and drew my 
 sword for her safety. She took the candle and 
 blew it out. The door was open'd, and I was at- 
 tacqu'd, and in the encounter, not having the use 
 of my eyes, there fell at my feet one mortally 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 31 
 
 wounded ; the darkness made my escape easy. 
 But in the morning I was overwhelm'd with grief, 
 being inform'd that the person slain was brother to 
 my mistress, and the same intimate friend, who 
 invited me to Burgos. 
 
 Ferd. These are the effects of love ! and yet my 
 foolish daughter will needs be in love before she 
 marry. 
 
 D. Lewis. My escape from Burgos was easy, 
 because I was not known in public. You see the 
 intelligence which is given me, and of what use 
 your counsel may be in the affair. A gentleman 
 is in search of me, who is led hither by revenge. 
 It were loss of honour to avoid him, and it were 
 cruelty to kill him. But somebody knocks at your 
 gate. [Knocking within. 
 
 Ferd. And rudely too. Who dares be thus in- 
 solent 1 
 
 Enter Betteis. 
 
 Bet. 0, sir ! give me a hundred crowns for my 
 good news. 
 
 Ferd. Pray stay tiU they are told out, and give 
 me the news first. 
 
 Bet. Where is my mistress ? Her suitor is be- 
 low all over powder'd and perfum'd. He seems a 
 merry and innocent man, for he laughs at every- 
 thing as if he had no more cares than a capuchin. 
 
 Lewis. Sir ! it seems you have a design to marry 
 my cousin, and secretly. 
 
 Ferd. Yes! 
 
 D. Lewis (aside). How am I wounded with this 
 news ! 
 
 Ferd. Bid my daughter come down. Make 
 haste ! 
 
 Bet. You need not doubt my speed when I'm 
 to bring lovers together. , 
 
32 THE man's the master. 
 
 D. Lewis. How shall I bear this persecution 1 
 Feed, (aside). I shall have use of all my under- 
 standing to get clear from the perplexity of my 
 divided int'rest. My nephew has kill'd the brother 
 of him who is to marry my daughter. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Lewis. I shall grow mad ! 
 Ferd. Come, Isabella ! we must prepare to meet 
 your suitor. 
 
 IsAB. Or rather to meet death. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Sancho, Jodelet, in Don John's haUt ; 
 Don John in Jodelet's haUt. 
 
 D. John. I told you my master's name. 
 
 Sanch. You did ! 
 
 D. John. And does your master know that he 
 is here 1 
 
 Sanch. He doth ! 
 
 D. John. Sure Don Ferdinand's detain'd by 
 some important business ? 
 
 Sanch. He is ! 
 
 D. John. I hope when J;hat's dispatcht, Don 
 John shall have the honour to kiss his hands. 
 
 Sanch. He shall ! 
 
 D. John. This laconic fool makes brevity ridic- 
 ulous. 
 
 JoD. An ass for brevity's sake should have cropt 
 ears and a bob'd tail. 
 
 D. John. My master is arriv'd upon design of 
 alliance with yours, and I hope we, who are their 
 servants, may beco^me akin to one another by 
 friendship. 
 
 Sanch. 'Tis fit ! 
 
 D. John. Your hand 
 
 Sanch. Take it ! 
 
 D. John. Your name ? 
 
 Sanch. Sancho! 
 
THE man's the master. 33 
 
 D. John. 'Tis well ! 
 
 Sanch. Your name ? 
 
 D. John. Jodelet ! 
 
 Sanch. Good! [They embrace. 
 
 JOD. Friend you are a man of brevity. I would 
 your master were so too. Shall I not see him ? 
 
 Sanch. You shall ! 
 
 JoD. But, by your favour, in what quantity of 
 time ? 
 
 Sanch. A trice. 
 
 JoD. I'm satisfied. But have not yet satisfied 
 you for your diligence : I'm sorry 'tis the fashion 
 for gallants to carry no money about 'em. 
 
 \Feels in his pockets and finds no moneij. 
 
 Sanch. That's ill ! 
 
 JoD. But my trunks are coming. 
 
 Sanch. That's good ! 
 
 JoD. If my sumpter proves lame I shall borrow 
 of your master rather than be in debt to his man. 
 
 D. John. He means to represent me first by 
 shewing his bounty. 
 
 JoD. I grow impatient, and must be diverted. 
 Friend, what is there here to see ? 
 
 Sanch. The house! 
 
 JOD. I use to spend my time in things of more 
 importance. Jodelet ! 
 
 D. John. Sir I 
 
 JoD. Enquire if his master be learned. 
 
 Sanch. He's so so. 
 
 JoD. Let's visit his library ! Yet, now I think 
 on't, I have had my head twice crackt with reaching 
 down great books from high shelves. Well, 'tis 
 strange how, since my childhood, I ever lov'd huge 
 great books, and could read in 'em as easily as if 
 they were but little. 
 
 D. John. This is to shew he is a man of learning. 
 
 JoD. Next to great books I love intoUerable long , 
 V. c 
 
34 THE man's the master. 
 
 letters in short hand. If I had one here, you should 
 see me begin at "Loving kind Friend," and m a 
 moment end at, "Yours as his own." 
 
 D. John. This shews him a man of business and 
 of dispatch too. 
 
 JoD. This, I take it, is your anti-chamber. The 
 floor is smooth, but somewhat bare : my rooms at 
 home are all matted. 
 
 D. John. How like a dull rogue he boasts of 
 his rich furniture. 
 
 Sanch. We use no mats. 
 
 JoD. Why, friend 1 
 
 Sanch. For fear 
 
 JoD. Of what ] 
 
 Sanch. Of fleas. 
 
 JOD. Alas, poor poor things ! they do no harm. 
 We never use to kill 'em. 
 
 D. John. Now he shews himself a man of mercy. 
 
 Sanch. In this country ■ 
 
 JoD. Well, speak your mind. 
 
 Sanch. Fleas use 
 
 JoD. What? 
 
 Sanch. To bite. 
 
 JoD. We have abundance of 'em, but not a man 
 of mine does ever feel 'em. 
 
 Sanch. That's strange ! 
 
 JoD. My family feeds well,* and then they sleep 
 so soundly that puneses cannot wake 'em. Lord, 
 how I love to hear my servants snore after dinner. 
 
 D. John. Now he shews his hospitality. 
 
 Sanch. [To D. John]. We shall all grow fat when 
 your master keeps house here. Yet you, methinks, 
 are somewhat lean. 
 
 D. John. I thought this fellow's tongue had 
 been wound up like a clock to regular stops, but 
 
 * Altered in edition of 1775 to " No ; the scoundrels feed 
 ■well." 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 35 
 
 now it struck above twelve words. Sir, I may trust 
 you, who are hereafter to be my faithful friend. 
 The chief reason why I am not fat is, most especially, 
 because I am in love with three of our neighbours' 
 maids. 
 
 Sanch. Three? 
 
 D. John. I confess I am unfortunate in it. 
 
 Sanch. You are ! 
 
 D. John. My grandmother was a poetess, and a 
 great observer of love, and was wont to put her 
 thoughts into verse, which were very pithy. 
 
 Sanch. And short? 
 
 D. John. She wrote according to her own size, 
 for she was a very short woman. Shall I repeat 1 
 
 Sanch. Pronounce! 
 
 D. John. A ruddy sanguine man 
 Grows quickly pale and wan, 
 And is by love undone, 
 Even when he loves but one. 
 But I am much mistaken 
 If two will not make. 
 As lean as a rake, 
 A lover fat as bacon. 
 
 Enter Don Feed., Don Lewis, Isabel, Bettris. 
 
 D. Ferd. Don John ! first for your father's sake, 
 then for your own, I must embrace; nay, let me bind 
 you close to my heart. 
 
 JoD. Sir, you may clasp me as hard as you please, 
 for I'll assure you I am very sound both spring and 
 fall. 
 
 D. Ferd. (Aside). Sound ? that's an odd assur- 
 ance from a son-in-law. Sir, you are welcome ! 
 
 JoD. I knew that before, sir ; which may give 
 you a small taste of my understanding. Pray speak 
 only things that are necessary ; for I love few 
 words. 
 
36 THE man's the mastek. 
 
 D. Feed. This son-in-law will prove wise. 
 
 [Isabella draws Jodelefs picture, and loohs 
 on it aside. 
 
 IsAB. The painter has done him no wrong. 
 
 D. John. {Aside). Her beauty exceeds all that 
 any pencil can describe. 
 
 [Don John looks on Isabella's picture aside. 
 
 JOD. My father-in-law looks as gravely as an 
 owl at noon percht over a church porch. 
 
 D. Ferd. I fear my son-in-law is not very elo- 
 quent ; he speaks in private between the teeth. 
 
 IsAB. (Aside). Was ever deformity copied with 
 more exact proportion to the original 1 
 
 JoD. \To Isabel] 1 can see you through my fingers, 
 and know you at first sight by the picture you sent 
 me. 
 
 Bet. He's one of those subtle spies who peeps 
 through the key-hole when the door is open. 
 
 JoD. [To Isabel]. You think me a very desperate 
 man. 
 
 IsAB. Why so, sir 1 
 
 JoD. For coming near so bright a sun as you 
 are, without a parasol, umbrellia,* or a bongrace. 
 
 IsAB. You intend to be very witty, sir. 
 
 JoD. I tell you again, my bright sun, not one 
 among a thousand would venture his complexion 
 so near you as I do. But what care I for being 
 tann'd. 
 
 Bet. 'Tis but fleaing the old skin, and when 
 your cheeks are raw the crimson will appear 
 presently. 
 
 JoD. That damsel is too pert. Dear chuck 
 of my cheeks ! you should keep these paraqueetos 
 in a cage. How many of 'em have you 1 'Slight, I 
 think I'm left alone ; Jodelet ! where are all my 
 people 1 Jodelet ! 
 
THE man's the master. 37 
 
 D. John. Sir ! 
 
 JOD. My heart beats too much at sight of my 
 mistress. If I faint with love be sure to hold me 
 up. 
 
 D. John. I shall, sir ! 
 
 JoD. Lady, you say nothing : but I'm glad you 
 are silent, for, if you should shew as much wit as 
 you do beauty, I were a dead man. Jodelet ! 
 
 D. John. Sir ! 
 
 JoD. To drive away the sorrows of love, I pri- 
 thee break a jeast or two, or tell my mistress some 
 of mine to cure her melancholy. 
 
 ISAB. My father has made a rare choice. This 
 extraordinary fool is only fit for Christmas. 
 
 JOD. Don Ferdinand, do you always serve for a 
 skreen to your daughter 1 
 
 D. John. (Aside). Unlucky rogue ! what devil 
 taught thee to ask that ] 
 
 D. Lewis. That question is not very civil. 
 
 JoD. Those that are angry may shew their teeth; 
 but let them be sure that they be sharp. 
 
 D. Lewis. Sir, no man will doubt yours. 
 
 JOD. Those who dare doubt mine may meet me 
 
 at dinner ; and after dinner may walk a turn 
 
 in the field. It may be wholesome for some, but for 
 others it may prove dangerous. 
 
 ISAB. He grows angry. 
 
 JoD. May not a man see a snip of her face 1 I 
 pray, lady of my lips, blink on me a little with one 
 eye. Don Ferdinand, let somebody bring her near 
 me ! or at least shew me her hand, or her arm, or 
 a little of her leg. 
 
 D. John. This coarse villain has been bred in a 
 butcher-row. 
 
 Feed. My daughter had reason : my son-in-law 
 is a coxcomb. 
 
 JoD. Lord, how nice they are of their brides in 
 
3S THE man's the master. 
 
 this country ! anywhere else I might ere this have 
 had a dozen kisses. 
 
 Ferd. How I am vext at his want of breeding ! 
 
 Job. Father-in-law you must pardon me. I am 
 a little boist'rous, hut I am very loving. My dainty 
 duckling, may I know what gust* you take in hav- 
 ing the honour to see me ? 
 
 D. Lewis. That's civilly askt. 
 
 Feed. 0, impertinent son-in-law. 
 
 JOD. They laugh ! I shall be loth to many in 
 so foolish a kindred as have no more wit than to 
 laugh at me. Don Ferdinand, pray call for a chair! 
 you are ill serv'd ; but I will vouchsafe to reach 
 one myself. 
 
 D. Ferd. {Aside). I say again, my son-in-law is 
 a very coxcomb. Bettris, reach a chair ! 
 
 JoD. Sweet syrrop of my soul, pray tell me, do 
 you wear chopeens If In truth if you do not, you 
 are of a reasonable good stature, and worthy of 
 me. 
 
 D. Lewis. An excellent good compliment ! 
 
 JoD. That young man is given to prating. Tell 
 me, my bright sun, do you shine on him 1 
 
 ISAB. He is my cousin German. 
 
 Feed. I pronounce, the third time, that my son- 
 in-law is a coxcomb, 
 
 D. John. This cousin German revives my 
 jealousy. 
 
 JoD. Lady, have you never an ear-picker about 
 you 1 there's something tickles me within,]: and I 
 broke mine with picking my teeth. What, all 
 laughing again ? Lady, you laugh scurvily ! you 
 laugh like a monkey that has stol'n cherries j he, 
 he, he, he ! 
 
 * Taste. + See Vol. i. p. 335. 
 
 J " Have you never a patch-box about you ? There's some- 
 thing tickles me on my nose." — Ed. 1775. 
 
THE man's the master. 39 
 
 D. Lewis. [To Isabel] Cousin, you do not 
 satisfy the gentleman. He askt you e'en now how 
 you did relish the honour of seeing him. 
 
 ISAB. I must confess I never saw his equal both 
 in body and mind. 
 
 JoD. Madam, every one says as much of me. 
 But the twenty thousand crowns, — are they ready ? 
 Let's despatch the marriage ! 
 
 D. Lewis. How, Don John 'i you are mercenary. 
 
 JoD. Those who believe it are very desperate. 
 But would I could meet 'em in Alverad. 
 
 D. Lewis. In Alverad ! Had you not a brother, 
 sir^ 
 
 JoD. Yes, whom a base murderer killed in the 
 dark. 
 
 D. John. If Don John could find the murderer 
 he would eat his heart ; but the coward hides him- 
 self 
 
 D. Lewis. This groom is very impudent. But, 
 friend, I have been told 
 
 D. John. What have you been told, sir ? 
 
 D. Lewis. That it was merely by mischance. 
 
 D. John. He lied that told you so! It was 
 treachery. 
 
 D. Lewis. [To Isabel.] Do you observe his sauci- 
 ness ? 
 
 ISAB. Methinks his anger has something grace- 
 ful in it. 
 
 D. Lewis. Then you allow his insolence ? 
 
 IsAB. He shews no meanness in his courage. 
 
 D. Lewis. [To D. John.] I shall find you ! 
 
 D. John. You may, for I shall never avoid 
 you. 
 
 ISAB. O pity, hide thine eyes ! how canst thou 
 see such gallantry in such a low condition ? 
 
 D. Lewis. Wer't not in this place, I should 
 make you silent. 
 
40 THE man's the master; 
 
 JoD. My man is almost as valiant as myself, but 
 a little rash. 
 
 D. Lewis. Uncle, shall I endure this from that 
 groom? 
 
 D. Ferd. I charge you be discreet. Here's a 
 fair beginning of a marriage. 
 
 JoD. My dear dumpling, let 'em quarrel ; and 
 let us talk and be witty, and sell bargains. 
 
 D. Ferd. Sir, you ha'not yet seen the house. 
 Bettris make haste, open the gallery ! Nephew, I 
 conjure yovi to make use of your discretion. Come, 
 gentlemen, what do you stay for ? 
 
 JoD. I love the down-right familiarity of Alve- 
 rad, and hate compliment. 
 
 D. Ferd. That's for saving of time. 
 
 JoD. We often, out of heartiness and haste, 
 salute ladies with our hats on. 
 
 D. Ferd. Do you so, sir 1 
 
 JoD. Yes, and take 'em by the hand without the 
 tedious ceremony of pulling off our gloves. 
 
 D. Ferd. 'Tis true, time is a precious thing and 
 ought to be sav'd. Son-in-law it becomes you. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes* 
 
 Enter Bettris, Stephano. 
 
 Bet. Retire to the garret over that chamber 
 where I must hide your master, and there you must 
 lye close. 
 
 Steph. I should lye closer if you were with me. 
 
 Bet. Certainly you men are very cold creatures ; 
 you are always wishing for something to keep you 
 warm. 
 
 Steph. Ah, Bettris ! a garret without a chimney 
 is a cold habitation. But if you were near me 
 
 * In the edition of 1775 the scene changes here to " Garden- 
 Chamber, " with the entrance of Saneho, Don John, and Laura, 
 the intermediate passages being deleted. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 41 
 
 Bet. I know but one hoop in the world can bmd 
 us close together. 
 
 Steph. What do you mean 1 
 
 Bet. a wedding-ring. 
 
 Steph. That's a strong hoop indeed, and will 
 hold out long. I have no land nor house ; and 
 though there are many houses in town, yet those 
 tenants never get much furniture who begin with 
 a cradle. I am not rich enough to marry. 
 
 Bet. That's ill news, but I will tell you better. 
 
 Steph. I prithee do. 
 
 Bet. At night when the masters are abed, the 
 men shall have a sack-posset. 
 
 Steph. And shall they be very merry with the 
 maids 1 
 
 Bet. Yes, unless the men be in love, for then, 
 alas, they'll do nothing but sigh. 
 
 Steph. What lady is that whom your mistress 
 does conceal 1 
 
 Bet. I know her not. Sancho does manage that 
 design ; her maid is his sweetheart. 
 
 Steph. Shall she be with us 1 
 
 Bet. He has invited her. Yon wish my com- 
 pany and enquire after her. None but a cold bed- 
 fellow would have two warming-pans. 
 
 JEnter Sancho, Don John, Laura. 
 
 D. John. Signior Sancho, there is nothing more 
 medicinal against the consumption of love than a 
 sack-posset. But shall I be at it 1 
 
 Sancho. You shall ! 
 
 D. JojiN. I am much oblig'd to you for the in- 
 vitation. 
 
 Sancho. You are ! 
 
 D. John. I hope I may have leave to seal an 
 acquaintance on this fair gentlewoman's hand. 
 
 Sancho. You may ! [X*. John salutes Laura. 
 
42 THE man's the master. 
 
 Laura. You are pleas'd to make use of your 
 authority. 
 
 Sancho. I am ! 
 
 Laura. I pray thee give me leave to salute Mis- 
 tress Bettris. 
 
 Sancho. Do ! 
 
 Steph. The favour ought to go round. I hope 
 I shall not be a stranger to your mistress. 
 
 Sancho. No! [Stephana salutes Laura. 
 
 D. John. Your authority extends so far as to 
 make me likewise known to Mistress Bettris. 
 
 Sancho. It doth ! [D. John salutes Bettris. 
 
 Bet. Well, we shall be all happy when our lords 
 and ladies are asleep. There is nothing so sweet 
 as midnight and sack-posset. Is there, Signior 
 Sancho ? 
 
 Sancho. Yes! 
 
 Bet. What can be sweeter in this bitter world ? 
 
 Sancho. Buss and posset. 
 
 Isabel [within]. Bettris !* 
 
 Bet. My lady calls me ! Let every one hasten 
 to their appointed stations. 
 
 Steph. The next time when our masters go to 
 bed early, we must be contented to sit up late. 
 
 Bet. Alas I we servants are miserable. Wp 
 must be fain to watch when they sleep. 
 
 D. John. Pray let us meet cheerfully, and with 
 short ceremonies. 
 
 Sancho. And long spoons. 
 
 [Exeunt all several ways hut Don John. 
 
 D. John. I have more light to lead my jealousy. 
 And now must seek the man to whom revenge 
 Is yet indebted for my brother's blood ; 
 Than where my vain imprudent sister lives, 
 And where her perjur'd friend. Well, it grows strong 
 In my belief that Isabella's cousin 
 
 * In the edition 1775, instead of this, a Ml rings within. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 43 
 
 Is he whom I discem'd in the balcony ; 
 
 Oh Isabel ! be wise as thou art fair ; 
 
 Turn not my love to dangerous despair. [Exit. 
 
 Act III., Scene I. 
 Enter Don Lewis, Stephano. 
 
 D. Lewis. Urge me no more ! the lot is cast. 
 
 Steph. In troth, Don John is much beholden to 
 you. You have forsaken his sister, kill'd his bro- 
 ther, and now pretend to his wife. • 
 
 D. Lewis. My hope relies on my perseverance, 
 and on Eettris, and on thee ; on my uncle, on Isa- 
 bella, and on myself. I rely much too on the rude- 
 ness of Don John's behaviour, but most of all on 
 the civility of my goddess Fortune. 
 
 Enter Bettris. 
 
 Bet. sir, is it you 1 
 
 Steph. None but a maid who loves to meet men 
 in the dark would ask that question with her eyes 
 open. 
 
 Bet. You are still drawing the fool's weapon : 
 I pray put up your tongue. I come not to you, 
 but to your master. 
 
 D. Lewis. Dear Bettris, tell me a little of the 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Bet. Would you have but a little when much 
 may be spoken 'i He dined, and did eat till his 
 doublet grew so narrow that 'twas dangerous to sit 
 near him ; for his buttons flew about like a volley 
 of shot, and after dinner he retired to a dirty entry, 
 where he slept on a bench and snor'd in concert, 
 like three fat carriers in one bed. But I'll tell 
 you what pass'd besides. 
 
44 THE man's the master. 
 
 D. Lewis. My poor Bettris ! 
 
 Bet. My poor Don Lewis ! 
 
 D. Lewis. My fortune I expect from thee. 
 
 Bet. And mine from you : but you have yet 
 proceeded no further than promise ; yet that's suffi- 
 cient to one who abhors interest. 
 
 D. Lewis. I prithee ask my man if I have not 
 left my gold under my bolster ; and whether I am 
 not to-morrow to receive four hundred duckets. 
 
 Bet. Well, well ! hear me in few words. Don 
 Ferdinand your uncle has chaf 'd himself into a 
 fever : he would fain be disengag'd. Your dear 
 Isabella is more vext than he. Now is the time or 
 never : you must endeavour to see her : and give 
 her as many promises as those make who intend to 
 keep none. Write her poetical letters, and be sure 
 not to leave out her lilies nor her roses : you must 
 weep, sigh, and pull off your periwig, that you 
 may tear your own hair : tell her you'll cut your 
 own throat, or at least that you know an easy way 
 to hang your self 
 
 D. Lewis. Concerning that, Bettris, you may 
 safely pass your word for me. 
 
 Bet. If the insolence of passion will not prevail, 
 you must resume your modesty, whine civilly, and 
 only wish your self dead ; and be not amaz'd when 
 she grows impatient. What, you smile at this 
 good counsel 1 
 
 D. Lewis. No, but it seems a little new. 
 
 Bet. The practice of it is as ancient as the love- 
 tricks in Troy. But I have stay'd too long. Be- 
 shrew my heart for my kindness to you. Go, sir, 
 steal through the garden door ! Farewell, sir, and 
 I pray give your man leave to shift your trenchers 
 before they are empty. He looks leaner than Lent, 
 
 Steph. Farewell, false money. 
 
 Bet. Eemember that I dipt your beard, by 
 
THE man's the master. 45 
 
 moon-shine, with the gard'ner's great sheers when 
 you lay asleep like a dead perdue in the arbour. O, 
 y'are a proper watchman to attend lovers. 
 Steph. My beard, Mistress Marmalad J 
 Bet. Yes, when my lady's little dog smelt you 
 out, by the broken meat in your pocket. 
 
 Steph. "Well, I'll marry thee for a month, that 
 I may get authority to swadle* thee for having no 
 portion. lExeunt. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, Isabella. 
 
 Feed. I'll rather die of naked poverty than break 
 my word. 
 
 Isab. Dear father ! 
 
 Feed. You are a fool, and all that you can hope- 
 is, that I may defer your marriage a few days. But 
 was ever any business so incumber'd ^ My son-in- 
 law is offended, and, my nephew being the cause of 
 it, I ought to be so too. Shall I abandon one and 
 join with the other? I owe myself to one by 
 blood, and to the other by honor. 
 
 Isab. It seems, sir, 'twas Don Lewis that kill'd 
 his brother. 
 
 Feed. Yes, and, to encrease the perplexity, the 
 sister of Don John implores me against him : how 
 can I, in honor, refuse to assist her ? and to-day 
 my nephew tells me, he has need of my advice 
 against a man whom he has doubly offended, and 
 that man must be my son-in-law. Head ! hold out 
 one day, and split not during this storm of busi- 
 ness. Farewell! I'll go taste f my son-in-law. [Exit. 
 
 Isab. And I'll go weep. heaven ! to what 
 a brute am I condemn'd 1 Was not my aversion 
 
 * To beat with a cudgel. By law, a man was allowed, and 
 the act is believed to be still extant, to beat his wife "with a 
 rattan, if not above the thickness of his thumb. " 
 ; t Touch upon the subject to. 
 
46 THK man's the master. 
 
 a suf&cient torment without giving me a new 
 affliction by another passion 1 Was't not enough 
 to be unhappy by the address of the master, but I 
 must love his man? Ah, my stars hate me too 
 much, when they make me love one whom I dare 
 not name to my own ear. Must I adore him who 
 never can be mine, and at the same time abhor the 
 person for whom I am decreed 1 A third evil is 
 join'd to th'other two. Don Lewis, whom I hate, 
 loves me. At once I hate, and fear, and am in 
 love. 0, who can deliver me from this entangled 
 destiny ? 
 
 Enter Don Lewis. 
 
 D. Lewis. 'Tis I, charming Isabella! that 
 will deliver you, and disengage you from Don 
 John : for since Don Lewis, whom you have 
 despis'd, is riiow admitted to your favour, your 
 breath contains my rival's destiny. Proscribe him 
 with one word, and, with this sword I am his 
 executioner. 
 
 ISAB. Oh heav'ns ! dare you propose a mischief 
 of this bloody shape 1 Be gone, unhappy wretch ! 
 thou art unworthy of that pity, which, to the 
 injury of justice, thy name and blood being mine, 
 makes me afford thee. How canst thou love me if 
 thou thinkst me capable even but to hear thy 
 black design? Fly, fly to Burgos with thy per- 
 fidiousness, and there go act thy tragedies. Go and 
 deceive the sister of the brother thou hast slain. 
 
 D. Lewis. Hah ! if ever 
 
 ISAB.- Peace, peace, thou blackest of ill spirits! 
 or I "will fill the house with exclamations. 
 
 Enter Bettris. 
 
 Bet. Pray, speak low ! Don Ferdinand and the 
 son-in-law are upon the stairs, they may hear you. 
 How shall we shift Don Lewis away, for Don 
 
THE man's THE MASTER. 47 
 
 John's man is in the next chamber ? I would he 
 would shew his extraordinary discretion and good 
 mein some where else. 
 
 ISAB. What shall we do 1 
 
 D. Lewis. If I durst appear — — 
 
 ISAB. Keep your expedients for your own use ; 
 'tis I that am concern'd now. 
 
 D. Lewis. If his angry man 
 
 ISAB. Hold, sir! he seems not one whose anger 
 may be tam'd with threat'ning. Bettris ! 
 
 Bet. Madam, I tremble all over. What think 
 you if I awhile conceal Don Lewis in your chamber? 
 
 ISAB. Dispose of him any where, provided he be 
 far from my sight. 
 
 Bet. Madam, be froward then a while ! and raise 
 your voice, and call me bold and impudent. 
 
 ISAB. I understand you. 
 
 [Exeunt Bon Lewis, Bettris. 
 You say Don John is not handsome 1 
 
 [Isabella speaks loud. 
 What, he displeases you 1 you'll mend his making? 
 I like him as he is. I would my father heard you. 
 Y'are insolent, be gone ! 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand, Jodelet, and Don John. 
 
 Ferd. We hear you, daughter. You are angry ! 
 
 ISAB. 'Tis only for a trifle which my maid has 
 lost. 
 
 JOD. Humph ! This will not pass ; for though 
 I'm stuft in the head, yet I can blow my nose as 
 well as another to smell things out. No, no, I see 
 I may make love long enough before you smicker* 
 at me. You may e'en keep your portion, I shall 
 find my land in the old place. 
 
 ISAB. How, sir, will you be gone 1 
 
 JOD. When two or three have sufficiently fot- 
 
 * Look amorous. 
 
48- THE man's the master: 
 
 sworn themselves to you, then you'll tuck up your 
 petticoats and follow me to Alverad. 
 
 D. John. This dull rogue, for fear he should not 
 be unlucky enough to do me mischief, makes it up 
 with inundations of folly. 
 
 Ferd. Son-in-law, methinks your behaviour is a 
 little out of fashion, and, in plain terms, you want 
 wisdom. 
 
 JoD. Father-in-law, this is but a trick of mine to 
 try her love. I'll sound her heart though it lies as 
 deep as her belly. 
 
 Ferd. Nay, they are politic in your province, 
 But if my daughter be thoroughly anger'd 
 
 JoD. These are a kind of witty frumps* of mine 
 like selling of bargains ; I'll come oif well enough. 
 Let's walk into the gallery ! 
 
 D. Feed. For fear this extraordinary brute 
 should find out his sister, I'll leave him in the 
 hands of his mistress. Stay here a while, sir, with 
 my daughter. I must part from you one moment 
 upon a pressing occasion ! [Exit D. Ferd, 
 
 JoD. My dainty dear ! your father being gone, 
 and here being none but friends left, you may 
 swear to me in private how much you love me. 
 I'll say nothing to anybody. I can keep secrets ; 
 for when I'm askt what a clock 'tis, I never teU for 
 fear men should take me for a blab. 
 
 Isab! Sir, I'll deal freely with you. I was never 
 in love tiU to-day : I had formerly an aversion to 
 it, disdain was all my passion. Believe me, sir, 
 the flame of love is only known to me since your 
 arrival. But since my love can meet none equal 
 to it, should it rejoice when it encounters yours 1 
 No, sir, to the contrary ; I'm in extreme pain to 
 see you love me, and that I must likewise love. 
 
 JoD. Humph ! if I had not a great deal of wit I 
 should hardly understand you. 
 
 * Inventions. Lies. 
 
THE MAN'S THE MASTER. 49 
 
 TsAB. Your passion equals not the price of mine, 
 Though what is with you, and to you belongs, 
 Is e'en all that which I do most adore, 
 Yet in you is all that which I abhor. 
 
 JOD. Hah ! what belongs to me, and is with me, 
 you adore, and what is in me, you abhor. Lady to 
 such dark sayings as these, the ancient philosophers 
 of Alverad make answer in a subtle question; 
 which is, riddle my riddle, what's this 1 
 
 ISAB. Sir, I must justify my meaning to you. 
 You doubt my flame, but, sir, I say again 
 I love that which is yours, and love it much. 
 In seeing it I altogether see 
 The object of my love, and then I burn and 
 
 tremble, 
 Burn with desire, and tremble with my fear. 
 You cause at once my joy and sorrow too ;* 
 What evil can there be more strange and rare 
 Which when I hide I then almost declare 1 
 If I, to ease my pain, my mind reveal 
 I danger bring to that which I would heal. 
 
 D. John. She has wit prevailing as her beauty, 
 but 'tis mystical. 
 
 JoD. If men swear they are bewitcht when they 
 are in love, then I, being in love, may say you are 
 a witch, especially because you speak things as 
 hard to be understood as charms. 
 
 D. John. love! why art thou born with the 
 disease of jealousy ? All curses meet upon Don 
 Lewis ! 
 
 JoD. You, my serving man, come nearer and 
 make love for me, and afterwards we'll do it by 
 turns. 
 
 D. John. But sir 
 
 JoN. How, coxcomb t perhaps you would give 
 me counsel. Am not I your master^ does any 
 
 * "And my despair." folio. 
 V. U 
 
50 THE man's the master. 
 
 man know so much as you the love I bear her, and 
 who then can better tell her of it 1 That's fine y' 
 faith ! Belike I want understanding to direct what's 
 fit to be done. 
 
 D. John. Madam, I must obey since I am com- 
 manded. 
 
 JOD. The fellow is afraid ! Madam, he wants a 
 little breeding, yet I have been a pattern to him 
 above seven years. 
 
 IsAB. Sure he has been an ill observer then. 
 
 JoD. Sirrah, I say advance ! and court her 
 handsomely, whilst I go to the gate, and consult 
 with the porter how to scatter a little gold amongst 
 the servants, to shew my bounty and make friends. 
 
 ISAB. How shall I then get Don Lewis ouf! 
 curse on this fool ! Sir, you must needs stay : for 
 if th' original be gone you'll have an ill account of 
 the copy ; 'tis a hard thing to draw love well. 
 
 JOD. If she should be now really in love with 
 me, (Z>. John courts her in whispers.) then I were 
 in a fine case. My master wants no cudgels ; and 
 I should be the most beaten bridegroom that ever 
 meddled with more than his match. Let me con- 
 sider. Hah, Master Valet de Chambre ! Have I 
 put you there to do nothing ? You talk in her 
 ear, sirrah ; either speak out, or keep farther off. 
 
 D. John. Sir, I'm ashamed to speak loud, your 
 worship will but laugh at me. 
 
 JoD. ISIo doubt of that. But I've a mind to 
 laugh, for, to say truth, I am afraid of sighing. 
 She damnable handsome ! [Aside. 
 
 D. John \to Isabel aside]. 
 When love's afraid, do not that fear despise ; 
 Flame trembles most when it doth highest rise ; 
 And yet my love may justly be disdain'd, 
 Since you believe it from a lover feign'd. 
 I am not here that which I ought to be, 
 
THE man's the master. 51 
 
 I serve, yet from all bonds but yours am free. 
 Thbtigh player-like I feign my master's part, 
 Yet real jealousy afflicts my heart : 
 For whikt his feigned rival I appear, 
 I then another real rival fear. 
 
 ISAB. This language has more mystery than 
 mine. 
 
 JoD. A real rival ! That's I, or Don Lewis. A 
 pox o' these intoxicating riddles ; can any man 
 stand still when charms make his head turn round? 
 I'll hear no more of 'em. Avaunt, Jodelet ! thou art 
 a foolish conjurer ! Presto, be gone ! 
 
 D. John. Is your worship in earnest ? 
 
 JOD. I've a thought in my head worth the 
 weight of it in gold. Hah ! now I have lost it. 
 Sweet nosegay of my nose, when I remember you 
 I always forget my self : or else 'tis that baggage, 
 Bettris, which transports me ; for, to say truth, 
 she runs in my mind too. My serving-man, be 
 gone ! 
 
 D. John. I must obey you, sir. 
 
 JoD. You'ld fain stay to sing " Loth to depart." 
 Why when I say [D. John goes and stays dose at the 
 door.'] 1 will be left alone with my mistress. 
 
 ISAB. How, sir, alone ? what wiU the servants 
 say 1 
 
 JoD. What can they say when I think fit to be 
 private ? 
 
 ISAB. I'm sure Bettris will take notice of it. 
 
 JoD. That's true, for Bettris likes me so well, 
 that if she sees us making love it may cost her 
 half her life. But that's all one : I love you only. 
 
 ISAB. Yes, and Bettris also. 
 
 JOD. Faith, lady, I am free of making my best 
 parts known. What ! I have made you jealous of 
 me? That's another of my politic love tricks. 
 I'm grown so subtle that the devil will be afraid of 
 
52 THE man's the master. 
 
 me. But let him shun me then : for, take one 
 time with another, he, does me more hurt than 
 good. 
 
 ISAB. But, sir, -what mean you i Why must we 
 be alone ? 
 
 JOD. To shew my confidence : for let 'em say 
 what they will, I dare trust myself with you. I 
 have not seen the halcony yet. Let's go take the air. 
 
 ISAB. There is no wind stirring. 
 
 D. John. What new firk of folly has enter'd 
 into the rascal's head 1 I must observe him. 
 
 JOD. Come along, sweet heart ! 
 
 IsAB. You shall excuse me, sir. I'll not stir 
 from hence. 
 
 JoD. How ! not stir 1 My dear, you must know 
 I'm very choleric 
 
 ISAB. What drawn by force ? Y'are insolent ! 
 [He offers to reach her hand. 
 
 JOD. My duck you are squeamish. Lord, what 
 diff'rence there is in people ! you see I am not 
 so 
 
 IsAB. Rude wretch, forbear ! wer't not for that 
 patience which is ordain'd me by my father, I'd 
 tear your eyes out with these hands. - ' 
 
 JoD. With those hands ? you'd please 'me mofej 
 if you would let me kiss 'em. 
 
 IsAB. Sir, you are mad, and would make me so 
 too. Is this the brutish courtship of your pro- 
 vince ? " [Exit. 
 
 D. John. O villain ! you would presume to kiss 
 her hand 1 [D. John surprises him. 
 
 JoD. 'Tis a strange thing to see how men may 
 be mistaken. 'Twas she, sir, would presume to kiss 
 mine. 
 
 D. John. Slave ! you are in jeast then, and you 
 think I'm so too. I'll make you repent your impu- 
 dence [D. John stiikes him. 
 
THE man's the master. 53 
 
 JoD. Sir ! why master ! pray sir ! 
 
 D. John. Pattern of rogues ! thou gallows 
 climber ! [D. John kicks him. 
 
 JOD. Nay, pray, sir, do not punish behind ! all 
 that I said to her was face to face. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 ISAB. 'Tis anger, and grows loud. Pray heav'n, 
 they have not found the mischievous Don Lewis ! 
 
 D. John. Dog ! you may be glad that my re- 
 spect to her presence stops my fury. 
 
 JoD. Now she's here, if I should strike him he 
 dares not discover himself. 
 
 [Jodelet assaults D. John. 
 I'll teach you to speak ill of Isabella. Is she but 
 reasonable handsome ? Hah ! 
 
 ISAB. Ah, do not strike him, sir ! Be not cruel 
 to your servant. 
 
 \Jod. speaks low and fast to Don John. 
 
 JoD. Sir, I must counterfeit your person to the 
 life ; you use to kick too. I have a great mind to 
 give you a taste of my foot, that I may resemble 
 you thoroughly. 
 
 D. John. Be less in earnest' when you counter- 
 feit, or I'll cut your throat. 
 
 ISAB. Rude man ! what has he done to you ? 
 
 JoD. These are choleric heats which pass away, 
 lady. If I should kick him I could not hurt him ; 
 he's all oak behind, mere wainscote-board We 
 who have tender toes are ill provided for tough 
 bums. \p. John speaks softly to him again. 
 
 D. John. Sirrah ! were not she here 
 
 JoD. He sits too much on bare benches and 
 joint-stools. I must buy cushions for him to make 
 Jtlim softer. 
 
 ISAB. But how has he deserved this usage 1 
 
54 THE MAN'S THE MASTER. 
 
 JoD. He said your beauty could not kill a man 
 a mile off. 
 
 IsAB. Was that all, sir? If he hates me, alas! 
 he knows not yet he is ingrateful. 
 
 D. John. I can no longer defer it. I must dis- 
 cover my self 
 
 JoD. Sirrah, begone ! Expect nothing from me 
 but a cudgel to measure your bones. Lady, may I 
 not strip him naked, and keep his clothes . now 1 
 turn him away ? 
 
 ISAB. O no, sir, if I have any credit with yon, 
 turn him not away. 
 
 D. John (Aside). Did ever rogue use his master 
 thus, or master so foolishly trust the discretion of 
 his man t 
 
 Job. My lily, white lamb ! you are too merciful. 
 I cannot stay near you upon such cowardly terms. 
 I'll into the garden a while. We men of mettle 
 use to walk a turn to cool our courage. [Exit. 
 
 IsAB. (Aside). Iblush, and know. not what to say. 
 Is love a crime when it usurps a monarch's power 
 In giving dignity. to that which it esteems? 
 You were ere while another person and 
 
 [To lion John. 
 Did represent Don John, and then I spoke 
 Some words which you might misinterpret to 
 Be love. But, you are now poor Jodelet, 
 And ought to alter your opinion of my 
 Passion since your person's chang'd. 
 
 D. John. Madam, if I had reason to believe 
 That you esteem'd Don John, 1 should grow weary 
 Of my being as I am, and represent again 
 The person that I was. 
 
 ISAB. Sure yon esteem him much, since you 
 Can take such pleasure in assuming of his love. 
 
 D. John. Next my desire of Heav'n I wish 
 Don John 
 
theman's the master. 55 
 
 Made happy by your love with Hymen's rites. 
 ISAB. I'll leave you till you learn to ask of 
 Heaven 
 A better destiny for me, that so I may 
 Be taught to make an equal wish for you. 
 
 D. John. Her love does still grow darker, yet I 
 see, 
 By too much light, my cause of jealousy. \_ExU. 
 
 Enter Bettris. 
 
 Bet. Don John, your country-lover is gone into 
 the town to learn civility. He needs not stay long, 
 for he may be taught it in the street by every mule 
 he meets. 
 
 ISAB. Did you see him go out ? 
 
 Bet. Madam, he is not found about the house ; 
 and I may now release Don Lewis from his con- 
 finement. 
 
 ISAB. Be sure you do it presently ; and then 
 make haste to find me in the garden. [Exit. 
 
 Bet. I saw just now the weeping lady ; she's 
 unluckily broke loose too. I would we were well 
 rid of these foolish lovers. Sure common under- 
 standing has left the world. Young people cannot 
 meet privately but they must needs fall in love. 
 
 [ExU* 
 
 Enter Lucilla veU'd. 
 
 Luc. 'Tis strange Don Ferdinand should use me 
 thus. Is this protection when he strait abandons 
 me 1 He told me he would' return in a moment ; 
 and then, as if grown weary of civility, and of 
 lending me his chamber for shelter, he went per- 
 haps to divert himself in the town. I heard just 
 now a noise like the confusion of a quarrel. This 
 is an ill sign of my secure retreat. I must proceed 
 
 * In the edition of 1775 from the entrance of Bettris down 
 to this point is omitted. 
 
56 THE man's the master. 
 
 in order to my safety ; and yet I ought t'advertise 
 them before I go. Sure, this is Isabella's chamber ; 
 the door is open ! I'll in, and take my leave of her. 
 
 Enter Don Lewis. 
 
 Hah ! I discern a man, and I can't avoid him. 
 
 D. Lewis. I hope my friend Bettris, whom I 
 have bound to me with the strings of my purse, 
 does mean to make this chamber my lodging. 
 dear Isabella 1 whither would you run so fast ? 
 
 [He spies Lucilla veil'd. 
 How, will you not vouchsafe to hear me 1 Alas f 
 allow me but one word. You have reproacht my 
 love as criminal ; thinking some other beauty has 
 possest my heart. Have I not sworn, that she who 
 does pretend to it had but the promises of my pity 1 
 And, since I saw her at Burgos, I never did retain 
 her in my thought ? 
 
 Luc. heavens ! I have not patience to hear 
 more. [She opens her veil] False man ! behold 
 her now : for I am she who too much has lov'd 
 thee, and whom thou never lov'dst. She, whose 
 fatal and unexperienc'd heart too soon believ'd thy 
 many oaths. She, who does hate thee now, and 
 will proclaim thy perjuries. She, whom thou 
 call'dst thy soul and queen, is now without a bro- 
 ther, without her honour, and is less provided for 
 than birds blown off to sea by tempests. 
 
 D. Lewis. Hear me but speak ! 
 
 Luc. No, traitor, no ! Thy former perjuries have 
 stopt my ears so much that I can hear no more. 
 Help, ho ! help ! 
 
 D. Lewis. Ah, madam, give me then leave to 
 swear, and you shall soon be satisfied. 
 
 Luc. Soul without faith ! canst thou again ex- 
 pect belief ? Help, ho ! help ! 
 
THE man's the master. 57. 
 
 Enter Don John. 
 
 D, John. This grief is loud, and 'tis a woman's 
 voice ! 
 
 Luc. heav'ns ! -whom do I see 1 
 D. John. Hah 1 is not that my sister 1 
 Luc. [Aside.] I call for help, and heav'n has 
 sent destruction in a brother. 
 D. John. [Aside.] My eyes cannot mistake, she 
 is my sister ! 
 And th' other is the object of my jealousy. 
 I have enough of anger for 'em both. 
 
 D. Lewis. He carries mischief in his eyes, 
 But seems in doubt, on which of us he should 
 Direct it first. 
 
 D. John. [Aside.] I am too certain of my sister's 
 crime. 
 But have not such sufficient proofs as may 
 Allow my jealousy just leave to be 
 Eeveng'd on him ; I'll then begin with her. 
 
 thou unhappy, wicked woman ! 
 
 Luc. If I am wicked think me then 
 More fit to have some time for prayer. 
 D. Lewis. Hold ! hold ! I'll undertake her 
 quarrel, 
 Though with that voice which brought thee hither 
 
 she 
 Was calling for revenge on me. But tell 
 Me by what title thou pretend'st to have 
 Authority to punish her? 
 D. John. I ought to do it. 
 D. Lewis. That's insolence ! Art thou not a 
 
 servant 1 
 D. John. Don John's my master, and his 
 
 honour's mine. 
 Luc. [Aside.] My ruin was prepar'd by some, 
 design ; 
 
58 THE man's the master 
 
 Else wherefore should my brother hide himself 
 In this disguise 1 
 
 D. Lewis. Shall I endure to be affronted twice 
 by him 
 
 Who serves my equal 1 
 
 [Lucilla endeavours to go out. 
 
 D. John. Hah ! are you going 1 
 Stay! who brought you to this house"! and wherefore 
 Did you call for help 1 
 
 Luc. You shall know all. I enter'd in this 
 chamber to see Isabella^ where I found this man ; 
 but cannot tell for what intent he there did hide 
 himself. T then cried out at the surprise, and 
 tremble still 
 
 D. John. Enough ! my jealousy is apt to credit 
 his offence. I'll shut the door ! 
 
 [Goes hackward and shuts the door. 
 
 Luc. My fear will kill me to prevent your 
 cruelty. 
 
 D. John. Don Lewis, I shall give you cause to 
 shew your valour 
 
 D. Lewis. I think it honour'd when 'tis us'd in 
 her defence, but it deserves a nobler trial than 
 your hand can make 
 
 Luc. Oh fatal hour ! how many deaths shall I 
 endure 1 
 My perjur'd lover is yet kind when he 
 Does strive to rescue me. 
 
 [A noise of knocking within. 
 
 D. Lewis. The people of the house will force 
 the door. 
 
 D. John. No matter, sir ! Let us despatch 
 
 D. Feed. [Within.] Let's force our passage and 
 break thorough. 
 
 Luc. I'm counsell'd both by fear and love to 
 Open it. 
 
THE man's the master. 59 
 
 D. John. [Speaks low to LuciUa.] Stir not to let 
 them in ! for if by thee I am discover'd 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand and Isabella. 
 
 LuciL. Ah ! Don Ferdinand ! call all your 
 servants to your aid. 
 
 . D. Ferd. Proceed not in your fury, for by death 
 I swear, that he, who does not sheath his sword, 
 Engages me against him. Oh, what strange 
 Unlucky wonders meet to-day t'amaze 
 And ruin me ! Nephew, who put you here ? 
 Ah ! Lucilla, who discover'd you 1 And you, 
 
 [Speaks to D. John. 
 What devil urges you ? who since you came into 
 My house have spent no minute but in quarrels. 
 
 D. Lewis. Hear me, and you shall straight 
 know all. 
 
 D. John. No, let me speak ! for I can better 
 Tell it, sir, than he. But I must first demand 
 If Lucilla did not in your house conceal her self ? 
 And likewise if Don Lewis be not your near kins- 
 man? 
 
 D. Ferd. The one and th' other too is true. 
 
 D. John. And is't not reason that a servant, sir. 
 Should own an int'rest in his master's honour ] 
 
 D. Ferd. That cannot be denied. 
 
 D. John. Then, sir, observe if I am wrong'd. . 
 I enter'd here, urg'd by Lucilla's cries. 
 She found, as I believe, by, accident, 
 Don Lewis in this chamber where your daughter 
 
 lodges. 
 I in Lucilla saw the signs of a surprise. 
 'Tis evident to reason that he was hidden here all 
 
 day; 
 For I have so observ'd all passage to the street 
 That it was hard for him to 'scape my eyes. 
 
60 THE man's the master. 
 
 D. Lewis. (Aside). This reasoning does appear 
 too much refin'd, 
 For one of his coarse quality. 
 
 D. John. My master, who is to marry Isabella, 
 And is brother to Lucilla, must be offended 
 For his mistress or his sister : and it 
 Is likely he is wrong'd in both. My duty, 
 Therefore, is to finish my revenge upon Don Lewis. 
 
 D. Lewis. You are a man of rare dispatch, who 
 are 
 So sure to finish that which is not yet begun • 
 
 D. Ferd. Don Lewis, stay ! Art thou mad 1 Stay 
 Jodelet ! I prithee hold ! This is the most perplext 
 encounter that I ever saw. 
 
 IsAB. He certainly is jealous for his master. 
 Ah, Jodelet ! Let me entreat you to retire. 
 
 D. John. Madam, for your sake I will prescribe 
 the means how to defer this quarrel ; which is, that 
 each engage his promise to me. You, Don Ferdi- 
 nand, to render Lucilla in her brother's power when 
 he requires it. And you, Don Lewis, to make a 
 trial of your valour with Don John when he invites 
 you to the field. 
 
 D. Lewis. I cannot without some torment, make 
 promises of honour to one of thy low condition, 
 
 D. John. Don John, sir, is no more a man than 
 I am. 
 But if he fails to call you suddenly 
 T'aooompt, then you shall know whether I'm now, 
 Or may be made hereafter, fit to entertain your 
 sword. 
 
 D. Ferd. Enough ! we promise that which you 
 desire. 
 Nay, nephew, you are wont to yield to my 
 authority. 
 
 D. Lewis. Well, sir ; your pleasure is my law ; 
 And here I give my promise. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 61 
 
 D. John. And I mine, that Don John shall 
 
 justify this quarrel. 
 D. liEWiS. Nothing does then remain but that I 
 
 Your master out to-morrow. 
 
 D. John. Your journey, sir, will not he far to 
 
 find him. 
 D. Ferd. I'll be the foremost in the search. 
 D. John. You'll give me leave to follow you. 
 D. Ferd. That will be needful, and without 
 
 delay. 
 ISAB. This man is brave and loyal where he 
 serves. 
 All is perplext ! love, lend me thy clue 
 To lead me safe through this dark labyrinth. 
 LuciL. Don Lewis now, does, after cruelty. 
 Shew some remorse in my defence ; and I 
 Am apt to think him penitent. But death 
 Will soon a period give to love and fear. 
 
 D. Ferd. To-morrow early is the appointed time 
 to seek Don John. 
 Night now has drawn her curtains close. Let me 
 Conduct you to your several beds, where sleep 
 May quench that fi.re which makes your anger rash. 
 D. John. My precious rogue stole out to shun a 
 quarrel. 
 His fear does ever make him sick, and I 
 Shall find him drunk, for that's his constant cure. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Stephano, Sancho. 
 
 A Table spread with Linen, Trenchers and Spoons 
 are set out, and Jive Chairs. 
 
 Steph. This room standing in the garden, at 
 distance from the house, seems built for our pur- 
 
62 THE man's the master; 
 
 pose. Our happy hour is near. Dear Signior 
 Sancho, shall we be merry 1 
 
 Sancho. As maids ! 
 
 Steph. Is there any creature, except man, that 
 has the wit to be merry at midnight ? 
 
 Sancho. The owl. 
 
 Steph. Y'are in the right. But what shall we 
 have to make us rejoice besides a sack-posset 
 
 Sancho. Fiddles. 
 
 Steph. Your words are seldom many, but always 
 pithy. Heark ! there's something stirring behind 
 the hanging. 
 
 Sanch. a rat ! 
 
 Steph. If it be a rat, then it has shoes on, for 
 it treads hard. I rather fear 'tis the old rat-catcher, 
 your master, that has caught us here in a trap. 
 Who's there ? 
 
 JoD. [Within, speaks low). A friend ! 
 
 Steph. 'Tis a man's voice, but he speaks so low, 
 that he seems more afraid than we are. Who is it t 
 
 JoD. (Within). 'Tis I! 
 
 Steph. That were some answer to the question, 
 if we knew him that made it. 
 
 JoD. (Within). Who are you ] 
 
 Steph. To testify that our being here is not for 
 any harm, you may know that we 
 
 Sanch. Are we. 
 
 Steph. Well said, Signior Sancho ; that's a 
 valuable return of intelligence from us for what he 
 gave of himself. 
 
 JOD. Nay, if you name Signior Sancho, 
 
 Enter Jodelet. 
 Don John may appear. 
 
 Steph. [Aside to Sancho.] Our sport is prevented. 
 We may e'en hang up our fiddles, and our selves by 
 'em. Who sent him hither ? 
 
THE MANS THE MASTER. 63 
 
 Sanch. The devil ! 
 
 Steph. Pray, sir, what occasion brought you 
 behind the hanging 1 
 
 JoD. I was led thither by conscience. 
 
 Steph. Conscience is a good guide, sir. 
 
 JoD. Don Ferdinand's house is so full of quarrels 
 as makes it very wearisome to one that has been 
 already too much tir'd in the field with wicked 
 entertainments of honour. 
 
 Steph. Sir, you shew both your valour and 
 your reason. 
 
 JOD. My man Jodelet is honest : but the cutlers 
 of Toledo are not able to make swords enough to 
 furnish his duels. 
 
 Steph. Say you so, sir 1 
 
 JOD. If the old roarer, Satan, were young again, 
 my man were fit to serve him. 
 
 Steph. [Aside to SancJw.] The man of, blood 
 which he mentions is your guest to-night, Signior 
 Sanchp, but not fit to be treated with a tame sack- 
 posset. What shall we provide for him ? 
 
 Sanch. Raw puddings. 
 
 JoD. Friends, to deal entirely with you, I stole 
 hither to hide my self, partly out of conscience, 
 but more out of discretion : for 'tis not fit a gentle- 
 man of my possessions, and near marriage, should 
 upon every peevish humor of his servant venture 
 his estate and body 
 
 Sanch. Politic. 
 
 Steph. But, sir, your man is coming hither. 
 We expect him in a moment. 
 
 JoD. I'll not see him till his foolish quarrels are 
 ended. 
 
 Steph. Then, sir, you must please to retire again 
 behind the hanging. 
 
 JoD. Agreed ! My friends, no words where 
 I am. 
 
64 THE man's the master. 
 
 Steph. Fy, no, sir. But we shall stay here 
 long. I hope you can have patience. 
 
 JoD. Lord, friends, you do not yet understand 
 my disposition, for 'tis my patience which makes 
 me steal from quarrels. 
 
 Steph. You must be as little heard as seen. I 
 hope you are not troubled with a cold, nor apt to 
 fall asleep 1 
 
 JoD. What mean you ? 
 
 Steph. Why, sir, I would not have you cough. 
 
 Sanch. Nor snore. 
 
 JoD. Friends, I say again you know me not 
 thoroughly. Tell not me of snoring : I dare snore 
 with any man in Spain, and, hap what hap may, 
 I'll venture again behind the hanging to hide my 
 self. 
 
 Steph. Nay, sir, we know you are valiant. 
 
 Sanch. And wise. [Exit Jodelet. 
 
 Enter Bettris, Laura. 
 
 Bet. Sancho, our entertainment is provided ; are 
 your stomachs ready ? 
 Sanch. They are ! 
 Lau. Then help to bring it to the table. 
 
 Enter Don John. 
 Sanch. In state ! 
 
 [Exit and brings in a great bason with a posset. 
 Bet. Signior Jodelet you make good your pro- 
 mise, for you come in the very nick. 
 Sancho. In posset time. 
 
 Enter TWO young women who assist in the dance. 
 D. John. Who are these 1 
 Bet. Two young married neighbours that long'd 
 for sack-posset. 
 D. John. Are your ladies asleep 1 
 
THE man's the master. 65 
 
 Bet. They went to bed as early as brides, and 
 I hope will lye as long as bridegrooms. 
 
 D. John. Then the maids may be as merry as 
 the men. 
 
 Steph. And encounter a whole pail of posset. 
 
 Enter Jodelet. 
 
 JoD. I'll meet as many quarrels as there be 
 drunkards in Dutchland rather than miss a sack- 
 posset. 
 
 D. John. Ha ! how comes he here ? 
 
 Bet. Beshrew your heart, Signior Don John, for 
 starting forth so suddenly. 'Tis well we were all 
 awake. 
 
 Latj. If we had not been us'd to meet men in 
 the dark it might have frighted us. 
 
 JOD. Ladies, without sans ceremony, I'll sit 
 down first. 
 
 Sanch. And I. 
 
 D. John. [Whispers Jodelet.] Villain, be gone to 
 my chamber ! you'll still discover your coarse 
 breeding. 
 
 JoD. Prithee forbear thy good manners to thy 
 master. Sit down, sit down ! 1 say sit down. There 
 are seasons when masters may be familiar with 
 their men. 
 
 D. John [Whispers Jodelet.] SiiTah, I'll cut your 
 throat ! 
 
 JoD. [Whispers D. John.] I had rather you 
 should cut my throat than cousin my belly. 
 
 D. John. Villain, hast thou the impudence to 
 stay? 
 
 JoD. Lord what ado here is with civilities out 
 of season : once more I charge thee to sit down^ 
 and I give thee leave to be familiar. 
 
 D. John. Eogue ! to-morrow will come. 
 
 JoD. Still over-mannerly! Ladies, pray take 
 
 V. E 
 
66 THE man's the master. 
 
 your spoons. This coxcomb, my man, is so trouble- 
 som with his untimely respects. 
 
 D. John. You will not stir then ? 
 
 Job. Prithee, put thy hat on ! Ladies, when I 
 am at home and a little in drink, I often sit with 
 my servants. 
 
 D. John. Ladies and gentlemen, having my 
 master's leave I will presume on yours. 
 
 Sanch. You may. 
 
 JoD. I suppose the posset is very hot, but 
 Coragio is the word. 'Tis but the spoiling of a 
 few good teeth. I'll venture at it. 
 
 Sanch. And I. 
 
 JoD. Hold, I will first taste ! 'Tis as hot as if 
 they had strew'd it with parch't pepper instead of 
 cinnamon. [He sputters as if his mouth were burnt. 
 
 Sanch. Stay! stay! 
 
 Bet. Why, Signior Sancho ? 
 
 Sanch. Stir it 
 
 {They all stir and tlien eat together. 
 
 JoD. Ladies, you eat too fast ! 
 
 [p. John rises and whispers Jodelet again. 
 
 D. John. Dog ! Shew more civility, and do not 
 disgrace the person whom you counterfeit. 
 
 JoD. I tell thee 'twill not make me sick. I 
 have been us'd to abundance of posset. This good 
 natur'd fool takes such care of my health. 
 
 Bet. Signior Jodelet, pray sit down again, and 
 take care of your own health; possets are very 
 wholesome. 
 
 Laur. Pray do, sir. The cinnamon is good 
 against wind. 
 
 Steph. Mistress Bettris, here's to your good 
 health, and to your's Mistress Laura. 
 
 Sanch. To both. \Sancho slabbers his beard. 
 
 JoD. Signior Sancho, that spunge, your beard, 
 soaks up too much of the posset. 
 
THE man's the master. 67 
 
 Sanch. It doth. 
 
 JoD. I only civilly suppose it doth. 
 
 Sanch. All stay 
 
 [He takes a huge knife out of his pocket, scrapes the 
 posset off from his heard, and then eats it. 
 
 JOD. Who will pledge the Founder's health % 
 
 D. John. Let it come. I am your man ! 
 
 JOD; You are so • but a very saucy one ; you 
 use to talk and give counsel over your liquor. 
 
 D. John. Your noble worship may say your 
 pleasure. I know you love men that ply their 
 posset. 
 
 JoD. I am for men of few words. Let such a 
 one answer to Masaquedit. Here's the Founder's 
 health ! 
 
 Sanch. Tope ! 
 
 D. John. Signior Sancho, you made a promise 
 of fiddles. I pray forbear your spoon while that 
 you may call for 'em. 
 
 Sanch. I shall. 
 
 Laue. Servant, I pray do. 
 
 JoD. Signior Sancho, let us have fair play. Did 
 you invite your beard to half the posset 1 
 
 Sanch. F&w words are best. 
 
 Steph. In what sense, Signior Sancho ? 
 
 Sanch. In posset. 
 
 D. John. Come, sir, dispatch ; for brevity is as 
 convenient in posset as it is in speech. I'll give 
 you a song if you will call for music. 
 
 Sanch. Firk your fiddles ! 
 
 The Song in recitatim and in parts* 
 Don John. 
 The bread is all bak'd. 
 The embers are rak'd ; 
 
 * In the edition 1775, an alteration of this song is set down 
 to be sung by Bettris, the words of which will be found in the 
 introduction to this play. — See p. 4 
 
68 THE man's the master. 
 
 'Tis midnight now by chanticlear's first crowing. 
 Let's kindly carouse 
 Whilst 'top of the house 
 The cats fall out in the heat of their wooing. 
 Time, whilst thy hour-glass does run out, 
 This flowing glass shall go about. 
 Stay, stay, the nurse is wak'd, the child does cry, 
 No song so ancient is as Lulla-by. 
 The cradle's rockt, the child is husht again. 
 Then hey for the maids, and ho for the men. 
 Now ev'ry one advance his glass ; 
 Then all at once together clash, 
 Experienc'd lovers know 
 This clashing does but show. 
 That as in music so in love must be 
 Some discord to make up a harmony. 
 Sing, sing ! When crickets sing, why should not 
 we? 
 The crickets were merry before us ; 
 They sung us thanks ere we made them a fire. 
 
 They taught us to sing in a chorus : 
 The chimney is their church, the ov'n their quier. 
 Once more the cock cries cock-a-doodle-doo. 
 The owl cries o'er the barn, to-whit-to-whoo ! 
 Benighted travellers now lose their way 
 
 Whom will-of-the-wisp bewitches : 
 About and about he leads them astray 
 
 Through bogs, through hedges and ditches. 
 Heark ! heark ! the cloyster bell is rung ! 
 Alas ! the midnight dirge is sung. 
 Let 'em ring. 
 Let 'em sing, 
 Whilst we spend the night in love and in laughter. 
 When night is gone 
 then too soon 
 The discords, and cares of the day come after. 
 Come boys ! a health, a health, a double health 
 
THE man's the master. 69 
 
 To those who scape from care by shunaing wealth. 
 Dispatch it away 
 Before it be day. 
 'Twill quickly grow early when it is late : 
 A health to thee, 
 To him, to me, 
 To all who beauty love, and bus'ness hate. 
 
 JOD. Well, my man were an incomparable varlet 
 if he would forbear to give me counsel in whispers. 
 Jodelet ! 
 D. John. Sir ! 
 
 JoD. Lead 'em a dance. I'll have a dance ! 
 D. John. My feet are at your service, sir. 
 [Whispers to Jodelet] As you shall feel to-morrow 
 by a score of kicks which I reserve for you. 
 
 JoD. Heark, he's giving me counsel again. I 
 say lead 'em a dance. 
 The Dance. Which leiiig ended a bell rings within. 
 
 Bet. My ladies little dog has wak'd her. Alas ! 
 now the sweet of the night is coming, we must all 
 part. 
 
 D. John, [whispers Jod.'] Sirrah, follow me to my 
 chamber ! [Exeunt all several ways hut Jodelet. 
 
 JoD . Not to-night good Signior Don John ! 
 I'll sooner follow a drum that beats for volunteers 
 to the north of Norway. The back door of the 
 garden is only bolted within. I'll steal forth, and 
 to-morrow when sleep has made him tamer I'll 
 return. 
 
 I'll rather feed with fiends on brimstone broth. 
 
 Than eat sack posset with a man of wrath. [Exit. 
 
 Act IV. Scene I. 
 Enter Laura, Stephano. 
 Lait. You are very inquisitive. 
 
70 THE mak's the master. 
 
 Steph. And you are very secret. 
 
 Lau. Do you intend me that as commendation ? 
 
 Steph. Yes, and yet I do not thank you for it. 
 
 Lau. You may take your praise back again, for 
 I will not be commended for keeping that secret 
 which I do not know. 
 
 Steph. Can you be ignorant of the lady whom 
 you serve 1 
 
 Lau. I told you I had not serv'd her above three 
 days. But still you are inquisitive, and why, I 
 pray ? 
 
 Steph. The endeavour of knowing things shews 
 diligence of the mind, and you should praise me 
 for it. 
 
 Lau. Those may praise spies who employ 'em. 
 
 Steph. You take me then for a spy ? 
 
 Lau. So impertinent a spy that I wonder you 
 do not walk with a dark lanthorn when the sun 
 shines. 
 
 Steph. What, to seek chaste women as Diogenes 
 sought honest men ? Come, I confess you have wit. 
 
 Lau. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Steph. I would you would thank me for being 
 in love with your beauty. 
 
 Lau. Love ! is that fool's-bauble in fashion still ] 
 
 Steph. 'Tis the only fashion which never 
 changes. 
 
 Lau. Mistress Bettris will hardly believe you. 
 
 Steph. No, she believes in nothing but marriage. 
 
 Lau. 0, cry you mercy, for indeed marriage is 
 grown as dangerous as love is foolish. 
 
 JEnier Sancho. 
 Steph. I'll retire to make that coxcomb jealous. 
 
 [Exit Steph. 
 Sanch. How ! hah ! 
 Lau. Signior Sancho, 'tis well you are come. 
 
a"HE man's the master. 71 
 
 Sanch. Too well. 
 
 Lau. Your friend Stephano would fain be yonr 
 rival, but you are the man for whom I mean to 
 sigh. 
 
 Sanch. Yes, much ! 
 
 Lau. I'll lay my life you are jealous. 
 
 Sanch. Who, 1 1 
 
 Lau. Pray come from behind your beard and 
 shew your bare face if you are angry. 
 
 Sanch. I am. 
 
 Lau. If you are, I can endure it. 
 
 Sanch. You can ? 
 
 Lau. Yes. 
 
 Sanch. Who cares ? 
 
 Lau. You do. 
 
 Sanch. Not this — — 
 [Makes a sign of disdain with his thumb at his teeth. 
 
 Lau. 'Tiswell. 
 
 Sanch. 'Tis ill. 
 
 Lau. 'Tis not. 
 
 Sanch. You lie ! 
 
 Lau. Hey day ! 
 
 Sanch. Hey too ! 
 
 Lau. Farewell! 
 
 Sanch. Go ! [Exit Sancho. 
 
 Enter Stephano, Bettris. 
 
 Steph. How now, Mistress Laura 1 
 
 Lau. This steward, though he be exceeding dull, 
 is very sharp at repartees. 
 
 Bet. Why, what has he said 1 
 
 Lau. He gave me the lie. 
 
 Steph. 'Tis impossible. 
 
 Lau. If he did not I'm an eunuch. 
 
 Steph. None but a eunuch would have done't. 
 
 Lau. Don Ferdinand has been gallant in his 
 youth : he shall repair my honour. I'll tell him 
 
72 THE man's the master. 
 
 how often this Tarquin-steward would have kist 
 me by force. 
 
 Steph. Kiss you ! fye, that's a paw-word. 
 
 Bet. No, no, he's a cleanly man, and would only 
 have brusht your lips with his beard. 
 
 Lau. May be so, for they grow somewhat dusty 
 for want of use. 
 
 Bet. Don Ferdinand shall not wake his sleeping 
 sword in this quarrel ; trust me for your revenge. 
 
 Lau. Why, what will you do 1 
 
 Bet. I'll render Sancho up to your correction, 
 and he shall be then as blind as Cupid. 
 
 Steph. But how 1 
 
 Bet. He shall feel our persecution and not see it. 
 
 Lau. You have some design, but 'tis very dark. 
 
 Bet. You know the ladies and our masters are 
 lately much retir'd with thoughtful intanglements 
 of love and anger : which will give me opportunity 
 to invite solemn Sancho this evening to our room 
 of revels in the garden. 
 
 Lau. Well, what then 1 
 
 Bet. You likewise know, he passionately loves a 
 sack-posset. 
 
 Steph. Most longingly. 
 
 Bet. Then you apprehend my bait ; but, instead 
 of that for his entertainment, he shall entertain us 
 with sport sufficiently ridiculous, though it be more 
 out of fashion than himself or a morrice. 
 
 Lau. I long to see it but 
 
 Bet. No more questions. Let's presently go in 
 and consult. [Exeimt* 
 
 Enter Isabella, Lucilla. 
 
 ISAB. You must not think of your escape from 
 hence. 
 
 * TWs scene between Stephano and Bettris is omitted in the 
 edition of 1775. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 73 
 
 Luc. Whilst you are civil you are cruel too. 
 Fair Isabella, let me take my leave. 
 
 IsAB. My father is not easily deceiv'd ; 
 Whilst you attempt it you deceive your self. 
 Your reconcilement with your brother may 
 Seem difficult at first, but if you doubt 
 My father's skill to govern him, you must 
 Depend on Heav'n, and then you must have faith ; 
 Which out of Temples we call courage. 
 
 Luc. Nothing but death can quench my brother's 
 wrath, 
 Pray free your self from the unfortunate ! 
 These tears agree not with your nuptial joys : 
 And let me tell you, what you soon will find, 
 Don John is nothing less than what he seems. 
 
 ISAB. I saw him in the garden but just now, 
 and my maid 
 Walking towards him. Go hide your self ! 
 
 Pass through the gall'ry up the tarras-stairs into 
 my closet, where I will meet you straight. I will 
 awhile conceal myself in some close arbor to ob- 
 serve him and Bettris together. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Don Lewis, Stephano. 
 
 D. Lewis. Some heav'nly power contrives these 
 accidents ; they have a secret method in them, and 
 more than fortune makes me still unhappy. 
 
 Steph. I am amaz'd that you by chance should 
 court her whom you forsook, and meet the mistress 
 here from whom you fled so many miles. 
 
 D. Lewis. Hast, thou discourst with her maid ? 
 
 Steph. Yes ! but she is newly come into her 
 service, and is either a stranger to her lady's 
 designs, or else so secret that no man but a hus- 
 band can see her bosom bare. 
 
 D. Lewis. Heav'n takes Lucilla's part against 
 me, for I have done her wrong. 
 
74 THE man's the master, 
 
 Steph. 0, have you so 1 You lovers are very 
 diligent spies and bold, but veiy incredulous ; you 
 always are scouting abroad, yet never see or 
 believe mischief till you feel it. 
 
 D. Lewis. I think she loves me, and with true 
 passion. 
 
 Steph. But you love another, and that's a rare 
 remedy for her disease. 
 
 D. Lewis. I am perplext beyond the help of 
 reason. I know there are laws against irregular 
 love, but nature never made 'em. I would thou 
 wert valiant. 
 
 Steph. So would not I. I'm content to have 
 no holes in my skin rather than pay a surgeon to 
 sew 'em up. 
 
 D. Lewis. Well, however, I would thou hadst 
 courage. 
 
 Steph. Then I should be an ass in spight of my 
 understanding, and fight for fame, the fool's 
 mistress. 
 
 D. Lewis. Don John's man is saucily insolent, 
 and his condition is below the revenge of my 
 sword ; but if thou hadst courage to undertake 
 him 
 
 Steph. Sir, I never question'd my own courage, 
 and I wish no man may, for I, and others too, may 
 be mistaken. 
 
 D. Lewis. I am going now where I shall meet 
 Don Ferdinand, who will bring me an account of 
 Don John. 
 
 Steph. Sir, I told you my infirmity when you 
 first received me under your roof. I'll serve you 
 faithfully; but I must obey the king, who does 
 enjoin peace amongst his subjects. 
 
 D. Lewis. Well, though thou hast no courage, 
 yet I am satisfied with thy diligence. 1 stole 
 hither chiefly to make thee encrease thy acquain- 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 75 
 
 tance with Laura, Lucilla's maid : and whatsoever 
 shall succeed upon this engagement of my honour, 
 be sure to endeavour that she may give good 
 impressions of me to her mistress. 
 
 Steph. This, sir, is a work of peace, and I dare 
 go through with it ; but as for matters of strife, if 
 you would take my advice 
 
 D. Lewis. No more words ! I'll take no council 
 from men that are afraid. 
 
 Steph. Well, sir, fortune be your friend. But I 
 humbly conceive that men of discretion seldom 
 depend upon her courtesy. [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Jodelet and Bettris. 
 
 Bet. I will assure you, sir, you have been sought, 
 and, for my part, I was so concern'd in your absence 
 that I oflfer'd to employ the town-cryer. 
 
 JoD. It had been to no purpose, for that public 
 voice cannot be heard. Alas, he's grown hoarse 
 with crying for lost maidenheads. 
 
 Bet. Sir, you are sometimes merry, but always 
 wise. 
 
 JoD. Alas ! not I ! yet it seems I am of some 
 importance, since I have been so much sought. But 
 who were the searchers t 
 
 Bet. Your father-in-law and Don Lewis. Your 
 man, too, was so sad, as if he had not only lost his 
 master, but his wages. 
 
 JOD. I owe him nothing but a cudgel for being 
 so saucy as to miss me without my order. May 
 not a master steal out to seek a mistress unless he 
 ask leave of his man ? 
 
 Bet. But where were you, sir 1 
 
 JoD. I was invited by a friend to a dish of 
 stew'd tripes with garlick. What key is that 1 
 
 Bet. It belongs to your chamber. Don Ferdi- 
 
 fj 
 
7G THE man's the master. 
 
 nand has appointed you another lodging near the 
 garden. 
 
 JOD. I had rather it had been near the kitchen. 
 I esteem his cook above his gardener. The steam 
 of beef to me, who am not over-curious, is better 
 than the odour of violets. But why am I remov'd ? 
 
 Bet. The old gentleman is afraid of scandal. 
 And, to say truth, it might do some harm to you — 
 I mean to your modest reputation — if, before the 
 marriage night, you should be lodged too near his 
 daughter. 
 
 JoD. Nay, let her look to that ; I care not what 
 people say, when I am innocent. But, dear 
 Bettris, thou dost not know how much I love thee. 
 
 Bet. How should I know it 1 you take me to 
 be old ! I'm none of those who pretend to know- 
 ledge. 
 
 JoD. I ever lov'd one of thy complexion, ever : 
 and since I saw thee first I have been as hot as 
 any pepper. 
 
 Bet. Why truly, sir, though I blush when I say 
 it, I ever lov'd all the Don Johns in the world ; 
 and when you first came hither my foolish heart 
 but I'll say no more. 
 
 JoD. Nay, we must be secret : for if the least 
 notice be taken of it, I shall straight have flushings 
 in my face ; and blush like a rose. 
 
 Bet. I'm sure you make me hide mine. I pray 
 stand farther off'! 
 
 JoD. Poor little fool ! Well, innocence is a 
 strange thing ; it makes us strange to one another, 
 but a little of that which ancient people call wick- 
 edness will make us familiar. I prithee shew me 
 the way down to my chamber. 
 
 Bet. (sighing). Hey down a down ! in troth y'are 
 an odd man. You make me sigh e'en when I sing. 
 Here, take the key ! I'll be gone. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 77 
 
 JoD. Pretty thief ! I could find in my heart to 
 weep when I think thou wilt be hang'd for steal- 
 ing men's hearts. Dear slut 1 am maudlin- 
 kind, would I had one of thy hoods to cover my 
 face ; I shall be so asham'd if I'm seen thus whin- 
 ing for thee. But 'tis no matter ; go, lead the way 
 to my chamber ! I'll sneak after thee. 
 
 Bet. You must follow me apace then ; for I'm a 
 very light bus-wife. [She runs away. 
 
 JoD. The bunting is flown. Now I could e'en 
 weep indeed ! I must for very shame overtake 
 her. [Isabel starts from the dow and surprises kirn. 
 
 ISAB. Stay, Don John ! what, are you coursing 
 my maid ? 
 
 JoD. We are only at children's play. Are you 
 so old that you have forgot it % 'Tis hide-and-seek, 
 and when maids run away, then the boys make 
 haste to catch 'em. 
 
 ISAB. Is't nothing else 1 But, however, I did not 
 think you had been so wanton. 
 
 JoD. The tricks of youth are left when we grow 
 old. 
 
 ISAB. But you'll beget an ill opinion of your 
 chastity ; and give me cause to doubt your affec- 
 tion. 
 
 JoD. Our future spouse, you may go spin ! 
 Madam-nature is a greater lady than you, and I 
 wa.s always her humble servant ; and those who 
 speak against it may stop their mouths with a fig. 
 
 ISAB. It seems you are displeas'd. I'll leave 
 you, sir. 
 
 JoD. Most wise lady, and also most beautiful, 
 you cannot do better. 
 
 ISAB. I'll take your opinion. Fare you well, 
 sir ! [Exit. 
 
 JoD. Humph ! Are you so proud because of 
 your portion ? this is only her want of breeding. 
 
78 THE man's the master. 
 
 Methinks I counterfeit a Don John rarely ; for 
 husbands of quality must be sometime discontented 
 with their wives, and often pleas'd with their 
 maids. 
 
 Ente7- Don Ferdinand. 
 
 D. Ferd. Don John, I am glad, after some affec- 
 tion and care in seeking you, that you are not 
 lost. 
 
 JOD. Most careful sir, I also am glad, and for 
 the seeker's sake, because the loss would be his. I 
 think that was spoken again like a Don John. 
 But what are your commands 1 
 
 Ferd. Have you heard nothing of your man 
 Jodelet 1 nothing from any of his acquaintance 1 
 
 JOD. I use not to converse with my man's com- 
 panions. 
 
 Ferd. But something, sir, will be propos'd to 
 you, which, in a season before marriage, may be, 
 perhaps, a little unpleasant. 
 
 JoD. How 1 what is it 1 
 
 Ferd. You must absolutely — but, sir, excuse me, 
 for I speak with some regret. 
 
 JoD. What, must I, sir 1 pray speak the worst, 
 and let it out for your own ease, if you are troubled 
 with keeping it in. 
 
 Ferd. You are invited to the field ; and it im- 
 ports you much. 
 
 JoD. Is that all 1 A turn or two in the field is 
 wholesome after a full stomach. 
 
 Ferd. But, sir, it is to fight. 
 
 JOD. That may import me much indeed. I do 
 not like the phrase of being invited to the field to 
 be kill'd. Men are very simple when they go into 
 a grave to take the air. 
 
 Ferd. It is the fashion, sir, and men of honour 
 have allow'd it. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 79 
 
 JoD. The fashion'! but, sir, if, without resistance, 
 I am contented to go peaceably into the field, why 
 should any man who meets me there be angry 1 
 especially when, perhaps, his being pleas'd would 
 at that time better agree with my disposition^ 
 
 Ferd. 1 know not what you mean. 
 
 JoD. I am sorry for't : I held you to be an old 
 gentleman of a long understanding : but to speak 
 plainly, why should a man take the pains to walk 
 a mile to meet another who is of a different 
 humour 1 
 
 Ferd. You have been bred to ask that ques- 
 tion'! 
 
 JoD. Don Ferdinand, you seem sometimes not 
 very wise. I doubt that in your youth y'ave been 
 inclined to this foolish way of invitations to the 
 field, and have been hurt in the head. I say your 
 reason at present is not exceeding sound. 
 
 Ferd. Come, courage, Don John ! and first let 
 me know, why you infer I am not wise'! 
 
 JOD. Because you come to tell me of a quarrel 
 which 1 knew not, nor perhaps did not desire to 
 know. 
 
 Ferd. Sir, in this I have done my duty, and 
 you'll do well t'acquit yourself of yours, without 
 being serv'd by the valour of another. To-day 
 you ought t'encounter him who kill'd your brother. 
 And I am sorry, sir, to tell you, that he kill'd him 
 in the night. 
 
 JoD. Hey ! was it at night 1 
 
 Ferd. Ay, sir, at night ! 
 
 JoD. Then, for my part, let the devil fight with 
 his own match ; for if he be able to kill a man 
 without seeing him, he will be sure to kill me 
 when he sees me. 
 
 Ferd. This sounds strangely. 
 
 JOD. Besides, sir, this dangerous enemy fights 
 
80 THE man's the master. 
 
 by advantage, for having found the way how to 
 kill one of my kindred, he knows by that, the 
 fashion how to kill me. 
 
 Feed. Sir, you ought to consider 
 
 JOD. Sir, I have well consider'd it, and must 
 tell you, as a great secret, that all the family of the 
 Alverads do ever fight one and the same way. 
 
 Feed. Don John ! do you think that you have 
 courage ? 
 
 JoD. A plague on it! I have but too much. 
 Alas ! 'tis not for that, sir ; do not ask me whether 
 I have courage, but rather tell where he lives : is't 
 far from hence 1 must I stay for him? or do you 
 know his lodging? Or may I enquire it out? and 
 in the meantime, tell me but his name. 
 
 Feed. It is Don Lewis de Eochas. 
 
 JOD. A pox on him ! I knew he would scape 
 my hand. Don Lewis de Eochas ? why that's your 
 nephew. Sir, you must know I reverence all men 
 of your name. 
 
 Feed. I partly thank you, sir. 
 
 JoD. Any man of the family of the Eochas is so 
 considerable to me that I will lay my head at his 
 feet. And particularly, as for Don Lewis, if you 
 please, I am very well pleas'd to love him. 
 
 Feed. But, sir, I have not told you all ; for he 
 has done a second injury, which should more pro- 
 voke you to revenge. Your sister has too much 
 reason to complain of him. 
 
 JoD. Sir, as for my sister, truly he may be 
 asham'd to wrong her ; but I have made a vow,, 
 and the ladies must pardon me for it 
 
 Feed. "What was your vow ? 
 
 JoD. Never to draw my sword in a woman's 
 quarrel. 
 
 Feed. Sir, I am much deceiv'd if you are not 
 a coward. 
 
THE man's the master. 81 
 
 JOD. Ah father-in-law ! if that could possibly be, 
 yet your discretion should not meddle in nice 
 things, which, by the care I ought to take, should 
 never concern you. 
 
 Feed. But you shall know that it concerns me 
 much. 
 
 JOD. Bless me ! what a strange father-in-law 
 would you be 1 has the devil sent you hither to 
 tempt me, not only to homicide, but also to kill 
 my new alliance, your nephew 1 nay, and before 
 consummation, which, for ought I know, may like- 
 wise kill your daughter. 
 
 Ferd. I would thou wert valiant but one minute, 
 that, without loss of my honour, I might kill thee 
 before thou grow'st a coward again. 
 
 JoD. fie, Don Ferdinand, I have found your 
 disposition ; you would fain be too cruel ; but I'm 
 resolv'd to be merciful ; and will not tell you how 
 valiant I am. 
 
 Feed. But I am now resolv'd to tell you, that 
 your man has given his word to fight for you. 
 
 JoD. His word 1 The jealous coxcomb needs 
 not keep it ; for I did never doubt his courage. 
 Feed. Is that all? 
 
 JoD. Why then, sir, if he will needs fight for 
 me, let him know I shall not be jealous that my 
 own valour is less than his. 
 
 Feed. And yet you will not fight, either for 
 your brother or your sister. 
 
 JoD. A man must be in humour when he fights, 
 and let me die like a dog — which I would not say 
 falsely to get the whole world — if, to my remem- 
 brance, I ever had a less disposition to fighting 
 than now. Mistake me not, I speak but according 
 to my remembrance. 
 
 Feed. Well, I thought you valiant, but I am 
 couzen'd. 
 
 V. * r 
 
82 THE man's the master. 
 
 JOD. Sir, I confess I have taken too much 
 pleasure in deceiving the world, for I have couzen'd 
 many who thought me valiant, and many who 
 thought me a coward. 
 
 Ferd. You have given your self a rare recreation. 
 
 JoD. But, sir, let's leave the pleasant part of our 
 discourse, and be a little serious. 
 
 Feed. Do so, but with as much brevity as you 
 can. 
 
 JoD. I pray tell me, sir ! suppose that with a sa- 
 hagun, or with a rapier of Toledo, I were pierc'd 
 like a cullender ; or suppose that with a S3rrian 
 scymitar or a buckswbrd-blade of Houndslough, I 
 were minc'd into a pie, how would my brother or 
 my sister be the better for it 1 
 
 Feed. "Well, for your father's sake, my ancient 
 friend, I'll leave you whole, without being either 
 pierc'd or minc'd. 
 
 JoD. For his sake, sir, I will with patience 
 endure your courtesy. 
 
 Ferd. You shall do well in doing so ; but for 
 my own sake, you must, instead of my daughter, 
 seek another wife in Madrid. 
 
 JOD. "What ! you would have a Cid to your son- 
 in-law, that should kill you first, then marry 
 Chimena ] 
 
 Feed. Expect nothing from me but scorn and 
 hatred. incomparable coward ! 
 
 JoD. I am, Don Ferdinand ! despite of your 
 cruelty, and of your black teeth, your most humble 
 and most faithful servant ; and I am as much, or 
 more, to the lady Isabella. 
 
 Feed. I am not yours ; and when you are out 
 of my house — which must be suddenly, and without 
 noise,— I shall do my self the dishonor to force 
 you to another kind of account. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 83 
 
 Enter Don John. 
 
 D. John. Don Ferdinand ! I pray, sir, what 
 puts you into choler ? 
 
 Ferd. My ill choice of a cursed son-in-law. 
 
 JOD. Don Ferdinand, I'll be gone, that you may 
 speak better of a friend behind his back. [Exit. 
 
 Ferd. Let him go, Jodelet ! He disavows you 
 in all, and has told me plainly, he was not of 
 opinion that he ought to take notice of injuries ; 
 and that he was never inclin'd to revenge. Nay, 
 he has almost profest that he has lost his courage. 
 
 D. John. [Aside!] 'Tis strange that he took no 
 more care to keep it having so little. 
 
 Ferd. Pray call him back to save his honour ! 
 Tell him what he ought to do, being doubly 
 affronted by Don Lewis. Dear Jodelet, shew the 
 friendship of a servant by persuading a master to 
 courage. 
 
 D. John. Sir, I am sure he has a kind of 
 country-courage. 
 
 Ferd. What do you mean '! 
 
 D. John. I mean he's very obstinate, and will 
 seldom yield to persuasion. 
 
 Ferd. I'm sorry, for his father's sake ; especially 
 since I have proceeded so far towards an alliance. 
 If I were doubly injur'd as he is, I should not 
 behave my self like him. His enemy stays for me 
 at the end of the street ; I'll go to him. 
 
 Enter JODELET. 
 
 D. John. Do, sir, for my master is come back, 
 though I fear I shall find him too haughty to be 
 counsell'd into courage. [Ex. Ferd. 
 
 JoD. Is he gone, sir 1 
 
 D. John. Yes, but tell me, Jodelet, what_ new 
 affront have we to revenge ? 
 
84 THE man's the master. 
 
 Job. I am the son of a sow if lie has not remoVd 
 my patience so far from me that I can hardly reach 
 it again: yet I'm as unwilling to be angry as 
 another. Sir, you must disguise your self no 
 longer. These false habits may grow to be fools' 
 coats, and Don Lewis will turn all into laughter. 
 But you did challenge him for me 1 
 
 D. John. Yes, and without telling him that I 
 was Don John. And, in troth, I did suspect that 
 the young gallant had courted Isabella. In short I 
 found him hidden in her chamber ; and, but for an 
 accident which I must conceal from thee, we 
 should have met in the field. 
 
 Job. That is to say, you had invited him to take 
 the air in a grave. 
 
 D. John. I have deferr'd the business till I see 
 one thing more evident, which is yet but the 
 subject of my suspicion : for, perhaps, I may find 
 it but a false-game which Bettris plays to get 
 money. 
 
 JoD. That baggage carries her purse in her 
 bosom ; and, according to the Northern Proverb, 
 is as liquorish at a penny as at a posset. 
 
 D. John. I have some reasons to believe that 
 Isabella is very ignorant of the artifice. 
 
 JoD. Sir, there may be more in't than you 
 suspect. I'm loth to say it, but, if I could speak 
 without making any words, I would tell you that 
 I think Don Lewis offends you in private. 
 
 D. John. Ah, say no more : I guess too much. 
 All my past misfortunes and the present concur 
 against me : but I have some comfort yet, for 
 nobody takes notice of it. 
 
 Job. None know it, for ought I know, unless it 
 be the people. 
 
 D. John. Thou mak'st me mad. I will consider 
 
THE man's the master. 85 
 
 nothing but revenge. Is Don Ferdinand our friend 
 or enemy ? 
 
 JoD. Don Lewis is of his blood ; but for the 
 honour of yours, he does that which no man ever 
 did for another. He would have Don Lewis give 
 you satisfaction, and Don Lewis stays for me near 
 this house ; who still believes me to be Don John. 
 
 D. John. I must kill him : but men of action 
 are often parted in the street. The war which 
 honour makes in streets does quickly end in peace, 
 and I grow doubtful where to fight. 
 
 JoD. 'Tis great pity there is not some amphi- 
 theatre, built at the public charge of butchers, 
 for the honourable exercise of cutting men's throats. 
 
 D. John. Revenge is often interrupted in the 
 field, because now even all peculiar fields are turn'd 
 to common roads about this populous town. If I 
 could find some house, though 'tis against the 
 fashion us'd in duels 
 
 JoD. Stay, sir, I'll fit you with a place. I have 
 the key of a low apartment where we are to lodge. 
 There you may conveniently be reveng'd, almost in 
 the sight of your mistress, and yet neither she nor 
 her father can see it. 
 
 D. John. Thou hast made an excellent choice, 
 my dear Jodelet. 
 
 JoD. My dear Don John ! 
 
 D. John. Go and appoint him a meeting in the 
 evening. 
 
 JoD. But rather, sir, do you go. 'Tis now high 
 time that men should know who you are. How 
 can you think to continue your fury and pass for 
 Jodelet ] Go, go, sir, discover your self, and fight 
 soundly ! Revenge is a hearty food for those who 
 have a stomach to't. 
 
 D. John. How, Jodelet f because for a mere 
 provocation of jealousy, for a simple suspicion, I 
 
86 THE man's the master. 
 
 have disguis'd my name, wilt thou therefore have 
 me discover my self before the injury be evident ] 
 No, thou shalt remain Don John awhile, and 
 invite him to the low chamber, to measure weapons 
 there, and to consult about contriving the privacy 
 of the duel. 
 
 JOD. Then you command me to be still Don John ? 
 
 D. John. I do rather conjure thee. 
 
 JoD. Well, I obey you, sir. But if by chance, 
 as men are often impatient, he should draw his 
 sword before he enters this house, -what shall 
 Jodelet do who has no inclination to war, and is, 
 perhaps, contented to sojourn in this foolish world | 
 
 D. John. Make signs to him far off. He's 
 prompt, and will not fail to follow thee till he 
 comes where I wiU stay to kill him. 
 
 JoD. There's another scruple, which lies in the 
 very bottom of my bowels. 
 
 D. John. What's that 1 
 
 JoD. He may be short sighted, and, thinking my 
 sword drawn, may run at me. 
 
 D. John. Fy, fy ! thy imagination is too subtle. 
 He has an eye like an eagle and will distinguish at 
 a mile's distance any little fly from a flea. Thou 
 shalt beckon him far off, then lead him to me. 
 
 JoD. These appointments are somewhat hard. 
 But, sir, pray be sure that you likewise take heed 
 of mistakes. Men's eyes are often dazzled with 
 choler. If I, without thinking of you, should 
 enter before Don Lewis ; and you, without thinking 
 of me, should run a tilt at my belly 
 
 D. John. Thou hast a Jesuitical way of making 
 impossible scruples. 
 
 JoD. Nay, sir, I know if I am wounded, you 
 Will cry, in troth, poor Jodelet, I'm sorry ! 
 Excuse a foolish chance ! Then I, good soul. 
 Shall quickly be contented and soon whole. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
THE MAN S THE MASTER. 87 
 
 Act v. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Isabella, Lucilla, Bettris. A candle 
 on the table. 
 
 ISAB. Madam Bettris, what do you here ? 
 
 Bet. I am preparing a warm chamber for your 
 benumb'd lover ; and, I beseech you, from whence 
 come you, and Madam Lucilla ? 
 
 ISAB. We have been sighing in a shade. 
 
 Luc. Madam, I must tell you again, if fortune 
 should bring the whole sex of men before you, and 
 give you leave to make your own election, you 
 could not chuse a more worthy husband than Don 
 John ; and, when you know him better, you will 
 confess my belief is guided by reason. 
 
 ISAB. And I must needs declare, since your 
 opinion is so confident against mine, that one of us 
 is very ignorant. 
 
 Luc. You make me wonder. Madam ; but if all 
 wonder did not proceed from ignorance, I should 
 not quickly yield in this debate. 
 
 ISAB. Alas ! you are his sister ; and that may 
 well excuse your partiality. You may allow me 
 liberty to tell you this, because we have contracted 
 a friendship. 
 
 Bet. Were I my mistress, if there were no more 
 men in the world, I would marry Don John, be- 
 cause I would have children, and because all chil- 
 dren are not like the father. 
 
 Luc. Bettris, I cannot be angry when you please 
 to be merry. 
 
 Bet. Madam, whatever your griefs be, I wonder 
 you are not merry too, for Don John makes all the 
 world laugh. 
 
 ISAB. Bettris ! you are too rude. 
 
 Bet. Madam ! you are too grave. If I were to 
 
88 THE man's the master. 
 
 be bride, like you, I would not carry myself like a 
 nun. 
 
 ISAB. (Aside.) I am unhappy above the help of 
 fortune ; ordain'd to be possest of what I hate, and 
 by unnatural custom I am made ashamed of what 
 I love. 
 
 Bet. Madam, let us hasten up stairs ! somebody 
 opens the door and will surprise us [noise within like 
 a key turning a lock*]. (Aside.) 'Tis Laura ! who, as 
 I appointed, makes a noise about the lock to fright 
 these love-sick ladies, and make them retire, to take 
 their med'cine of sighs. Madam, I hear't again ! 
 
 ISAB. You are scar'd ! 
 
 Bet. If you had been as often privately in love 
 as I have been, you'd soon be afraid at the opening 
 of a door. [Exeunt Isabella, Lucilla. 
 
 So, let them feed on sorrows of love ; which is 
 commonly at Court the ill second course at the pro- 
 mising feasts of lovers, whilst we, poor wenches, 
 are contented with country sports. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Sancho, Stephano, and Laura, with a scarf 
 in her hand, ANOTHER SPANIARD and two 
 Young Women. 
 
 Lau. The lie, Signior Sancho, is hard of diges- 
 tion ; but, having first swallowed the gilded pill of 
 love, it prepares the stomach for any thing. 
 
 Steph. And I have said so much, to cure your 
 jealousy, as would make an old Italian trust his 
 wife with a young painter, and leave her with him 
 to draw her naked. 
 
 Sanch. Not naked. 
 
 * At this point, in the edition of 1775, which closes Scene L, 
 exeunt Isabella and Lucilla. The second scene opens with the 
 entrance of Don John, who, "after unlocking the door and 
 bringing the key," says, "I hear them coming," &c., see p. 91, 
 the intermediate passages being omitted. 
 
THE man's the master. 89 
 
 Steph. You shall, besides the materials of our 
 last collation, have an inundation of olio,* where 
 you may bathe your knuckles till you cure 'em of 
 the gout. 
 
 Lau. But we must enable our appetites with 
 exercise. We have appointed a dance for blind- 
 man-buff, in which you shall be hoodwinkt, and 
 appear all over, Cupid the second. 
 
 Sanch. Bating beard. 
 
 Lau. Come, gentle love, let me blind you ! and 
 then 
 
 Sanch. Collation ? 
 
 Steph. 'Tis prepar'd within. 
 
 Sanch. Mighty olios 1 
 
 Steph. A sea of olio, and in it hams of Baijon 
 lying at Hull with sails furl'd up of cabbage- 
 leaves. 
 
 Sanch. Then bisks. 
 
 IjAU. Embroider'd with pistachoes. " 
 
 Sanch. And mussels 1 
 
 Steph. Broil'd ; and then, to make you corpu- 
 lent, roasted chestnuts stew'd in gravy. 
 
 Sanch. And chitterlings 1 
 
 Steph. Ay, ay, to fill up chinks. 
 
 Sanch. And ragouts ? 
 
 Steph. Strew'd over with salt-petre and Jamaica- 
 pepper, to make you thirst for whole flagons of 
 scargos and ravidavio ; and you shall be a very 
 
 Sanch. Drunken Cupid ! 
 
 Lau. Pray love, be humble and stoop a little 
 
 Sanch. I yield ! 
 
 [Laura hoodwinks Sancho with a scarf. 
 
 Enter Bettris. 
 
 Bett. We have now both place and opportunity 
 for mirth. The ladies are retir'd, Don Ferdinand's 
 
 * A Spanish dish made by mingUug different kinds of meat, 
 flavoured with garlic. 
 
90 THE MAN'S THE MASTER. 
 
 abroad, the three strangers are severally disperst, 
 and gone, I think, in quest of wand'ring love. 
 
 Lau. We have a staid old Cupid here who 
 wears his quiver in his pocket, full of tooth-picks 
 instead of arrows, in expectation of a feast. 
 
 Bet. What, blinded already 1 Come then, let's 
 begin ! 
 
 [They pit themselves info several stations and 
 Sancho in the middle. 
 Steph. Now we have blinded so your sight 
 That ev'n at noon the rays of light 
 Are lost as if your eyes were out, 
 We'll turn you once and twice about. 
 About, about ! about again ! 
 Twice for the maids, once for the men. 
 Bet. Here stands a maid, and there a man. 
 Omnes. We all are near ; catch whom you can. 
 Steph. W^e clos'd your eyes lest you should see ; 
 And so your ears shall useless be. 
 For now, as in the calm of sleep, 
 All shall commanded silence keep ; 
 Lest any man or any maid, 
 Be by distinguisht voice betray'd. 
 Bet. Here stands a maid and there a man. 
 Omnes. We'll all start fair. Catch whom you can ! 
 They dance, in which the men kick Sancho by 
 turns, and he at several times says the fol- 
 lowing words. 
 
 Sanch. That's a man 
 
 That's no maid 
 
 That's a horse- 
 
 Courage brave bum 
 
 [The dance being ended a bell rings. 
 Bet. My lady rings. She wants me. Let's 
 away ! 
 
 Sanch. Where's collation "! 
 
 [He pulls down his scarf. 
 
THE MAN'S THE MASTER. 91 
 
 Lau. Signior Sancho, I took the lie from you, 
 and now you must accept of one from me. I pro- 
 mist you a collation, but there is none. You must 
 e'en fast and pray for better manners. 
 
 Bet. We did this to save you a labour; for 
 when no crumbs can fall upon your beard you need 
 not brush it. 
 
 Sanch. I could eat 
 
 Lau. Whaf! 
 
 Sanch. Thee. [Exeunt Sancho me way, and 
 
 the rest at the other door 
 
 Enter Don John. 
 
 D. John. I hear 'em coming. I'll leave the 
 door open, take away the key, and conceal my self 
 in the alcove. 
 
 Enter Jodelet, Don Lewis. 
 
 JoD. Now where'sthe evil spirit, my master? 
 Hah ! vanisht ! he's gone, quite gone ! This Don 
 Lewis is as famous as Cain for matters of killing, 
 and, which is worse to me than no help, he shuts 
 the door. Well, since I'm pent in I would I were 
 but as valiant as an imprison'd cat, that I might 
 fly at his face. 'Tis very inconvenient to be a 
 man without manhood. that traitor, my master ! 
 
 D. Lewis. Now, sir, we are enclos'd, and may 
 fight without interruption. 
 
 J 01). (Aside.) I would he were hang'd that is not 
 here to part us. 
 
 D. Lewis. You mutter, sir ! you may express 
 your anger with your sword. 
 
 JoD. Who, I, sir ? I scorn to mutter any thing 
 against any man who wUl give me any reasonable 
 satisfaction. 
 
 D. Lewis. I was bravely invited and am ready 
 to do you reason. 
 
 JoD. Sir, I shall always report you are not only 
 
 ii< 
 
92 THE man's the master. 
 
 a very reasonable man, but are also willing to 
 consider — 
 
 D. Lewis. What mean you by consider ? 
 
 JoD. That's well ask't, sir, and I am apt to 
 answer your questions, if you will spend a little 
 time in discourse. 
 
 D. Lewis. Is this a time to be spent in words 1 
 
 JOD. Nay, sir, I see you are hasty, but, perhaps, 
 I may have patience to hear you out. 
 
 D. Lewis. To hear me out ? Do you take me 
 for a talker when I come to be in action 1 
 
 JoD. (Aside.) This 'tis to meet with brute beasts 
 that are not capable of discourse. I'm quite for- 
 saken. My master has, certainly, no kind of con- 
 science — 
 
 D. Lewis. What the devil do you seek? 
 
 [Jodelet looks up and down. 
 
 JOD. {Aside.) Two things, which I fear I shall 
 not find : my valour and my master. 
 
 D. Lewis. This is a mystery ! Still you are 
 muttering, but what look you for ? 
 
 JoD. I hope you are alone. 
 
 D. Lewis. How, sir ! do you bring me hither to 
 ask that ? 
 
 JoD. Lord, you are so choleric that one cannot 
 speak to you : may not a man ask a question for 
 your good ? 
 
 D. Lewis. I have attended to see your sword 
 out ; and honour taught me that patience : but 
 
 now I'll trust you with no more time 
 
 [He draws. 
 
 JoD. Bless me ! what a long spit he draws ! I 
 have been a raw fellow at fighting, and now am 
 like to be roasted. 
 
 D. Lewis. Come, sir 1 Are you ready f for I 
 scorn to take advantage. 
 
 JoD. In troth I see you are a man of honour. 
 
THE man's the master. 93 
 
 and I could find in my heart to consider a while 
 how I may requite your courtesy. 
 
 D. Lewis. Courtesy ? I disdain to receive it 
 from you. Prepare your self 
 
 JOD. Stay, stay a little, sir ! 
 Let me advise you as a friend to lay aside your 
 passion when you fight, for in good faith you are 
 too hasty. 
 
 D. Lewis. Is this behaviour equal .to your 
 former heat 1 Methinks you grow cold. Your 
 courage is an ague, for it comes in fits. But I 
 shall cure it. 
 
 JoD. (Aside.) Heav'n, I thank thee heartily ! for 
 I spy my master. Ah, sir ! come out ! do you 
 want courage? 
 
 [Speaks softly to Don John behind him. 
 
 D. John. Retire as thou art fighting that thou 
 may'st amuse him. 
 
 D. Lewis. Quick, sir, draw ! for I have told 
 you that I scorn to take advantage. 
 
 JoD. Nay, an' you grow so angry, sir, then T say 
 again, stay ! for I scorn all advantages as much as 
 you do. [He takes up the candle. 
 
 D. Lewis. If you have any odds I cannot see't. 
 
 JoD. Lord ! how your passion blinds you. Do 
 you think I'm so base as to fight with rapier and 
 candle against single rapier. 
 
 D. Lewis. Lay down the light then. 
 
 JoD. Honour is a fool in the field when it wants 
 stratagem. 
 
 D. Lewis. I think he's mad ; for still he mutters 
 and looks back. Don John ! I suspect the temper 
 of your brain, as much as I doubt the courage of 
 your heart ; you seem to have a great quantity of 
 the coward, but more of the fool. 
 
 JoD. Not so much of the fool as you suppose, 
 sir [He puts out the candle. 
 
94 THE man's the master. 
 
 D. Lewis. What ! art thou all coward, and 
 cover'st thy self in darkness 1 
 
 JoD. Did not you kill my brother in the dark 1 
 
 T>. Lewis. If that will more incense thee, know, 
 I did. 
 
 JOD. (Aside.) Then try your cat's eyes once 
 again. [He retires. 
 
 D, Lewis. Say you so, sir 1 
 
 JoD. {Aside.) The devil's in the dice if you 
 throw twice in and in, without any light. 
 
 D. Lewis. Where are you, sir ? 
 
 JoD. {Aside). What a fool were I if I should tell 
 him. 
 
 D. Lewis. You are bashful, and would not have 
 your courage seen. 
 
 JoD. {Aside.) I'm a little valiant when I spy no 
 naked weapon. 
 
 \3e steps aside, thrusts at great distance at first, 
 and at last hits Don Lewis, then retires to 
 the alcove. 
 Now good speed to one push at hazard — I think 
 that toucht something. I hope I have not run my 
 sword through one of the Caesars' eyes in the 
 hanging 
 
 D. Lewis. The wretch has drawn my blood ! I 
 feel it, for it wets my hand. But now by this, 
 more than before, he does deserve to be my enemy. 
 
 D. Feed. {Within.) I'm certain that's my 
 nephew's voice. If I can feel no key in the lock, 
 then mine will give me entrance. 
 
 D. John. Go forth from the alcove or I'll 
 strangle thee. 
 
 Don Feed, opens the door and enters with a light. 
 
 D. Feed. Hah! what's the business here my 
 friends ? 
 
 \Jod. steps out of the alcov^. D. Ferd. lays 
 hold on D. Lewis. 
 
THE man's the master. 95 
 
 JoD. I'm taking satisfaction for my injuries. 
 
 D. Lewis. I have lost blood, and will be straight 
 reveng'd. 
 
 D. Feed. Is't by stoccado, or stramason ? 
 
 JoD. A thousand Satans take all good luck ! I 
 shall pay soundly for having the honour to give 
 the first wound. 
 
 D. Fred. Let me see, nephew? your hand is 
 hurt. 
 
 D. Lewis. 'Tis but a slight prick. 
 
 JoD. Would I had two in my right hand that I 
 might get an excuse to let my sword fall. 
 
 D. Feed. Now, my dear friends, fight freely ! 
 I come not here to make peace. The one, who 
 sufiers by a deep and double injury, is by promise 
 to be my son-in-law. The other is my nephew, 
 who must be satisfied for loss of blood. I'll look 
 on each with the same eyes which in my youth did 
 love to see the exercise of honour. Fight, and 
 fight bravely ! but first let me place the light con- 
 veniently for both. 
 
 D. Lewis. Your counsel will be quickly foUow'd, 
 sir, by men who know your courage. 
 
 JoD. Eare counsel indeed, which exhorts us to 
 a duel. This old man is heartily wicked, and may 
 be held the very father of the Hectors. 
 
 D. Lewis. My anger makes me insolent and 
 cruel. And, that I now may dare you to do more 
 than you durst do till darkness hid your fear, know, 
 I've deceiv'd your sister, and have kill'd your 
 brother. 
 
 D. John enters from the Alcove. 
 
 D. John. Since I am thus confirm'd, honour has 
 
 leave of conscience to be bloody in revenge 
 
 Stay, sir ! 
 
96 THE man's the master. 
 
 JOD. (Aside). are you come"! in true tragedies 
 let every man act his own part. 
 
 D. John. You do not know Don John : behold 
 him here ! You did deceive my sister, and have 
 kill'd my brother, and are now, against your self, 
 th'audacious witness of such double wickedness as 
 justice cannot hear but with a double sense of 
 anger and of shame. I wish you had more than a 
 single life to answer both. 
 
 D. Feed. But is the man become the master 1 
 D. Lewis. Make haste to let me know, which 
 of the two is more worthy than the other to be 
 my enemy. Which is Don John ? 
 D. John. That name is mine. 
 D. Lewis. Then what is he ? 
 JoD. I'm no Don John, I dare assure you, sir ; 
 but yet am so well bred, that I can give way to 
 my betters in all quarrels. 
 
 D. John. Under a servant's name I have endur'd 
 my injuries whilst I had got no more than a sus- 
 picion of th'offender's person to authorize my re- 
 venge ; but, since you proudly have declar'd you 
 did those injuries, you cannot think that I should 
 longer bear them. My brother's blood incites me 
 to revenge. 
 
 D. Lewis. The cry of blood may cease when the 
 revenge of it is near. 
 
 D. John. Know my revenge is heighten'd by 
 that black dishonour which has stained my sister's 
 beauty, to whom you have ignobly shewn a want 
 of such compassion as does use t'accompany true 
 courage. 
 
 D. Lewis. Are you the true Don John, renown'd 
 
 for valour, and yet strive, with softning pity, to 
 
 allay that courage against which your honour does 
 
 contest ? 
 
 D. John. You ought to think my vengeance for 
 
TKE MAN'S THE MASTER. 97 
 
 my brother's death allows not words to respite 
 deeds : but, by degrees, I am proceeding to the 
 reason of this short delay. 
 
 D. Lewis. This is such a temper as I never 
 knew. 
 
 D. John. That I may make my sister feel my 
 justice more than cruelty, let me be now oblig'd 
 even by an enemy, with so much truth as men of 
 noble race can never want. 
 
 D. Lewis. What would you ask 1 
 
 D. John. Whether your many vows, broken as 
 as sworn, did not seduce my sister from her 
 father's house to seek you in disguise 1 And whether 
 in those vows you did not make a sacred contract 
 of immediate marriage t 
 
 D. Feed. This son-in-law is as prudent as he is 
 valiant ; though I did pronounce the other son-in- 
 law a coxcomb. ^ 
 
 JoD. That's L But, patience, for I've already 
 shed blood enough. 
 
 D. Lewis. Though when our swords are drawn 
 'tis then no season for confession, yet, in a just 
 compassion, for her sake, I will declare a blushing 
 truth. Your sister owes her affliction to my 
 repeated vows of marriage. 
 
 D. Feed. I swear ! — by the honour of all mus- 
 tachios, and of all the beards in Spain, my nephew 
 is a traitor. 
 
 JoD. Bless me ! what a horrid oath was that t 
 no choler shall transport me to swear by more 
 beards than my own. 
 
 D. Feed. Hadst thou a heart so cruel as to 
 o'ercome a virgin by thy vows, and then forsake 
 her for her faith 1 Son-in-law, I'm wholy now of 
 your side, and will renounce my blood in him; 
 who does deserve to have it shed not by a single 
 hand of honour, but by confederacy of common force. 
 V. G 
 
98 THE man's the mastee. 
 
 JoD. Now for the French mode of fighting 
 
 [I». Ferdinand goes to D. John's side. 
 I fear I shall, by a trick of honour, be made a 
 second to the wrong side. 
 
 D. Lewis. Stay, uncle ! shall the virtue of con- 
 fession make you my enemy ? 
 
 D. Feed. Yes ! where , divines are not the 
 duellists 
 
 D. John. Hold, Don Ferdinand ! My honour 
 will not suffer me. to share in such advantages. 
 
 D. Lewis. That's spoken like a true Don John. 
 
 D. Feed. Then I alone will fight with him. 
 
 D. John. My honour will less yield, that you, sir, 
 should deprive me of my enemy. Sir, I beseech you, 
 hold ! 
 
 D. Feed. Then take him to your self ! though 
 such who traitors ,are to virgins deserve their 
 punishment from every hand. 
 
 D. John. {To D. Lewis). I have another question 
 now, to which a civU foe will give reply ; and 'tis 
 to cure my greatest pain, my jealousy ; so great a 
 torment as I could not wish to my most fata,l 
 enemy, no, not to you. 
 
 D. Lewis. Sir, now you teach me to be civil. 
 Proceed to tell me your disease if you will hasten 
 to the remedy. 
 
 D. John. Know, I am jealous ! 
 
 D. Lewis. Of whom'! 
 
 D. John. Of you. 
 
 D. Lewis. Of me ? 
 
 D. John. I saw you leap from the balcony of 
 this house. 
 
 D. Lewis. Did you see it ? 
 
 D. John. Yes, I saw it, and, since that, found 
 you conceal'd in Isabella's chamber. 
 
 D. Feed. {Aside). Hah ! Can I have patience to 
 hear more ? 
 
THE man's the master. 99 
 
 D. Lewis. If I in this new confession shall add to 
 what I spoke before, you cannot think 'tis from th' 
 effect of fear, for honour does oblige me to't. If I 
 have been your rival then my love did wrong your 
 sister rather than injure you, because I did not 
 know Don John : and honour now does join with 
 truth to make me call on Heav'n to assist me when 
 I Isabella vindicate ; who with disdain refused all 
 love but what her father should prefer. 
 
 D. Feed. (Aside.) That is some motive for my 
 patience. 
 
 D. Lewis. I further must declare that Bettris, 
 to promote th' address I made for marriage, did, 
 unknown to her lady, hide me then in the balcony, 
 and after that conceal'd me in her lady's chamber; 
 for which she was in hazard of her service. 
 
 D. Feed. (Aside). I remember my daughter 
 would have dismist her service ] which gives my 
 patience another comfort. 
 
 D. John. All my disease of jealousy ends here, 
 and I'll continue still to be a civil enemy, for I 
 will thank you for my cure. But now 
 
 D. Feed. Stay, stay Don John ! The next de- 
 mand belongs to me. Why did you make your 
 visit here in a disguise I 
 
 D. John. Sir, it is fit you should be satisfied. 
 [ chang'd my habit when I saw him scape from the 
 balcony, supposing in another shape my jealousy 
 might sooner be inform'd. 
 
 D. Feed. I hear enough. My honour now 
 makes me forsake your cause, and leads me to the 
 other side. You are my enemy ! 
 
 [He goes to the side of D. Lewis. 
 
 D. John. 'Tis my misfortune then, and not my 
 choice. 
 
 D. Feed. You came into my house not as a 
 lover but a spy; and, with a stratagem, coarse, and 
 
100 .THE man's the master. 
 
 ■below my dignity, advanc'd your man to woo my 
 ■ daughter. Prepare yourself for my revenge ! 
 
 D. Lewis. Pray, hold, sir ! hold ! you punish 
 me too much in taking from my sword that enemy 
 who first made me his choice. 
 
 D. John. Don Ferdinand, you never can so 
 much provoke me as to raise my anger 'gainst the 
 father of the mistress whom I love. 
 
 D. Feed. You lov'd with too much insolence, 
 and doubtfully, when you design'd your man to 
 court her in your shape. 
 
 D. John. I may, without dishonour, crave for 
 that your pardon : and when you shall resent my 
 change of shape, you then forget love's ancient his- 
 tories ; for my disguise is not the first that love 
 has worn. But I conjure you, by my father's 
 friendship, to forgive the foolish arts of jealousy. 
 
 D. Ferd. Well ! for his sake I am appeas'd, and 
 bury your offence; but 'tis on this condition that 
 I may now restrain your combat till I treat with 
 each for both. 
 
 D. John. To this I yield. 
 
 D. Lewis. To shew that you have taught me 
 temper I consent by your example. 
 
 JOD. My master taught Don Lewis discretion 
 and I taught it him. 'Twas ever said of Don Jod- 
 elet, that he did much incline to peace. 
 
 D. Feed. You, by your sword, Don John, have 
 leisure to receive 
 Such satisfaction as yoar honour does require 
 For all my nephew's broken faith, which now 
 Afi&icts your sister, but he can never bring her 
 
 back to her fair fame 
 XJnless he marry her ; and I presume I need not 
 
 now persuade 
 What justice and religion does enjoin. 
 
 D. Lewis [to, D. John.'] I doubly am prepar'd. 
 
THE man's the master. 101 
 
 First I will meet your sister in the Temple to per- 
 form my former vows ; and then I will return and 
 meet you here, or, in the field, to pay the debt I 
 owe you for your brother's blood. 
 
 P. Ferd. Don John, none yet did ever celebrate 
 the sacred rites of Hymen with a tragedy ; and 
 I'm obliged to tell you that my nephew often has 
 lamented your unhappy brother's death, who in the 
 dark was wounded by mistake, and I have heard 
 my nephew vow that he did ever wear your brother 
 in his bosom as his dearest friend. 
 
 D. Lewis. This truth which you aflSrm does 
 more, perhaps, become your tongue than mine, 
 whilst I continue in this posture 'gainst an enemy. 
 D. John. The season, now is fit to tell, why I 
 have here 
 Made some delay of my revenge. My brother is 
 alive ! 
 D. Lewis. Alive ? Heaven is propitious in this 
 wonder. 
 
 D. Ferd. I am alike surpriz'd with wonder and 
 with joy. 
 
 D. John. Much blood my brother lost by that 
 unlucky wound you gave him, which some hours 
 depriv'd him of the chiefest signs of life, but, being 
 to a surgeon's house remov'd, he was by his great 
 art, in a few days, made hopeful of his cure. I did 
 conceal the good success even from my servants, 
 and in Madrid divulg'd that he was dead. 
 
 D. Ferd. "What could you mean by making that 
 report ? 
 
 D. John. I thought, Don Lewis, that the 
 rumour of his death would make it harder for you 
 to escape the rig'rous law in order to my sister's 
 injuries, who then forsook my father's house in 
 your pursuit. 
 
 D. Ferd. My dear John, since you perceive 
 
102 THE man's the master. 
 
 your brother only wounded by mistake, and that 
 wound cur'd : Don Lewis and your sister ready to 
 be join'd by Hymen's hand, and I prepar'd to make 
 my Isabella yours ; let me behold a knot of friend- 
 ship tied between two enemies. Come both,- and 
 cheerfully embrace. 
 
 D. John. Don Lewis, all offences past shall 
 vanish like the dreams of infancy. 
 
 D. Lewis. And all that we hereafter to each 
 other do, shall last like the exemplar deeds of men 
 renown'd. [Don John and Don Lewis embrace. 
 
 JOD. Peace is proclaim'd! I'll rest contented 
 with honour gotten in the dark, and sheath my 
 sword as gamesters put up false dice, to hide 'em 
 after they have won money. 
 
 Unter Isabella, Bettkis. 
 
 D. Feed. Come Isabella, you shall now, and 
 with your own consent, be given to Don John. 
 
 IsAB. With my consent 1 Are there such mir- 
 acles when Lucilla says all faiith is lost ; or else, at 
 least, that men have none. 
 
 D. Feed. Behold the true Don John ! 
 
 ISAB. [To Ferd.] Though I'm not worthy of your 
 favour, sir, 
 Yet use me not with scorn. 
 
 D. Feed. You may perceive my joy, and cannot 
 think it counterfeit. 
 You shall know more before I lead you to the 
 priest. 
 
 IsAB. This is a miracle which I am willing to 
 believe. 
 
 D. Feed. Give me your hand, which must be 
 mine no more, for it is now your nuptial pledge. 
 
 D. John. Give me your pardon, madam, ere I 
 take your hand : 
 pardon the cause for which I did assume 
 
THE man's THK master. 103 
 
 My servant's shape ; but I am now the true Don 
 John. 
 ISAB. (Aside.) Prophetic love ! thou taught'st 
 me to believe it ere he said it. 
 
 D. Ferd. Bettris, I will not chide you now. 
 This day permits no anger. 
 
 Bet. Indeed, I ever thought this was the true 
 Don John. 
 Though, in the dark, I twice mistook another for 
 
 him : 
 Which made me hide Don Lewis ; first in the bal- 
 cony, 
 Then in my lady's chamber. 
 
 D. Ferd. Go, go, make haste! and call the 
 
 Lady Lucilla. [Exit Bettris. 
 
 JoD. Truly she was mistaken, sir. Her eyes 
 
 are much decay'd with watching late to prevent th' 
 
 unlucky meeting of lovers. 
 
 D. John. Come, sister ! you shall weep no more. 
 
 Enter LuciLLA and Bettris. 
 
 Don Lewis is your best physician and can cure 
 your grief. He is my present to you ; take him, 
 and forgive him ! 
 
 D. Lewis. Can you forgive me, madam 1 The 
 priest wiU do it when he joins our hands. 
 
 Luc. He is ordain'd to be th' example still of 
 what 
 • We are to do ; and I shall quickly follow it. 
 This is a sudden change ; I will not now examine 
 how it comes, nor chide you when you tell it me. 
 
 JoD. Bettris, you have a great mind to take my 
 hand too. 
 
 Bet. Troth you must wash it first ; for when 
 your gloves were off I still suspected that you were 
 no more than an uncertain Don, called Jodelet. 
 
 D. Lewis. Don Jodelet, I have a small mark of 
 
104 THE man's THE MASTER. 
 
 your favour, which I wear on my right hand : but 
 I intend not to requite it till you are Don John 
 again. 
 
 JOD. Sir, you may defer your requital as long as 
 you please. You know I'm one of those who scorn 
 to be too hasty in calling for satisfaction when men 
 are anything willing to give it. 
 
 D. Ferd. The clouds which hover'd o'er my roof 
 to- day 
 Are all dispell'd. Make me your guide : I'll lead 
 You first to church, and then prepare for feasts. 
 
 Enter Laura, Sanoho, Stephano. 
 
 Lau. Why should we stay list'ning here any 
 longer? We have heard 'em talk of strange 
 changes, and of wonders more fortunate than we 
 could wish. 
 
 Steph. Don Ferdinand spoke of feasts : we can- 
 not have a better cue for our entrance. We may 
 safely step in, Siguier Sancho ! 
 
 Sanch. We may. 
 
 D. Feed. Come happy lovers, follow me! 
 
 JoD. Pray, stay awhile ! For matters may not 
 pass 
 So smoothly as you think. Madam, you have 
 Of mine a little picture which you please 
 To pin upon the curtain of your bed : 
 You keep the picture, yet are well content 
 To lose th' original. That's fine i'faith. 
 Sweet lady ! but 'twill not do. Eestore 
 It to me or be sure you never walk 
 Abroad alone after the sun is set. 
 Don Jodelet is such a furious spark 
 As will have satisfaction in the dark. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 In a Ballad, sung by two. 
 
 1. 
 Ladies who fine as fi'pence are, 
 You men with bright rose-noble hair, 
 Both all and some, for we now except none, 
 thrust out your ears and list to our moan. 
 Attend and eke hearken out of pure pity 
 To tidings doleful ; yea in a sad ditty; 
 The players grow poor and down they must fall, 
 Though some say they get the devil and all. 
 Alack, and alas ! our hearts are e'en broken : 
 But because in all plays 
 You still look for new ways, 
 We mean now to sing what ought to be spoken. 
 
 2. 
 
 Since no\y those poets get the vogue 
 
 Who still, with a bold epilogue. 
 Dare rattle spectators and cry 'em down. 
 As you do their plays, we'll tell you your own. 
 
 First, loving kind friends, who come from the 
 city. 
 
 You never think any play can be witty. 
 
 But that in which courtiers shrewdly are jeer'd. 
 Out on it, and fie ! was e'er the like heard 1 
 Why would you have us to bob and gibe 'em^ 
 
 When the wiser complain 
 
 That in private, for gain. 
 You are the men who endeavour to bribe 'em. 
 
 3. 
 
 Some gallants, though nameless, come here 
 Expecting our poets should jeer 
 
106 THE man's the master. 
 
 The city for custards and for the show 
 
 When pageants through rain do pass to and fro. 
 
 Those very old frumps, perhaps, would be 
 pretty ; 
 
 But, gallants, we have not the dulness to fit ye; 
 They grow too stale, and the reader who looks 
 Upon the sad notes of many shop-books 
 Will think that the cits have seldom nndone ye. 
 
 Rather you, ev'ry year. 
 
 Spoil their shows and their cheer, 
 For they want your wit, and you have their money. 
 
 4. 
 
 Now up wi' boots, and have at all ! 
 
 Ev'n you whom we town-gallants call ; 
 Who with your round feathers make a great show. 
 We mean you did wear such three years ago ; 
 
 Come then, and stand fair, that now we may 
 hit ye, 
 
 Because ev'n like Turks, without any pity. 
 You visit our plays, and merit the stocks 
 For paying half-crowns of brass to our box. 
 Nay, often you swear, when places are shewn ye, 
 
 That your hearing is thick, 
 
 And so, by a love-trick. 
 You pass through our scenes up to the balcony. 
 
 And some, a deuce take 'em ! pretend 
 They come but tb speak with a friend ; 
 Then wickedly rob us of a whole play 
 By stealing five times an act in a day. 
 
 little England ! speak, is it no pity, 
 That gallants ev'n here, and in thy chief city, 
 Should under-great peruques have heads so small, 
 As they must steal wit, or have none at all 1 
 
THE IVIAN'S THE MASTER. 107 
 
 Others are bolder, and never cry, shall I ? 
 
 For they make our guards quail, 
 
 And 'twixt curtain and rail, 
 Oft combing their hair, they walk in Fop-Alley. 
 
 6. 
 
 Gallants relent and eke repent. 
 
 For your so foul, nay, bad intent 
 Of paying us brass instead of true coin ; 
 And, for amends we only enjoin, 
 
 That ev'ry man, to declare conscience in ye, 
 
 Shall whisper a friend, and borrow a guinny ; 
 Which in our box you may carelessly throw, 
 And pay him who lends it to-morrow to mow. 
 And now to conclude, 'tis fit to acquaint ye 
 
 That though this epilogue 
 
 Does not flatter and cog 
 Yet a new ballad may pass for a dainty. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
The four dramatic pieces which follow are all more or 
 less connected with Shakespeare's name. In the list of 
 D'avenant's plays given in the introductory memoir 
 there occurs a fifth, in which, it has been always conr 
 sidered, he had a hand, viz., an alteration of "Julius 
 Csesar," but, as the authority which gives this alteration 
 to Sir William D'avenant and John Dryden rests entirely 
 upon the title-page of the play, which was not printed, 
 according to the several biographers, until 1719, a doubt 
 exists as to its truth. The title-page is this : — 
 
 " The Tragedy of Julius Csesar, with the Death of 
 Brutus and Cassius ; written originally by Shakespeare, 
 and since altered by Sir William D'avenant and John 
 Dryden, Poets Laureate , as it is now acted by his Ma- 
 jesty's Company of Comedians, at the Theatre Eoyal. 
 To which is prefixed the Life of Julius Csesar, abstracted 
 from Plutarch and Suetonius." 12mo. 1719. 
 
 In a quarto volume of plays in the library of the 
 Faculty of Advocates, Edinburgh, there occurs an edi- 
 tion of Julius Csesar, without date, but printed "for 
 Henry Herringham," the intimate acquaintance of both 
 D'Avenant and Dryden, " as performed at the Theatre 
 Eoyal," but without any mention being made of their 
 names in connection with it. The title is this : — 
 
 " Julius C^sar. A Tragedy, as it is now acted at the 
 Theatre Royal. Written by William Shakespeare, Lon- 
 don, Printed by H. H., jun., for Hen. Herringham and 
 R. Bentley, in Russel Street, in Covent Garden, and sold 
 by Joseph Knight and Francis Saunders, at the Bleu- 
 Anchor, in the Lower Walk of the New-Exchange, in 
 the Strand." 
 
 The cast of the characters is thus given : — 
 
 " Julius Csesar, Mr Goodman. Octavius Csesar, Mr 
 Perrin. Antony, Mr Kynnaston. Brutus, Cassius, 
 Casca, Trebonius, Ligurius, Decius, Brutus, Metellus, 
 Cimber, Cinna (Conspirators), by Mr Betterton, Mr 
 
112 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Smith, Mr Griffin, Mr Saunders, Mr Bowman, Mr Wil- 
 liams, Mr Montfort, Mr Carlile. Artimedorus, Mr Per- 
 civaL Messala and Titinius, Mr Wiltshier and Mr Gillo. 
 Cinna, the Poet, Mr Jevon. Flavins, Mr Norris. Ple- 
 beians, Mr Underbill, Mr Lee, Mr Bright. Calphurnia, 
 Md. Slingsby. Portia, Mrs Cook." 
 
 Julius Csesar was performed at the Theatre Royal in 
 1682, about the time of the union of the two companies, 
 and again in 1684, but again without any mention of 
 either D'avenant or Dryden. 
 
 It may be well to note here that a Latin play on the 
 subject of Csesar's death was performed at Christ Church, 
 in Oxford, in 1582. Malone thinks that there was an 
 English play on the same subject previous to Shake- 
 speare's. Csesar was killed in Pompey's portica, and not 
 in the Capitol ; but the error is at least as old as Chaucer's 
 time. 
 
 " This Julius to the Capitolie wente 
 Upon a day, that he was wont to gon. 
 And in the Capitolie ouer him bent 
 This false Brutus and his other soon, 
 And sticked him with bodekins anon 
 With many a wound," &o. 
 
 — Chatuxr's Monie's Tale, v. 11, 621. 
 
 The present tragi-comedy is composed out of two of 
 Shakespeare's plays, " Measure for Measure" and " Much 
 Ado About Nothing." The Biographia Britannica ob- 
 serves that " Mr Langbaine gives a very good character of 
 it, and indeed it is very smoothly and correctly written." 
 Langbaine further says, " Though not only the cha- 
 racters, but the language of the whole play almost, be 
 borrowed from Shakespeare, yet where the language is 
 rough or obsolete, our author has taken care to polish 
 it : as, to give, instead of many, one instance — Shake- 
 speare's Duke of Venice says thus (Act i., scene 1) : — 
 
 " I love the people ; 
 But do not like to stage me to their eyes ; 
 Though it do well, I do not relish well 
 Their loud applause, and Aves vehement ; 
 Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 
 That does affect it." 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 113 
 
 In Sir William's play the Duke speaks as follows : — 
 
 " I love the people ; 
 But would not on the stage salute the crowd. 
 I never relisht their applause ; nor think 
 The Prince has true discretion who affects it." 
 
 Shakespeare's comedy of " Measure for Measure " is 
 founded on a novel in Cynthio Giraldi, viz., Deca Ottava, 
 Novella 5». The like story is in Goulart's " Histoires 
 Admirables de Notre Temps," tome i., p. 216, and in 
 Lipsii Monita, 1. ii., c. 9, p. 125. 
 
 Pope notes " that the story ' Measure for Measure' is 
 taken, from Cinthio's Novels, Dec. 8, Nov. 5." The critical 
 Warburton, in his edition of Shakespeare (as the author 
 of " Canons of Criticism " observes), puts the contracted 
 words at full length, thus : December 8, November 5. 
 
 " Measure for Measure" was again altered in 1700, it 
 is believed by Gildon, and published in 4to, under the 
 title of "Measure for Measure, or Beauty the best Ad- 
 vocate, as it is acted at the Theatre iu Lincoln's-Inn- 
 Fields. Written originally by Mr Shakespear ; and 
 now very much altered ; With additions of several En- 
 tertainments of Musick. London : Printed for D. Brown, 
 at the Black Swan without Temple bar ; and R. Parker 
 at the Vnicorn under the Royal-Exchange in Cornhill, 
 1700." 
 
 Langbaine says of " Much Ado About Nothing," " All 
 that I have to remark is, that the contrivance oif Bora- 
 chio, in behalf of John the Bastard, to make Claudio 
 jealous of Hero, by the assistance of her waiting woman, 
 Margaret, is borrowed from Ariosto's ' Orlando Fuiioso.' " 
 See book the fifth, in the story of Lurcanio and Geneuza ; 
 the like story is in Spencer's " Fairy Queen," bookii., 
 canto 4. 
 
 Pepys thus records the performance of the "Law 
 against Lovers :" — 
 
 18th Feb. 1661-2.—" Having agreed with Sir W. Pen 
 to meet him at the opera, and finding by my walking in 
 the streets, which were everywhere full of brick-battes 
 and tyles flung dovra by the extraordinary winde the last 
 night (such as hath not been in memory before, unless 
 at the death of the late Protector), that it was danger- 
 
 V. H 
 
114 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 ous to go out of doors ; and hearing how several persons 
 had been killed to-day by the fall of things in the streets, 
 and that the pageant in Fleet Street is most of it blown 
 down, and hath broke down part of several houses, 
 among others Dick Brigdon's ; and that one Lady San- 
 derson, a person of quality in Covent Garden, was killed 
 by the fall of the house, in her bed, last night ; I sent my 
 boy to forbid Sir W. Pen to go forth. But he bringing 
 me word that he is gone, I went to the opera, and saw 
 The ' Law against Lovers,' a good play, and well per- 
 formed, especially the little girl's (whom I never saw act 
 before) dancing and singing ; and were it not for her, 
 the losse of Eoxalaua would spoil the house." 
 
the names op the persons. 
 
 The Duke of Savoy. 
 Lord Angelo, his deputy. 
 Benedick, brother to Angelo. 
 
 „ ' I His friends. 
 
 Balthazar, j 
 
 EscHALUS, a counsellor. 
 
 Claudio, in love with Julietta. 
 
 Provost. 
 
 Friar Thomas. 
 
 Bernardine, a prisoner. 
 
 Jailor. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Hangman. 
 
 Pages. 
 
 Beatrice, a great heiress. 
 
 Isabella, sister to Claudio. 
 
 Julietta, mistress to Claudio. 
 
 Viola, sisfer to Beatrice, very young. 
 
 Francisca, a nun. 
 
 Scene: Turin. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 
 ETder Duke, An<}elo, and attendants. 
 
 Duke. I'm sure in this your science does ex- 
 ceed 
 The measures of advice ; and to your skill, 
 By deputation, I resolve to leave a while 
 My place and strength. 
 
 Ang. Your Highness does amaze me with your 
 
 trust. 
 Duke. Your brother will be here to-night ; and 
 brings 
 . His share of victory and fair renown. 
 That victory gives me now free leisure to 
 Pursue my old design of travelling ; 
 Whilst, hiding what I am, in fit disguise, 
 I may compare the customs, prudent laws, 
 And managements of foreign States with ours. 
 Ang. Your Highness has a plenteous choice of 
 men, 
 Whom you may here depute with more success, 
 Than my abilities can promise. 
 
 Duke. Here, take our commission ! 
 In which we have enabled you with all 
 The sev'ral strengths and organs of my pow'r : 
 Your youth may bear that weight, which tires my 
 age. 
 Ang. In this acceptance, sir, I do with some 
 Unwillingness obey your pleasure. 
 
118 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Duke. Heaven does with us as we with torches 
 do, 
 Not light them for themselves, but others' use. 
 For if our virtues go not forth of us. 
 It were alike as if we had them not. 
 Be thou at full our self whilst we are absent 
 From our seat in Turin. 
 
 Ang. Sir, I could wish 
 There were more trial of my mettle made. 
 Before so noble and so great 
 A figure as your own be stampt on it. 
 
 Duke. No more evasion, 
 I have proceeded towards you with choice. 
 Sufficiently prepaid. 
 
 Enter Eschalus. 
 
 Good Eschalus, 
 Your ceremony now of taking leave 
 Must needs be short. You know the purpose ojf 
 My trust to Angelo, who here has my 
 Commission seal'd. 
 
 ESCH. Your Highness having been 
 So long resolv'd to travel, could not leave 
 A deputation of your pow'r in better hands. 
 
 Duke. Farewell ! our haste from hence is of 
 import. 
 You shall, as time and fit occasion serves, 
 Have letters from us ; and I hope to know. 
 With equal care, what does befall you here. 
 
 Ang. Will not your Highness give us leave to 
 bring 
 You onward on the way 1 
 
 Duke. My haste permits it not. 
 You need not, on mine honour, have to do 
 With scruple, for your scope is as mine own ; 
 So to enforce, or qualify the laws. 
 As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 1 1 9 
 
 I'll privately away ! I love the people ; 
 But would not on a stage salute the crowd. 
 I never relisht their applause ; nor think 
 The Prince has true discretion who affects it. 
 Be kind still to your brother Benedick, 
 And give him that respect which he 
 Hath by his share in victory deserv'd. 
 Once more, farewell ! 
 
 Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes. 
 
 EsCH. Lead forth, and bring you back in happi- 
 ness. [Exit Duke. 
 
 Ang. I shall desire you Eschalus, to let 
 Me have free speech with you ; for it concerns 
 Me much to see the bottom of my place. 
 The Duke has left me pow'r, but of what strength 
 And nature it will prove, may haply 
 Require your friendship to consider. 
 
 EsCH. My lord, if it shall please you to with- 
 draw. 
 You may command my secresy and service. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Beatrice, Julietta, Viola, Balthazar. 
 
 Beat. Does Signior Benedick return to-night t 
 
 Balt. We may expect him presently. He 
 brings 
 A share of conquest with him, and intends 
 To make a modest entry here by stealth : 
 But he is still as pleasant as you left him. 
 
 Beat. How many has he kill'd, and eaten, in 
 These wars 1 But pray, how many has he kill'd ? 
 For I promis'd to eat all of his killing. 
 
 Balt. He has done great service in these wars, 
 lady. 
 
 Beat. Sure you had musty victual then ; 
 And he has helpt to eat it. I know, sir, 
 He is a valiant trencher-man, and has 
 A good stomach. 
 
120 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Balt. He is a good soldier, lady. 
 
 Beat. A good soldier 
 To a lady, but what is he to a lord 1 
 
 Balt. A lord to a lord, a man to a man : 
 Stuft with all honourable virtues. 
 
 Beat. He is, indeed, no less than a stuft man : 
 But for the stuffing Well, we are all mortal. 
 
 Jul. Do not mistake my cousin Beatrice, sir, 
 There i.s a kind of a merry war between 
 Count Benedick and her : they never meet, 
 But there is a skirmish of wit between 'em. 
 
 Beat. He got nothing by that. In our last en- 
 counter 
 Four of his iive wits did go halting off; 
 And now the whole man is govern'd by one. 
 I pray, sir, who's his companion now ? for he was 
 
 wont 
 Every month to have a new sworn brother. 
 
 Balt. Ts't possible ? 
 
 Beat. Very possible. 
 He wears his faith but as the fashion of 
 His hat; it stiU changes with the next block. 
 
 Balt. Madam, the gentleman is not in your 
 books. 
 
 Viol. If he were, I have heard my sister say 
 She would burn her study. 
 
 Balt. Small mistress, have you learnt that in 
 your primer ? 
 This, madam, is your pretty bud of wit. 
 
 VoiL. A bud that has some prickles, sir. Take 
 heed; 
 You cannot gather me. 
 
 Beat. But, Signior Balthazar, 
 I pray who is Count Benedick's companion ? 
 
 Balt. At idle seasons, madam, he is pleas'd 
 To use no better company than mine. 
 
 Beat. He will hang on you like a disease, 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 121 
 
 He's sooner caught than the pestilence ; 
 And the taker does run presently mad. 
 Heaven help you, Balthazar, if you have caught 
 The Benedickt, for it will cost you more 
 Than a thousand pounds to be cur'd. 
 
 Balt. I wish I may hold friendship with you, 
 lady. 
 
 Beat. Y'ave the wit, sir, to wish for your self. 
 
 Jul. You'll never run mad, cousin. 
 
 Beat Not till a hot January. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, your guardian's brother, Count 
 Benedick, 
 Is newly enter'd. 
 
 Beat. The man of war, having been flesht 
 In the last battle, will bear all before him. 
 Let us sound a retreat, and hide our selves 
 Behind the hangings, to mark his behaviour. 
 
 Viol. Dear sister, let me hide my self too 
 
 [Beatrice, Viola, Juliet, step behind the hangings. 
 
 Balt. pray do, with a bongrace from the sun. 
 Madam, I'll leave you to your ambush. 
 
 . .^^-Wto'^ETTEDICK, ESCHALUS. 
 
 Ben. My brother private in affairs of State 1 
 EsCH. My lord, he's at this instant much re- 
 serv'd ; 
 But, when I shall acquaint him you are here. 
 He will dismiss his business to receive, 
 And welcome you 1 
 
 Ben. Signior Eschalus, I thank you : but it 
 Is fit our private love should give free way 
 To service which concerns the public profit. 
 I am, sir, in some trouble, that I could 
 Not have the happiness of paying my 
 Obedience to his Highness ere he went. 
 
122 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Will he be absent long ? 
 
 EscH. Tbat is unknown 
 Even to your brother Angelo • who is his full 
 Vicegerent here, and hath receiv'd commands 
 To let you taste his pow'r, to every use 
 That can procure you any benefit, 
 In memory of your last service. 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Luc. My lord you are most happily return' d, 
 And met with all the joys we can express. 
 
 Ben. Lucio, I am much pleas'd to see you well ; 
 It gives me hope that I shall have but few 
 Sad evenings here in Turin, if the 
 Beauties which I left be not quite wither' d, 
 Their voices crackt, and their lutes hung on willows. 
 
 Luc. My lord, I am not only hasten'd hither by 
 My love to be the first that shall congratulate 
 Your good success abroad, but to entreat 
 Your aid at home. If you will please but to 
 Take leave of that grave magistrate a while, 
 I shall deliver you a message from mankind. 
 
 Ben. How, Lucio 1 That is of concern indeed. 
 Signior, I shall beseech you to observe 
 My brother's leisure, that I may attend him. 
 
 EsCH. Your lordship is most welcome to Turin. 
 
 [Exit Eschalu.1. 
 
 Ben. Now, Lucio, speak your affair from that 
 great 
 Common-Wealth which sent you, mankind. 
 
 Balt. They are too many for you to enquire 
 Particularly after their healths ; therefore 
 He may without ceremony proceed. 
 
 Luc. . You have heard of the supreme pow'r 
 plac'd in 
 Count Angelo, your brother 1 
 
 Ben. I have, Lucio. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEES. 123 
 
 Luc. Under your favour, sir, 
 I may say the beginning of his rule 
 Is not pleasing to the best sort of men ; 
 He deals very hardly with lovers. 
 
 Ben. I am sorry to hear that of a brother. 
 
 Luc. My lord, I am more sorry to report it. 
 He has already reviVd an old law, 
 Which condemns any man to death, who gets, 
 Being unmarried, a woman with child. 
 
 Ben, How, Lucio 1 does he mean to govern, like 
 The tyrant Turk, with eunuchs of his council 1 
 
 Luc. You must assuage the choler of his wisdom, 
 And put him in mind that men are frail. 
 
 Ben. This business, Balthazar, requires our care ; 
 For we having professed against the bonds 
 Of marriage, and he restraining 
 The liberty of lovers, the good Duke, 
 When he returns, will find no children left 
 In Turin. 
 
 Luc. For my part, sir, 
 I only fear the destruction of learning : 
 For if there be no children, farewell grammar- 
 schools. 
 
 Ben. Come, we must sit in council, Balthazar, 
 Increase our party, and still defy marriage. 
 
 Beat. We cannotJieaiL!fim,-J[uliet-fJefc4is-enter+ 
 ' Eu^iSeatbice, Julietta, Viola. 
 
 Ben. My dear lady disdain ! are you yet living? 
 
 Beat. Can disdain die when she has so fit food 
 To feed it as Benedick ? 
 
 Ben. I am belov'd of all ladies, only 
 You excepted ; and I am sorry they must lose 
 Their sighs ; for I have a, hard heart, 
 And can love none. 
 
 Beat. A happiness to women ; who would else 
 Be troubled with a most pernicious suitor ! 
 But I can answer your humour ; for I 
 
124 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, 
 Than a man swear he loves me. 
 
 Ben. Keep in that mind, lady, for then some of 
 my 
 Friends may scape a predestinate scratcht face. 
 
 Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, 
 If it were such a face as Benedick's. 
 Ben. You are a rare parrot-teacher. 
 Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast 
 
 of yours. 
 Ben. I would my horse had the speed of your 
 tongue ; 
 But keep your way : I have done. 
 
 Beat. Juliet, he always ends with a jade's trick. 
 Jul. The gentleman's wit is tir'd after spurring. 
 Vio. Y'are welcome home, my lord. Have you 
 brought 
 Any pendants and fine fans from the wars 1 
 
 Ben. What, my sweet bud, you are grown to a 
 
 blossom ! 
 ViO. My sister has promis'd me that I shall be 
 A woman, and that you shall make love to me. 
 When you are old enough to have a wife. 
 
 Ben. This is not a chip of the old block, but will 
 prove 
 A smart twig of the young branch. 
 
 Enter Eschalus and Servant. 
 
 EsCH. Lord Angelo expects you, sir, and this 
 Fair^ompany. [Ex. Beat. Ben. Balth. Jul. Esch. Vio. 
 
 S^ERV. Signior Claudio, now under an arrest, 
 Desires to speak with you. 
 
 Luc. How ! under arrest ? The Governor's house 
 Is no proper place for a prisoner's visit. 
 Pray favour me so much as to tell him that 
 I'U come down to receive his commands. 
 
 [Ex. Serv. Luc. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 125 
 
 Enter Provost, Clatidio, officers. 
 
 Claud. Thus can the demi-god Authority make 
 Us pay down for our offence by weight. 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Luc. Claudio ! how now ! from wlience comes 
 this restraint 1 
 
 Claud. From too much liberty. 
 As surfeit is the father of a fast, 
 So liberty, by the immoderate use, 
 Turns to restraint. Our nature does pursue 
 An evil thirst, and when we drink we die. 
 
 Luc. If I could speak as wisely under arrest, 
 I would send for some of my creditors ; 
 Yet, to say truth, I had rather enjoy 
 The foppery of freedom, than the wise 
 Morality of imprisonment. What 
 Is thy offence, Claudio ? 
 
 Claud. To speak of it were to offend again. 
 
 Luc. What is it, murder ] 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Luc. I believe 'tis that which the precise call 
 incontinence. 
 
 Claud. You may call it so. 
 
 Ente/r Balthazar. , 
 
 Bal. I am told Claudio is arrested. 
 
 Luc. 'Tis too true, Balthazar. 
 
 Bal. What is his crime ? 
 
 Luc. Lord Angelo has taught us so much 
 modesty. 
 That I am asham'd to name it. 
 
 Bal. What, is there a maid with child by him ? 
 
 Luc. No, but I fear there is a woman with maid 
 by him. 
 
 Prov. Signior, I shall offend if you stay here : 
 Be pleas'd to go. 
 
126 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Claud. Provost, allow me but a few words more. 
 
 Luc. Pray, Claudio, speak your mind : we are 
 your friends. 
 
 Claud. I grieve to tell you, gentlemen, that I 
 Have got possession of Julietta's bed. 
 She is my wife by sacred vows, and by 
 A contract seal'd with form of witnesses. 
 But we the ceremony lack of marriage, 
 And that, unhappily, we did defer 
 Only for the assurance of a dowry 
 Eemaining in the coffers of her friends ; 
 From whom we thought it fit to hide our love, 
 Till time had master' d their consent to it. 
 But so it happens, that 
 Our oft stolen pleasure is now writ 
 With characters too gross in Juliet. 
 
 Bal. With child, perhaps. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis so ; 
 And the new deputy 
 Awakens all the enroU'd penalties. 
 Which have been nineteen years unread, and makes 
 Me feel the long neglected punishment, 
 By such a la"w, as three days after 
 Arrest, requires the forfeit of my head. 
 
 Luc. Thy head stands now so slightly 
 On thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she 
 Be in love, may sigh it off. 
 
 Bal. Lucio, you are a stranger to Lord Angelo, 
 But I well know the sourness of his soul : 
 And I was told, in passing to you hither, 
 That Juliet is arrested in his house. 
 And forc'd from the protection of 
 The Lady Beatrice, his fair ward. 
 
 Luc. I like it not : send quickly to the Duke, 
 And then appeal to him. 
 
 Claud. I have done so ; but he's not to be found. 
 I prithee, Lucio, lend me thy assistance ; 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 127 
 
 This day my sister should the cloister enter, 
 And there receive her approbation. 
 Acquaint her with the danger I am in ; 
 Implore her in my name, that she make friends 
 To the strict deputy : she must herself assay him ; 
 I have great hope in that ; for in her youth 
 There is a sweet and speechless dialect. 
 Such as moves men ; and well she can persuade. 
 
 Luc. I wish she may. I would be loth 
 That any of my friends should foolishly 
 Play away their lives at a game of tick-tack. 
 
 Bal. We will both to her presently. 
 
 Claud. Come, officers, away ! 
 
 Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 
 
 Duke. No, Holy Father; throw away that 
 thought ; 
 Love's too tender to dwell in my cold bosom. 
 I desire you to give me secret harbour, 
 For a design more grave and wrinkled than 
 The aims of giddy youth can have. 
 
 Friar. May your Grace speak of it ? 
 
 Duke. None, Holy Father, better knows than 
 you. 
 How I have ever lik'd a life retir'd ; 
 And still have weary of assemblies been, 
 Where witless youth comes drest to be ador'd. 
 I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, 
 A man of strictness, and firm abstinence, 
 My absolute pow'r and place here in Turin ; 
 And he believes me travelling to Spain. 
 Now, pious sir, you will demand of me 
 Why I did this ? 
 
 Friar. I fain would know. 
 
 Duke. We have strict statutes, and chastising 
 laws. 
 Which I have suffer'd nineteen years to sleep, 
 
128 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave 
 That goes not out to prey. But as fond fathers 
 Bind up the threatening rod, and stick it in 
 Their children's sight, for terror more than use, 
 Till it in time become more markt than fear'd ; 
 So our decrees, dead to infliction to 
 Themselves are dead, and froward liberty 
 Does Justice strike, as infants beat the nurse. 
 Friak. This tied up Justice, sir, you might 
 have soon 
 Let loose, which would have seem'd more dreadful 
 Than in Angelo. 
 
 Duke. Too dreadful, sir. For since 
 It was my fault to give the people scope, 
 It may seem tyranny to punish them 
 For what I bid them act. We do no less 
 Than bid unlawful actions to be done. 
 When evil deeds have their permissive pass. 
 Friar. I am convinc'd. 
 Duke. I have on Angelo impos'd 
 Th' unpleasant pow'r of punishing; who may. 
 Within the ambush of my name, — strike home. 
 And to behold how he does rule, I will, 
 As if I were a brother of your order, 
 Visit both Prince and people. Therefore, I pray. 
 Supply me with the habit, and instruct me how 
 I may in person a true friar seem. 
 I can allow you no more reasons for 
 This action now, than that Lord Angelo 
 Stands at a guard with envy, and does scarce 
 Confess that his blood flows ; 
 The man seems singular, but we shall see, 
 If pow'r change purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Isabella, and Francisca a nun. 
 ISA. But have you Nuns no further privilege 1 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 129 
 
 Nun. Are not these large enough ? 
 
 ISA. They are ! I speak not as desiring more, 
 But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
 Were on the sisterhood vow'd to Saint Clare. 
 
 Luc. Ho ! peace be in this place ! 
 
 [Lucio, Balthazar within. 
 
 ISA. Who is it that does call 1 
 
 Nun. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, 
 Pray turn the key, and know his business of him : 
 You may, I may not ; you are yet unsworn. 
 When you have vow'd you must not speak with 
 
 men, 
 But in the presence of the prioress ; 
 Then if you speak you must not shew your face ; 
 Or if you shew your face, you must not speak. 
 
 Luc. Ho ! the sisterhood. 
 
 Nun. He caUs again ; I pray you answer him. 
 
 ISA. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that calls ? 
 
 Ilnter LuGio, Balthazar. 
 
 Luc. Hail virgin ! please you befriend us so, 
 As to permit us to the sight of Isabell, 
 A novice of this place and sister to 
 Young Claudio, her unhappy brother. 
 
 ISA. Why her unhappy brother ? Let me ask ; 
 The rather since I now must make it known 
 I am that Isabella, and his sister. 
 
 Luc. Gentle, and fair ! your brother kindly 
 greets you. 
 
 Bal. We cannot, Lucio, come too suddenly 
 With sorrows to a mind prepar'd ; 'tis fit 
 You tell her that her brother is in prison. 
 
 ISA. Ay me ! for what ? 
 
 Luc. For that which cannot be excus'd ; 
 And yet, perhaps if he were tried 
 By judges not much older than himself. 
 Would have an easy punishment. He has, 
 V. I 
 
130 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 I hope unwillingly, got his friend with child. 
 
 IsA. Sir, make me not your scorn. 
 
 Luc. I would not, though 'tis my familiar sin 
 To jest with maids, play with all virgins so. 
 I hold you as a thing enshrin'd, and to 
 Be talkt with as a, saint in all sincerity. 
 
 IsA. You hurt the good in mocking me. 
 
 Bal. Believe what he has said is truth. 
 
 ISA. Some one with child by him t my cousin 
 Juliet ? 
 
 Luc. Is she your cousin ? 
 
 ISA. Adoptedly, as school-maids change their 
 names. 
 
 Luc. She it is. 
 
 ISA. Let him marry her. 
 
 Bal. Married they are in sight of heaven, 
 though not 
 With such apparent forms as makes the law 
 Approve and witness it. 
 
 Luc. The Duke is very strangely gone from 
 hence ; 
 And, with full force of his authority, 
 Lord Angelo now rules ; a man whose blood 
 Is very snow-broth, one who never feels 
 The wanton motions of the sense ; but does 
 Eebate and blunt his natural edge 
 With morals, Lady. He studies much, 
 And fasts. 
 
 Bal. To frighten libertines, who long have 
 scap'd. 
 And silently have run by th' sleeping face 
 Of hideous law, as mice by lions steal. 
 Lord Angelo has hastily awak'd 
 A dreadful act, undet whose heavy sense. 
 Your brother's life falls into desperate forfeit. 
 
 Luc. All hope is gone, unless you have the 
 grace. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 131 
 
 By moving prayers, to soften Angelo. 
 
 ISAB. Does he so sternly seek his life 1 
 
 Luc. He has already sentenc'd him, and, as 
 I hear, the Provost has a warrant for 
 His execution. 
 
 ISAB. Alas, what poor abilities 
 Have I to do him good ? 
 
 Balt. Make trial of what pow'r you have. 
 
 ISAB. My pow'r, alas, J doubt. 
 
 Luc. Go to Lord Angelo, and let him know, 
 When virgins sue, men give like Gods ; 
 But when they weep and kneel, no pow'r has then 
 So much of devil in't as not to yield. 
 
 ISAB. I'll see what I can do. 
 
 Luc. But speedily. 
 
 ISAB. I will about it straight ; 
 Not staying longer, than to give the mother 
 Notice of my business. I humbly thank you. 
 Commend me to my brother ! Soon at night 
 I'll send him certain word of my success. 
 
 Luc. We take our leaves. 
 
 ISAB. Heaven guide you, gentlemen ; 
 And so prepare to Angelo my way. 
 As if Saint Glare did prompt me how to pray. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Act IL Scene I. 
 
 Enter Angelo, Benedick. 
 
 Ben. But for ill doing, sir, must Claudio die 1 
 
 Ang. The law appoints that he 
 Who gets a child unlawfully must die. 
 
 Ben. But must a man be requited with death. 
 For giving life to another ? 
 
132 THE LAW ACxAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the law ; 
 Setting it up to fright our birds of prey ; 
 And let it keep one shape, till custom makes it 
 Not their terror, but their perch. 
 
 Ben. Call, sir, your own affections to accompt, 
 Had time concur'd wjth place, or place with 
 
 wishing ; 
 And, had the resolution of your blood 
 Found means t'attain th' effect of your own 
 
 purpose. 
 Perhaps, in some hot Season of your life. 
 Even you, sir, would have err'd in that 
 For which you censure him. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted. Benedick, 
 Another thing to fall. I not deny 
 The jury passing on a prisoner's life. 
 May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
 Guiltier than him they try. What knows the law. 
 Whether thieves pass on thieves 1 
 You cannot lessen his offence, because 
 I have offended too : but tell me at 
 That time, when I, who censure him, do so 
 Offend ; and my own judgment then shall be 
 A pattern for my death. Brother, he must die ! 
 
 Ben. Sir, when I heard you had the place of 
 Justice, 
 I did not think your gravity did mean 
 To swagger with her broad sword. Can dame 
 
 Justice 
 Become, so soon, so notable a cutter 1 
 
 Ang. You have leave to be pleasant ; but I pray 
 Listen to^^chalus, he'll give you counsel. 
 — " " [Exit, and 
 
 Enter EscHALUS. 
 
 'Ben. Good Eschalus ! I should have found you 
 I put. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 1 33 
 
 Is there no means to save poor Claudio's life ? 
 
 EscH. Your brother has given order to the 
 Provost, 
 To see his execution punctually 
 Perform'd, by nine to-morrow morning. 
 
 Ben. a short warning for a terrible long journey. 
 
 EsCH. A confessor will be sent to prepare him. 
 
 Ben. I'm told, Signior Eschalus, you have coun- 
 sel for me. 
 
 EscH. My lord, I'll not presume to call it mine ; 
 'Tis from your brother, who does well advise. 
 That you would please to think of marriage. 
 You know the lady Beatrice was his ward ; 
 And now her wardship is expir'd. 
 
 Ben. Marry? 
 What to beget boys for the headsman 'i 
 
 EsCH. Good, my lord, leaving your severity. 
 You needs must think her beauty worth your 
 praise. 
 
 Ben. She's too low for a high praise, and too 
 little 
 For a great praise ; but thus far I'll commend her; 
 Were she other than she is, she were then 
 Unhandsome, and, being no other but 
 As she is, I do not like her. 
 
 EsCH. My proposal deserves a steady answer. 
 
 Ben. My brother, sir, and I, walk several ways. 
 He takes care to destroy unlawful lovers ; 
 And I'll endeavour to prevent th' increase 
 Of lawful cuckolds. 
 
 EscH. None of the beauteous sex can have more 
 virtue, 
 Than fair Beatrice. 
 
 Ben. Sir, I sincerely allow your opinion. 
 She is yet very exceedingly virtuous. 
 And has a laziness towards love : but, sir. 
 She has too much wit, and great wits will not long 
 
134 THE LAW AGAINST. LOWERS. 
 
 Lye idle. 
 
 EsCH. You have too much mirth to have sus- 
 picion. 
 Ben. As I will not do ladies so much wrong 
 To mistrust any, so I'll do myself;. 
 The right to trust none. 
 
 EsCH. This suits not with your brother's i)ur- 
 pose. 
 
 Bnt&r Lircio, Balthazar. 
 
 Ben. Welcome ! are either of you inclin'd to 
 marriage ? 
 
 Bal. How, marriage t it is a noose for ninnies ; 
 Do you think I will have a recheat winded 
 In my forehead, or hang my bugle in 
 An invisible baldrick ? 
 
 LtFC. If I ever marry, let mine eyes he 
 Pickt out with the pen of a ballad-maker, 
 And hang me up at the door of a brothel, 
 For the sign of blind cupid. 
 
 Ben. You see, Signior Eschalus, my brother 
 makes 
 So many enemies to propagation. 
 That if the Duke stay long, he may chance find 
 A dominion without subjects. 
 
 Luc. If he have any, they will need 
 No governor, for they will all be old 
 Enough to govern themselves. 
 
 Enter Beatrice, Viola. 
 
 Ben. Here comes the Lady. April, whose fair 
 face 
 Is always incident to some foul weather. 
 
 Beat. I wonder you will still be talking. 
 Benedick ; 
 Nobody marks you. 
 
 Ben. I mean to fdrink 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 135 
 
 Opium before I come in your company, 
 That you may excuse my follies, 
 With saying, I talk in my sleep, 
 
 Beat. Where is Lord Angelo ? 
 
 ESCH. Madam, he is retir'd. 
 
 Beat. What, to his prayers. 
 As executioners kneel down and ask pardon 
 Before they handle the axe 1 
 
 Ben. Hale in Main-Bolin ! the storm begins ! 
 
 Beat. Heaven send the good Duke here again ! 
 do you 
 Not hear, Signior Eschalus, of the mutiny 
 In town 1 
 
 EsCH. No, Madam ! Is there a mutiny 1 
 
 Beat. All the midwives, nurses, and milk- 
 women 
 Are up in arms, because the governor 
 Has made a law against lovers. 
 
 Ben. True, the law is, that none, who have not 
 been 
 Bound prentices to Hymen, shall set up 
 In the trade of making children. 
 
 EsCH. Madam, you will marry, and have your 
 freedom. 
 
 Beat. Marry ? yes, if you will fashion me a man 
 Of a middle constitution, between 
 Lord Angelo's Carthusian gravity 
 And his brother Benedick ; the one is 
 Too like a State-image and says nothing ; 
 And the other, top like a country lady's 
 Eldest son, evermore talking. 
 
 Ben. Nay, do but persecute my brother, 
 And I am satisfied. 
 
 Beat. Signior Eschalus, is not my wardship out ? 
 
 EsCH. Yes, madam. 
 
 Beat. And this house, where the governor lives, 
 mine o^vn 1 
 
136 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 ESCH. Madam, it is ! 
 
 Beat. Methinks my guardian 
 Is but a rude tenant. How durst he, with 
 Unmanly power, force my cousin Juliet from me ? 
 
 EscH. Lady, it was the law that us'd that 
 force. 
 
 Beat. The law? Is she not married by such 
 vows 
 As will stand firm in Heaven ? that's the sub- 
 stantial part 
 Which carries the effect, and must she then 
 Be punisht for neglect of form 1 
 Must conscience be made good by compliment 1 
 
 Ben. My brother will have men behave them- 
 selves 
 To Heaven, as boys do to their pedants : they 
 Must not say grace, without making their legs. 
 
 Beat. I am glad. Benedick, to hear you're 
 Sometimes in the right. 
 
 Ben. I'm in the right, lady, only 
 As often as you are in the wrong. 
 
 Beat. Pray, Signior Eschalus, desire my 
 guardian 
 To let the divines govern the civilians. 
 I would have my cousin's spiritual marriage 
 Stand good in conscience, though 'tis bad in law. 
 She must not be lockt up Tpithin thick waUs 
 And iron grates : a woodbine arbour will 
 Prove strong enough to hold a lady, when 
 She is grown so weak as to be in love. 
 
 Viol. Pray, sister, why is Juliet in prison 1 
 
 Beat. Peace, Viola, you are too young to know. 
 
 Ben. She play'd with a bearded baby, mistress. 
 Contrary to law. 
 
 Viol. Alas, poor Juliet ! I'll sing no more 
 To the governor, till he lets her out. 
 
 Beat. Sir, the deputy drinks too much vinegar ; 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 137 
 
 It makes his disposition sour. 
 EscH. Pray, madam, tell him so. 
 Beat. No, sir, you Statesmen manage your 
 discourse 
 Amongst yourselves by signs. I am not mute 
 Enough to understand your mysteries. 
 Come, Viola, 111 write to the Duke ! 
 
 [Exeunt Beatrice, Viola. 
 Ben. This would make a rare wife, were she not 
 A woman. 
 
 Balt. You with the men, and she with the 
 maids, will 
 Quickly forbid all banes. 
 
 Luc. If we do not 
 Bring ill poesies of wedding rings out of 
 Fashion, l^et's not be numbred with the wit.s. 
 
 _^__ [Exeunt. 
 
 "" Enter Angelo and Provost. 
 
 AnG. What is your business, Provost % 
 
 Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to 
 morrow % 
 
 Ang. Did I not say he should ? Had you not 
 order ? 
 Why do you ask again ? 
 
 Prov. Lest I might be too rash. 
 Under your good correction, I have seen 
 When, after execution, the wise judge 
 Has his rash doom repented. 
 
 Ang. Do you your office, or else give it up ! 
 And you shall well be spar'd. 
 
 Prov. I crave your Excellency's pardon. 
 What shall be done with the weeping Juliet % 
 
 Ang. Dispose of her to some apartment in 
 The prison, where Claudio may not see her. 
 
 Enier Servant. 
 Sekv. Here is a sister of the man condemn'd 
 
138 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Ang. Already is his sister come 1 
 She has the reputation, Provost, of 
 A virtuous maid. 
 
 Pkov. Ay, my good lord, a very virtuous maid, 
 And to be shortly of a sisterhood. 
 
 Ang.. Let her he admitted ! [ExU Servant. 
 
 Provost take care that Juliet be remov'd 
 At distance from her lover. 
 
 Enter Lucio, Isabell. 
 
 Peov. Heaven still preserve your Excellence. 
 
 Ang. Stay here awhile ! Y'are welcome. What's 
 your will ? 
 
 ISAB. I am a woeful suitor to your Excellence, 
 If you in goodness will vouchsafe to hear me. 
 
 Ang. What is your suit ? 
 
 ISAB. There is a vice which most I do abhor. 
 And most desire that it should meet rebuke ; 
 For which I would not plead, but that I must. 
 
 Ang. Well, come to the matter ! 
 
 ISAB. I have a brother is condemn'd to die. 
 I would beseech you to condemn the fault, and not 
 My brother. 
 
 Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces ! 
 
 Ang. Is not each fault condemn'd ere it be done 1 
 I were the very cipher of authority, 
 If I should fine the fault, whose fine stands in 
 Record, and yet forgive the actor. 
 
 ISAB. Oh just but yet severe law ! 
 I had a brother then. Heaven keep you, sir. 
 
 Luc. Give it not over so ! to him again : 
 Kneel down before him ; y'are too cold. 
 
 ISAB. Must he needs die ? 
 
 Ang. Virgin, no remedy. 
 
 IsAB. Yes, I believe that you might pardon him;' 
 And neither Heaven, nor man, would at 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 139 
 
 The mercy grieve. 
 
 Ang. I -will not do't. 
 
 ISAB. You can then, if you would 1 
 
 Ang. That which I should not do, I cannot do. 
 
 ISAB. But you may do it, sir, and do the world 
 No hurt. I would your heart were toucht with such 
 Remorse, as mine is to him. 
 
 Ang. He's sentenc'd ; 'tis too late ! 
 
 Luc. You are too tame. 
 
 ISAB. Too late? I who have spoke a word may call 
 The meaning back. No ceremony. 
 No ornament which to the great belongs ; 
 Not the King's crown, nor the deputed sword, 
 The martial's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
 Become them with so beautiful a grace 
 As mercy does. If he had been as you. 
 And you as he, you might have err'd like him; 
 But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 
 
 Ang. I pray, be gone ! 
 
 ISAB. Would Heaven, if you were Isabell, that I 
 A while might have your pow'r, to let you see 
 How soon the sorrow of a sister's tears 
 Should cleanse the foulness of a brother's fault. 
 
 Luc. That is the vein ! touch it boldly. 
 
 Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law ; 
 And you but waste your words. 
 
 ISAB. Alas, alas ! all souls were forfeit once ; 
 And he who might the vantage best have took 
 Found out the remedy. What would you do 
 If he, who on the utmost top of heights. 
 On judges sits, should judge you as you are ? 
 
 Ang. Be you content, fair maid, 
 It was the law, not I, condemn'd your brother : 
 Were he my kinsman or my son, it should 
 Be with him thus. And he must die to-morrow. 
 
 ISAB. To-morrow 1 Oh, that's sudden ! spare 
 him ! spare him ! 
 
140 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 He's not prepar'd. Even for our kitchens we 
 The fowl of season kill. Shall we serve Heaven 
 With less respect, than we would minister 
 To our gross selves t My lord, in mercy speak ! 
 Who is it that has died for this offence 1 
 Too many have committed it. 
 
 Luc. Well said ! 
 
 Ang. The law has not been dead, though it has 
 slept. 
 Those many had not dar'd to act that crime, 
 If he, who first the edict did infringe. 
 Had answer'd for his deed. 'Tis now awake ; 
 Takes note of what is done, and, prophet-like, 
 Looks in a glass, which shows what future ilk 
 Might by remissness be in progress hatcht. 
 
 ISAB. Yet show some pity ! 
 
 Ang. I show it most when I most justice show. 
 For I commiserate then even those whom I 
 Shall never know ; and whose offences, if 
 They were forgiven, might afterwards destroy them. 
 And also do him right, who, punisht for 
 One pleasing crime, lives not to act another. 
 Be satisfied ; your brother dies to-morrow. 
 
 ISAB. So you, my lord, must be the first that e'er 
 This sentence gave, and he the first that suffers it. 
 'Tis excellent to have a giant's strength, 
 But tyrannous to use it like a giant. 
 
 Luc. Well said again ! 
 
 IsAB. If men could thunder 
 As great Jove does, Jove ne'er would quiet be ; 
 For every cholerick petty ofiicer 
 Would use his magazine in heaven for thunder ; 
 We nothing should but thunder hear. Sweet 
 
 Heaven ! 
 Thou rather with thy stiff and sulph'rous bolt 
 Dost split the knotty and obdurate oak 
 Than the soft myrtle. but man, proud man. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 141 
 
 Brest in a little brief authority, 
 
 Most ignorant of what he thinks himself 
 
 Assur'd, does in his glassy essence, like 
 
 An angry ape, play such fantastic tricks 
 
 Before high Heaven, as would make angels laugh 
 
 If they were mortal, and had spleens like us. 
 
 Luc. To him ! he will relent, I feel him coming. 
 
 Prov. Pray Heaven she gain him ! 
 
 Ang. Why do you use this passion before me ? 
 
 ISAB. Authority, though it does err like others, 
 yet has a kind of med'cine in itself, 
 Which skins the top of every vice. 
 Knock at your bosom, sir, and ask your heart 
 If it contains no crime resembling my 
 Poor brother's fault, and then, if it confess 
 A natural guiltiness, such as his is. 
 Let it not sound a sentence from your tongue 
 Against my brother's life ! 
 
 Ang. She speaks such sense 
 As with my reason breeds such images. 
 As she has excellently form'd. Farewell ! 
 
 ISAB. Gentle, my lord, turn back ! 
 
 Ang. I will bethink me ; come again to-morrow. 
 
 ISAB. Hark, how I'll bribe you ; good, my lord, 
 turn back ! 
 
 Ang. How ! bribe me 1 
 
 ISAB. Ay, with such gifts that Heaven shall share 
 with you. 
 
 Luc. You had marr'd all else. 
 
 ISAB. With early prayers that shall 
 Be up at Heaven, and enter there before 
 The morning's casement opens to the world ; 
 The prayers of fasting maids. 
 
 Ang. Well, come to me to-morrow ! 
 
 Luc. Enough, away! 
 
 IsAB. All that is good be near your Excellence. 
 
 Ang. I thank you. 
 
142 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 IsAB. At what hour shall I attend you ? 
 
 Anc. At any time ere noon. 
 
 ISAB. The angels still preserve you ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but Angela. 
 
 Ang. From all, but from thy virtue, maid ! 
 I love her virtue. But, temptation ! ! 
 Thou false and cunning guide ! who in disguise 
 Of virtue's shape lead'st us through heaven to 
 
 hell. 
 No vicious beauty could with practised art. 
 Subdue, like virgin-innocence, my heart. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Duke in disguise of a friar, and Provost. 
 Duke. Hail to you, Provost, so I think you are ! 
 Prov. I am the Provost. What's your will, good 
 
 father ? 
 Duke. Bound by my charity, and my blessed 
 orders, 
 I come to visit the afflicted minds 
 In prison here. Do me the common right 
 To let me see them ; and to let me know 
 The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
 Accordingly to their relief. 
 Prov. I would do more than that, if more were 
 needful. 
 Look, here comes one ! who in her flames of youth 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Has blister'd her fair fame. She is with child, 
 And he that got it sentenc'd. 
 Duke. When must he die % 
 Prov. As I believe, to-morrow. 
 I'll go in, and prepare him for your visit : 
 In the meantime bestow your counsel here. 
 
 [Exit Provost. 
 Duke. Eepent you, fair one, of the . sin you 
 carry? 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 143 
 
 Jul. I bear my punishment most patiently. 
 
 Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your 
 conscience, 
 And try your penitence. 
 
 Jul. I'll gladly learn. , • 
 
 Duke. Lov'd you the man that wrong'd you 1 
 
 Jul. Yes, as I lov'd the woman that wrong'd 
 him. 
 
 Duke. So then it seems you mutually have 
 sinn'd 1 
 
 Jul. We mutually have sinn'd against the law : 
 And I repent for it, but am as much 
 Afflicted at my ignorance, 
 Not knowing 'twas a sin when I transgrest, 
 As at the sin itself. 
 
 Duke. If, daughter, you repent that sin, because 
 It brings you shame, it is a common and 
 An erring grief, which looks more at ourselves 
 Than towards Heaven; not sparing Heaven for love. 
 But fear. 
 
 Jul. As 'tis an evil I repent, and grieve not for 
 The shame, because you think it is deserVd. 
 
 Duke. There rest. 
 Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow ; 
 And I am going with instructions to him. 
 Grace go with you ! [JSnt. 
 
 Jul. Must die to-morrow 1 oh injurious love ! 
 It respites me a life whose very best 
 Is stiU a dying horror. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Olaudio, Lucio, Balthazar. 
 Balt. Claudio, to tarry longer with you now 
 Were but to lose that time which we 
 Must husband for your benefit. No care 
 Is wanting in your sister, nor in us. 
 Luc. Our lawyers make good merchandise of 
 women, 
 
144 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 The head of a man pays for a maidenhead. 
 
 Claud. There is no rack so painful in this prison, 
 As that which stretches me 'tween hope and doubt. 
 All I desire is certainty, 
 
 Balt. You speak as if you were already in 
 Another world ; for there's no certainty 
 In this. We'll see you hourly : so farewell ! 
 
 Luc. When I leave this wanton world to meet 
 death, 
 I'll ride post to him on a hobby-horse, 
 And fence against his dart with a fool's bauble. 
 
 Claud. By all your loyal friendship, Balthazar, 
 Let Juliet be protected with your care 
 And courage from injurious tongues. 
 
 Balt. I will deserve your trust. 
 
 Claud. Pray serve her, with a noble tenderness. 
 In all that her afflictions shall require. 
 
 Balt. I need not such a strict command, 
 Away, let's leave him to his meditations ! 
 
 Luc. Remember, Claudio, 
 This wicked world does homags to rich fools. 
 And witty men want money. 
 
 Enter Provost. 
 Prov. a father desires to speak with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Claudio, Provost. 
 Luc. Methinks it is too late for Claudio to 
 Expect a reprieve. 
 
 Balt. Hope is so familiar an acquaintance, 
 That, though she stays vidth us all day, yet we 
 Are loth to part with her at night. 
 Luc. Where is Benedick ? 
 Balt. Gone to Beatrice ! she just now sent for 
 
 him. 
 Luc. We shall never out-face the world with our 
 Invectives against marriage, for I find 
 Sexes will meet, though mountains and rough seas 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 145 
 
 Make a long space between them. Our design 
 On Benedick and Beatrice must be pursu'd. 
 
 Balt. Let's to the governors, and in the way 
 I'll tell thee how we ought to manage it. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 Ang. My weighty office I can value now 
 But as an idle plume worn in the wind. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. The sister, sir, of Claudio desires access ! 
 
 Ang. Shew her the way into the gallery ! 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Why does my blood, thus flowing to my heart, 
 Make it unable for it self, whilst then 
 It dispossesses other parts of that 
 Which they in lesser streams would useful make ? 
 So deal officious throngs with him who swounds ; 
 They come to help him, and they stop the air 
 By which he should revive ; and so 
 The numerous subjects to a well-wisht King 
 Quit their own home, and in rude fondness to 
 His presence crowd, where their unwelcome love 
 Does an offence, and an oppression prove. [Exit. 
 
 Act III. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Isabell, Angelo. 
 
 Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Ang. That you might know it would much 
 
 better please me, 
 Than to demand what 'tis : your brother cannot 
 
 live. 
 ISAB. Even so 1 Heaven keep your Excellence. 
 Ang. Stay a little, 
 
 v. K 
 
146 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 For he perhaps may live awhile : nay, and 
 As long as you or I, since none can know 
 Their own appointed ends. Yet, he must die. 
 
 ISAB. Under your sentence 1 
 
 Ang. Yes. 
 
 ISAB. When, I beseech you 1 that, in his reprieve 
 Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted 
 That his soul may not suffer with his body. 
 
 Ang. He had a filthy vice. It were as good 
 To pardon him that has from nature stol'n 
 A man already made, as to permit 
 Their saucy sweetness, who Heaven's image coin 
 In stamps which are forbid. 
 
 ISAB. That is set down in Heaven, but not on 
 earth. 
 
 Ang. How ! say you so 1 then I shall quickly 
 poze you. 
 Which had you rather, that the most just law 
 Should take your brother's life, or, to redeem him, 
 Give up your precious self to such a blemish 
 As she permitted whom he stain'd 1 
 
 ISAB. I'll rather give my body than my soul. 
 
 Ang. I talk not of your soul. Our compell'd 
 sins 
 Do more for number stand, than for account. 
 
 ISAB. How say you, sir ? 
 
 Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that : for I can 
 speak 
 Against the thing I say : answer to this. 
 I, now the voice of the recorded law. 
 Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life, 
 Might there not be a charity in sin. 
 To save this brother's life ] 
 
 ISAB. Please you to do't, 
 I'll take it as a peril to my soul. 
 It is no sin at all, but charity. 
 
 Ang. You doing it at peril of your soul, 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 147 
 
 Make equal poize of sin and charity. 
 
 ISAB. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, 
 Heav'n let me bear't. If it be sin for you 
 To grant my suit, I'll make it still my prayer 
 To have it added to the faults of mine, 
 And not to your account. 
 
 Ang. Nay, but hear me ! 
 Your sense pursues not mine ; sure you are igno- 
 rant ; 
 Or seem so craftily, and that's not good. 
 
 ISAB. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, 
 But graciously to know I am no better. 
 
 Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright. 
 When it does tax itself ; as a black mask 
 Often proclaims a cover'd beauty more. 
 Than beauty does itself when openly 
 Displayed. But mark me, Isabell, 
 Or rf I may more plainly be receiv'd, 
 I'll speak more home. Your brother is to die. 
 
 ISA. So! 
 
 Ang. And his offence is such, as it appears 
 Accountant to the law. 
 
 ISA. True ! 
 
 Ang. Admit no other way could save his life, 
 As I subscribe not that, nor any other. 
 Unless by way of question, but that you 
 Finding yourself desir'd of such a man 
 Whose credit with the judge could free your 
 
 brother 
 Must either yield the treasures of your youth, 
 Or else must let him die : what would you do ? 
 
 ISA. As much for my poor brother, as for Isabell. 
 Th' impression of sharp whips I gladly would 
 As rubies wear, and strip myself 
 Even for a grave, as for a bed, ere I 
 Would yield my honour up to shame. 
 
 Ang. Then must your brother die. 
 
Us THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 ISA. And 'twere the cheaper way. 
 Better it were a brother die a while, 
 Than a sister, by redeeming him. 
 Should die for ever. 
 
 Ang. Are you then as cruel as that sentence 
 Which you have slander'd so ? 
 
 IsA. Ignoble ransom no proportion bears 
 To pardon freely given ; and lawful mercy 
 Is not at aU akin to foul redemption. 
 
 Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a 
 tyrant ; 
 And so your brother's guiltiness excus'd, 
 As if it rather might be styl'd 
 A recreation than a vice. 
 
 ISA. pardon me, my Lord. Oft it falls out. 
 That pleaders speak not what they mean, 
 In hope to get what they would have. 
 I sometimes may excuse the thing I hate, 
 For his advantage whom I dearly love. 
 
 Ang. We are all frail. 
 
 ISA. Else let my brother die. 
 
 Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 
 
 IsA. Ay, as the glasses where they see them- 
 selves. 
 Which are as easily broke, as they make forms. 
 Women 1 help Heaven ! pray call us ten times 
 
 frail. 
 For we are soft, as our complexions are. 
 And soon a bad impression take. 
 
 Ang. And from this testimony of your own sex, 
 Since I suppose we are not made so strong, 
 But that our faults may shake our frames, let me 
 Be bold t'arrest your words. Be what you are ! 
 That is, a woman, if y'are more y'are none. 
 If you be one, as you are well exprest 
 By all external warrants, shew it now. 
 
 ISA. I have no tongue but one. Gentle, my lord, 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 149 
 
 Let me entreat you speak the former language. 
 
 Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 
 
 ISA. My brother did love Juliet ; 
 And you tell me he shall die for it. 
 
 Ang. He shall not, Isabell, if you give me love. 
 
 ISA. Your pow'r may your discretion licence 
 give. 
 And make you seem much fouler than you are, 
 To draw on others. 
 
 Ang. Believe me on mine honour. 
 My words express my purpose. 
 
 ISA. Ha ! little honour to be much believ'd, 
 Your purpose is pernicious now discern'd. 
 I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for't ; 
 Sign me a present pardon for my brother. 
 Or I will tell the world aloud 
 What man thou art. 
 
 Ang. Who wiU believe you, IsabeU ? 
 My unsoil'd name, austerity of life, 
 My word against you, and my place i'th' State, 
 Will so your accusation overweigh. 
 That you'll be stifled in your own report. 
 And now I give my sensual race the reins ! 
 Yield to my passion, or your brother must 
 Not only die, but your unkindness shall 
 Draw out his death to ling'ring pains. 
 To-morrow answer me, or, by that love 
 Which now does guide me, I will be 
 A tyrant to him. [Exit. 
 
 ISA. To whom shall I complain 1 
 If I tell this who will believ't ? 
 I'll to my brother straight. 
 That he may know false Angelo's request, 
 And then prepare for his eternal rest. -^^XM^ 
 
 Unter Benedick and Beatrice, several ways. 
 Ben. I was told, lady, you would speak with me. / 
 
150 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Beat. I would, and I would not. 
 Ben. Then I'll stay, or I will not stay ; 
 'Tis all one to me. 
 Beat. Nay, I know you are but an indififerent 
 man : 
 Yet now, by chance, I rather am inclin'd 
 That you should stay. 
 
 Ben. And 'tis a greater chance 
 That our inclinations should so soon meet ; 
 For I will stay. 
 
 Beat. Your brother is a proper Prince ! he rules 
 With a rod in's hand instead of a sceptre, 
 Like a country school-master in a church ; 
 He keeps a large palace with no attendants. 
 And is fit to have none but boys for his subjects. 
 
 Ben. As ill as he governs, if my 
 Design thrive against the fetters of marriage. 
 As his does against the liberty of lovers. 
 His rule may last till the end of the world ; 
 For there will be no next generation. 
 Beat. Would I might trust you. Benedick. 
 Ben. Madam, you believe me to have some 
 honour. 
 If you have most secretly invented 
 A new dressing, can you think I'll reveal 
 The fashion before you wear it ? 
 Beat. Notwithstanding your seeming indis- 
 position 
 To inventions of fashion, yet there be 
 Those in Turin, who have intercepted 
 Packets between you and tailors of Paris. 
 Well, though those are but light correspondents, 
 Yet I would trust you in matter of weight. 
 
 Ben. I hope, lady, you have no plot upon me. 
 I'U marry no woman. 
 
 Beat. I did not think you had been so well 
 natur'd. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 15] 
 
 As to prevent the having any of 
 
 Your breed. Marry you ? what should I do with 
 
 you? 
 Dress you in my old gown, and make you my 
 Waiting-woman ? 
 
 Ben. a waiting-woman with a beard t 
 Beat. I shall ne'er endure a husband with a 
 beard. 
 I had rather lye in woolen. 
 
 Ben. Though you disguise matrimonial preten- 
 sions 
 With pretty scorn, yet I am glad I have 
 A beard for my own defence. And though fashion 
 Makes me have much, and that you believe me 
 A lover of fashions, yet mine shall grow 
 To a very bush, for my greater security. 
 But, pray proceed to your matter of weight. 
 
 Beat. I will trust you ; not as a man of love. 
 But a man of arms. 
 
 Ben. At your own peril ! 
 And, more t' encourage you, I will declare 
 That though I'm very loth to come within 
 The narrow compass of a wedding ring, 
 Yet I owe every fair lady a good turn. 
 But to the business. 
 
 Beat. In brief you must 
 /Eenew familiarity with your brother; 
 jAnd steal the use of his signet to seal 
 j Julietta's pardon and her liberty, 
 j And Claudio's too : this done, they shall practise 
 i Their escape, I'll endeavour mine ; and you 
 iSignior may shift for yourself. 
 ^ Ben. This is but betraying an ill brother 
 For a good pui-pose ; I'll do't if I can. 
 Beat. You shall give me the signet, for I'll 
 have 
 AU in my own management. 
 
152 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Ben. No, though I rob my brother of the 
 signet, 
 You shall not rob me of the danger. 
 Beat. Then I'll proceed no further. 
 Ben. That as you please. 
 Beat. You would have the honour of the 
 
 business ? 
 Ben. 'Tis due to my sex. 
 
 Beat. Fare you well, sir ! yet you 
 
 May come again an hour hence, to receive 
 An ill look. 
 
 Ben. That will not fright me much; for you 
 can look 
 No better than you use to do. 
 
 [Ex. Ben. at one dom: 
 
 Enter ViOLA at another. 
 
 Viol. Sister, I have got verses. Signior Lucio 
 Made them : he and Balthazar are within. 
 
 Beat. Is Lucio become a man of metre ? 
 That's the next degree upward to the giddy 
 Station of a foolish lover. They are 
 Compos'd into a song too. Sing it, Viola ! 
 
 Viola sings the song. 
 
 Viol. Wake all the dead ! what hoa ! what hoa ! 
 How soundly they sleep whose pillows lye 
 
 low; 
 They mind not poor lovers who walk above 
 On the decks of the world in storms of love. 
 No whisper now nor glance can pass 
 Through wickets or through panes of 
 glass ; 
 For our windows and doors are shut and 
 
 barr'd. 
 Lye close in the church, and in the church- 
 yard. 
 
THE lAW AGAINST LOVERS. 153 
 
 In ev'ry grave make room, make room ! 
 The world's at an end, and we come, we 
 come. 
 
 2. 
 
 The State is now love's foe, love's foe ; 
 '_T has seiz'd on his arms, his quiver and bow ; 
 Has pinion'd his wings, and fetter'd his feet; 
 Because he made way for lovers to meet. 
 
 But sad chance, his judge was old ; 
 
 Hearts cruel grow, when blood grows 
 cold. 
 No man being young, his process would 
 
 draw. 
 heavens that love should be subject to law ! 
 
 Lovers go woo the dead, the dead ! 
 Lye two in a grave, and to bed, to bed ! 
 
 Enter Lucio, Balthazar. 
 
 Beat. Signior Lucio, you are grown so desp'rate 
 As to write verses 1 
 
 Luc. Very little business, much love. 
 And no money makes up a parcel-poet. 
 But the verses are not mine. 
 
 Beat. Whose are they ? 
 
 Luc. Balthazar knows the author. 
 
 Balt. Not better than you, who had them from 
 him. 
 
 Luc. Pray, madam, let him tell you. 
 
 Balt. Excuse me, sir, I am as chary of 
 Getting my friend the ill name of a poet, 
 As you are. 
 
 Beat. Why, gentlemen, you will not make 
 A secret of telling the hour of the day, 
 When your watches are ready to strike 1 
 Pray, whose are the verses 1 
 
 Luc. Madam, the author's name is Benedick. 
 
154 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Beat. Ts't possible? I am glad he lies bare 
 Under the lash of- the wits. There are now 
 No such tormentors in Turin as the wits. 
 Poor Benedick, they'll have him on the rack 
 Ere night ; why, they will draw a strong line to 
 The subtle weakness of a spinner's thread. 
 
 Balt. I fear he will be quickly liable 
 To a greater torment, than any that 
 The wits can inflict; 
 
 Luc. Madam, we are your vow'd servants, 
 We cannot chuse but tell you aU. Balthazar, 
 You made the first discovery ; you may speak it ! 
 
 Balt. Madam, 'tis not civil to lengthen your 
 Expectation. He is in love ! 
 
 Beat. In love 1 that were a sudden change, and 
 would shew 
 More of the moon in him, than is in a mad-woman. 
 Good Balthazar, with whom ? 
 
 Balt. Lucio was ready to die laughing when 
 He found it, and swore then he would tell you. 
 
 Beat. Keep your oath, Lucio ; who is't that has 
 caught him 1 
 
 Luc. Nay, Madam, you now impose upon me. 
 
 Beat. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Luc. Why then, as sure as you can love no lover. 
 He loves you. 
 
 Beat. This sounds like fiction and design. 
 Good Balthazar, he is but newly gone 
 From hence, go seek him out, and bring him back ! 
 Your friendship may prevail with him. 
 
 Luc. It will beget more mirth, than belongs 
 To a morrice in the month of May. 
 
 Balt. But I beseech you no words of our dis- 
 cov'ry. [Exit Balthazar. 
 
 Beat. Signior^ you may trust me. 
 Perhaps, Lucio, you cannot think it strange, 
 That I believe you of my- party ; 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 155 
 
 And fitter for my trust than Balthazar. 
 
 Luc. no, madam, I have been trusted by 
 Young ladies ere now. 
 
 Beat. Are you sure Benedick loves me l he has 
 No fashion of a lover in public. 
 
 Luc. Poor man, he has two contrary extremes 
 Of love-madness. He is in company 
 As fantastical as a fencer after 
 His victory in a prize ; but, in private. 
 He will sigh more than an old Dutch pilot 
 That has lost his ship. 
 
 Beat. I shall have rare diversion if his fit holds. 
 
 Luc. It is not good to jest away men's Uves. 
 
 Beat. I see you are serious : but will you swear 
 this? 
 
 Luc. If you can endure the coarseness of 
 swearing ; 
 I've been unlucky at play in my time. 
 And shall quickly swear like a losing gamester. 
 
 Beat. Stay, sir ! you may take up the fool's 
 commodity 
 Qf belief, without engaging of oaths : 
 I know you are a man of excellent temper. 
 
 Luc. Madam, I swear, by^ 
 
 Beat. I pray, sir, hold ! — 
 
 Luc. Nay, if you would put me to't. 
 
 Beat. Lucio, you must dissuade him from his 
 love; 
 And I must trust you. I have but one heart. 
 And that is already dispos'd oL 
 
 Luc. Madam, all lovers compar'd to Benedick 
 Are but lamentable courtiers in old clothes. 
 
 Beat. Truly, he was wont to be merry. 
 
 Luc. Ere he felt love his heart was as sound 
 As any bell, and his tongue was the clapper : 
 For what his heart thought his tongue, would 
 speak. 
 
156 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Take heed, you must not lose him. 
 
 Beat. Lucio, my heart is design'd to another. 
 
 Luc. Madam, may I be bold t' enquire to whom ? 
 
 Beat. You know the man. 
 
 Luc. Be he what he will, he must shew as ugly 
 As a tall man sitting on a low stool 
 Before a chimney, compared to Benedick. 
 
 Beat. You ought not to say so, when I name 
 him. 
 
 Luc. Madam, I dare justify my friend. 
 
 Beat. I shall be angry if you compare him 
 To him whom I can name. Suppose it is 
 Signior Lucio ? 
 
 Luc. Madam, I confess, comparisons 
 Are somewhat odious. 
 
 Beat. 0, are they so ? I pray let me advise you 
 Not to lessen yourself; though I perceive 
 You cannot chuse but make much of your friend. 
 
 Luc. Sits the wind on that side ? I must hoist 
 sail, 
 With top, and top gallant. 
 
 Beat. But are you not tied, sir, by some deep 
 vow 
 To woo for Benedick ? I am very tender 
 Of men's vows. 
 
 Luc. Will you believe me, madam 1 
 
 Beat. Without oaths, I beseech you. 
 
 Luc. He knows as much the matter of this visit, 
 As I do of the Great Turk's particular 
 Inclination to red herring. 
 
 Beat. Are you in earnest ? 
 
 Luc. Balthazar and T 
 Were only over officious to serve him. 
 
 Beat. Nor he is not in love ? 
 
 Luc. No more than a man that goes continually 
 To sea to make discoveries. 
 
 Beat. Then it appears a little strange, 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 157 
 
 That you made this hearty address for him. 
 
 Luc. On my honour, madam, it was to get 
 Some opportunity to move for myself. 
 
 Beat. And you think him no extraordinary 
 wif! 
 
 Luc. So, so ! a modest wit ! somewhat out of 
 countenance 
 Being laught at ; for then he grows as melancholy 
 As a lodge in a warren. 
 
 Beat. Right, I use to laugh at him. 
 And then there's a partridge wing sav'd at night ; 
 For the fool will eat no supper. 
 
 Luc. Madam, I see you know him. 
 
 Beat. Signior Lucio, be kind to your self ! [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Lucio, if thou were't any thing but Lucio, 
 I would hug thee to death. Some men in choler 
 Rail against fortune, but I adore her : 
 She has made her sail of my mother's smock. 
 I would the poets would send us a dozen 
 Such goddesses. 
 
 Enter Balthazar. 
 
 Bal. I have been seeking Benedick : and I 
 Am told now he's gone up the back-stairs, 
 And is in private with the deputy. 
 Where's the Lady Beatrice 1 
 
 Luc. Balthazar, trouble not your self, for men 
 May often lose their labour. 
 
 Balt. How so 1 
 
 Luc. Benedick is not the man she aims at. 
 
 Balt. He's very singular and eminent. 
 But I confess, this angling for ladies 
 Is a very subtle sport. 
 
 Luc. They are fishes of fantastical palates ; 
 And will sometimes sooner bite at a worm, 
 Than at a May-fly. 
 
158 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Balt. She has a full fortune. Twelve thousand 
 crowns 
 A-year. 
 
 I,UC. He will be safe from creditors that has her. 
 
 Enter Viola. 
 
 Viol. Signior Lucio, my sister would speak with 
 you. [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Balthazar, I must e'en retire from business; 
 You see I cannot rest for ladies. 
 
 Balt. I prithee put the matter home. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Duke in Friar's habit, Claudio, and Provost. 
 
 Claud. Father, I thank you ! I am now of 
 death's 
 Small party, 'gainst the crowd who strive for life. 
 
 Enter Isabell. 
 
 ISAB. What hoa ! Grace dwell within ! 
 
 Prov. Who's there ? the wish deserves a wel- 
 come. 
 
 Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. 
 
 Claud. Most rev'rend sir, I thank you. 
 
 ISAB. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 
 
 Prov. You are welcome ! Look Signior, here's 
 your sister. 
 
 Duke. Provost, a word. 
 
 Prov. As many as you please. 
 
 Duke. Bring me, where I, conceal'd, 
 May hear them speak. [Exeunt Duke, Provost. 
 
 Claud. Now sister, what's the comfort ? 
 
 ISAB. 'Tis such as earthly comforts use to be ; 
 Lord Angelo, having affairs to Heaven, 
 Intends you for his swift ambassador. 
 Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; 
 To-morrow you set on. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 159 
 
 Claud. Is therfe no remedy ? 
 
 ISAB. Yes, brother, you may live ! 
 There is a devillish mercy in the judge, 
 If you'll implore it, that will free .your life, 
 But fetter you till death. 
 
 Claud. Perpetual durance 1 
 
 ISAB. 'Tis -worse than close festraint, and painful 
 too 
 Beyond all tortures which aflBict the body ; 
 For 'tis a rack invented for the mind. 
 
 Claud. But of what nature is it t 
 
 ISAB. 'Tis such as, should you give it your con- 
 sent. 
 Would leave you stript of all the wreaths of war, 
 All ornaments my father's valour gain'd. 
 And shew you naked to the scornful world. 
 
 Claud. Acquaint me with my doom. 
 
 ISAB. If I could fear thee, Claudio, I should weep 
 Lest thou a shameful life shouldst entertain. 
 And six or seven short winters more respect 
 Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die 1 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
 And the small beetle, when we tread on it. 
 In corp'ral suff'rance, finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies. 
 
 Claud. Why give you me this shanie ? 
 Think you I can a resolution fetch 
 From tenderness ■? If I must die, 
 I'll welcome darkness as a shining bride. 
 
 ISAB. There spoke my brother: there my father's 
 grave 
 Utter'd a cheerful voice. Yes, you must die, 
 You are too noble to conserve a life 
 By wretched remedies. Our outward saint 
 Does in his gracious looks disguise the devil. 
 His iilth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond, as foul as hell. 
 
160 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Claud. The Princely Angelo 1 
 
 ISAJB. Oh, he is uglier than the frightful fiend 
 By pencils of our cloister'd virgins drawn. 
 Speak, Claudio, could you think, you might on earth 
 Be guiltless made by him, if I would Heaven, 
 Which never injur'd us, foully offend ? 
 
 Claud. Infernal Angelo ! can this be true ? 
 
 ISAB. Yes, he would clear you from your blackest 
 crimes. 
 By making me much blacker than himself. 
 This night's the time, when he would have me do 
 What I abhor to name, or else you must 
 Be dead to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Thou shalt not do't ! 
 
 IsAB. 0, were it but my life, 
 I would for your deliverance throw it down, 
 Most frankly, Claudio. 
 
 Claud. Thanks, dear Isabell. 
 
 ISAB. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Claud. Has he religion in him ? sure he thinks 
 It is no sin, or of the deadly seven 
 He does believe it is the least. 
 
 ISAB. Which is the least ? 
 
 Claud. If it were damnable, he being wise 
 Why would he for the momentary taste 
 Of lust, eternally be fed with fire 1 
 But Isabell 
 
 ISAB. What says my brother 1 
 
 Claud. Death is a fearful thing ! 
 
 ISAB. And living shame more hateful ! 
 Sure you have studied what it is to die. 
 
 Claud. Oh sister, 'tis to go we know not 
 whither. 
 We lie in silent darkness, and we rot ; 
 Where long our motion is not stopt ; for though 
 In graves none walk upright, proudly to face 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 161 
 
 The stars, yet there we move again, when our 
 Corruption makes those worms in whom we crawl. 
 Perhaps the spirit, which is future life. 
 Dwells salamander-like, unharm'd in iire : 
 Or else with wand'ring winds is blown about 
 The world. But if condemn'd like those 
 Whom our incertain thought imagines howling ; 
 Then the most loath'd and the most weary life 
 Which age, or ache, want, or imprisonment 
 Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death. 
 
 ISAB. Alas, alas ! 
 
 Claud. Sweet sister ! I would live. 
 Were not the ransom of my life much more 
 Than all your honour and your virtue too. 
 By which you are maintain'd, can ever pay, 
 Without undoing both. 
 
 ISAB. Prepare your self ! your line of life is short. 
 
 Claud. I am prepar'd : but sister, if 
 Your brother you did ever love ; or if 
 Our mother's pity may your pattern be. 
 Let Juliet in your tender bosom dwell ; 
 Who has no blemish, if such laws. 
 As innocent antiquity aUow'd, 
 Were now of force, or if religion here 
 In Turin did not more subsist 
 By public form, than private use. 
 
 IsAB. You want authority to tax the law. 
 Let your submission your last virtue be. 
 
 Claud. Will you be good to Juliet 1 
 
 ISAB. I will invite her to my breast, and to 
 A cloister'd shade, where we with mutual grief 
 Will mourn, in sad remembrance of our loss. 
 
 Claud. Your promise is now register'd in 
 Heaven. 
 Bear her this fatal pledge of our first vows. 
 
 [Gives her a ring. 
 V. L 
 
162 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Farewell ! To cloist'ral kindness both 
 Eetire, where you may ever live above 
 The rage of pow'r, and injuries of love. [Exit, and 
 
 The Duke steps in. 
 
 Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister ! but one 
 word. 
 
 ISAB. What is your vrill ? 
 
 Duke. I would some satisfaction crave of that, 
 In which you likewise may have benefit. 
 
 ISAB. My sorrows, father, hasten me away. 
 I must beseech you to be brief 
 
 Duke. The hand which made you fair, has made 
 you good. 
 Th' assault which Angelo has to 
 Your virtue given, chance to my knowledge brings. 
 I have o'erheard you, and with much astonishment 
 I gaze on the image you have made of Angelo. 
 
 IsAB. How is the noble Duke deceiv'd in such 
 A substitute 1 whose wickedness I will 
 Proclaim to all the world. 
 
 Duke. Your accusation he vsdll soon avoid, 
 By saying he but trial of 
 
 Your virtue made ; therefore, I wish you would 
 Conceal his horrid purpose tUl fit time 
 Shall serve you at the Duke's return. 
 Do you conceive my counsel good 1 
 
 ISAB. Father, I am oblig'd to follow it. 
 
 Duke. Where lodge you, virtuous maid 1 
 
 ISAB. The sisterhood of Saint Clare will soon 
 inform you. 
 I lodge in the apartment for probation. 
 
 Duke. There I'll attend you, daughter. Grace 
 preserve you ! [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Benedick and Beatrice at several doors, and 
 
 Viola with her. 
 
 Beat. sir ! you are a very Princely lover ! 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEES. 163 
 
 You cannot ■woo but by ambassadors ; 
 And may chance to marry by proxy. 
 
 Ben. Your wit flows so fast 
 That I'll not stem the tide ; I'll cast anchor, 
 And consult in your cabin how t'avoid 
 Danger. The rocks are very near us. 
 
 Beat. How now 1 afraid of the deput/s ghost 
 Ere he be dead 1 my sister shall lead you 
 Through the dark. 
 
 Ben. There is the pardon 
 Sign'd for Juliet and for Claudio too. 
 
 Beat. I thank you, Benedick. Give it me ! 
 
 Ben. You are as nimble as a squirrel, but 
 The nuts are not so soon crackt. 
 
 Beat. Unless I have it I'll take back my thanks. 
 
 Ben. If it be possible to fix quick-silver 
 Stay but a little. 
 
 Beat. What would you say 1 
 
 Ben. Eschalus is in the plot, 
 And was brought to't with more fears, than a 
 
 furr'd 
 Alderman to an insurrection 
 Of prentices. 
 
 Beat. Signior Eschalus ? could his gravity 
 Venture to change his gold chain for a halter ? 
 
 Ben. I was fain to pretend hourly correspond- 
 ence 
 With th' absent Duke ; which gain'd me his 
 
 respect. 
 I assur'd him of promotion, and then 
 He grew willing to betray his friend 
 And feUow-states-man, my brother. For men 
 Of that tribe are very loving, but especially 
 To themselves. He surpriz'd the signet. 
 And counterfeited the hand. 
 
 Beat. Give it me ! I long to be about it. 
 
 Ben. a little patience; you would make your self 
 
164 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Eeady without your glass. 
 
 Beat. These male-conspirators are so tedious. 
 
 Ben. I must convey it to the Provost, and 
 Engage his secrecy. 
 
 Beat. Make haste ! you must not stay 
 So long as to be civil to him at parting. 
 
 Ben. My coach attends me at the gate. 
 
 Beat. O, I forgot ! Your two confed'rates have 
 Been here, and brought verses from you. 
 
 Ben. Verses 1 and from me ? 
 
 Beat. Yes, and they woo'd for you, but Lucio 
 Was soon persuaded to speak for himself. 
 He says you are a mere country-wit. 
 
 Ben. I'll dip him in this plot, tiU he grow solemn 
 With business. If it were fit 
 To be malicious, that caitiff, Lucio, should have his 
 Coxcomb cut off for foolish treason. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Eschalus meeting Benedick. 
 
 EscH. My lord, the warrant for the pardon ] 
 have you it 1 
 
 Ben. Why ask you, sir 1 
 
 EsCH. Still wear it in your hand, and watch it 
 there. 
 
 Ben. I keep it 'tween my finger and my thumb. 
 As close as a catcht flea. 
 Are you afraid it will skip from me ? 
 
 EscH. The matter is of dreadful consequence. 
 
 Ben. Fear nothing, sir ! the world would still 
 Eun swiftly round but for you state-cripples, 
 Who make it halt with your politic stops 
 Of too much caution. 
 
 EsCH. If your brother, the deputy, 
 Circumvent us, you'll secure me by the Duke' 1 
 
 Ben. You shall add a lease of my life to your own. 
 Be resolute, I am in haste. [Exeunt several ways. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 165 
 
 Enter Jailor, Juliet. 
 
 [Viola knocking ivithin. 
 
 Viol, [within.] My cousin Juliet, are you here? 
 
 [Jailor opens the door. 
 
 Enter Viola. 
 
 This fellow looks like a man boil'd 
 In pump-water. Is he married ? 
 
 Jul. Are you not frighted with this dismal 
 place 1 
 How does your sister 1 speak, does she not blush 
 When she remembers me ? 
 
 Viol. I bring you good news ! 
 Cousin, I would not meet that man in the dark. 
 Does he dwell here to lock up children 
 That are imprisoned for crying ] 
 
 Jul. Tell me your happy news, dear Viola ! 
 
 Viol. Nay, I can tell you none, yet 'tis very 
 good. 
 You shall hear all to-morrow. 
 
 Jul. To-morrow is the last in my short calendar. 
 
 Viol. I have heard more than I will speak. 
 You shall 
 Come forth and lye with me, and dream all night 
 Of new dressings, and dance all day. 
 
 Jul. Would I had ne'er outliv'd this innocence ! 
 
 Viol. Do your judges dwell here ? were I that 
 man, 
 I would walk in the dark and fright 'em. 
 
 Jul. That man does do you hurt. Let us retire ! 
 Had I been wither'd at her beauty's spring. 
 And stay'd from growing at her growth of mind, 
 I had not known the cruel nor the kind. 
 Those who outlive her years do but improve 
 The knowledge of those griefs which grow with 
 love. [Exeunt. 
 
166 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Act IV. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Benedick, Lucio, Balthazar. 
 
 Ben. Lucio, you broke from our confed'racy 
 Against marriage, then woo'd in my behalf ; 
 And afterwards for your self 
 
 Luc. Do but hear me ! 
 
 Ben. Excuses are like weak 
 Eeserves after a battle is lost. 
 
 Luc. Let me be heard ! for if poor truth 
 Have a tongue of her own and must not use it. 
 Why then she may retire into a corner, 
 And weep out her eyes. 
 
 Ben. What can you say 1 
 
 Luc. I meant no more love to the Lady Beatrice, 
 Than I do to woo an arrested widow 
 With a serenade at a prison grate. 
 Balthazar knows my heart. 
 
 Balt. I know seVral of your hearts. 
 Men are not i' th' fashion unless they have 
 Change of ev'ry thing. 
 
 Luc. I ever thought her a mermaid. 
 
 Ben. How so ? 
 
 Luc. From the breasts downwards she's as cold 
 as a fish. 
 
 Ben. Well, Lucio, I'll call none but the four 
 winds 
 
 T'accompt for what is past. Look, sir ! thus I 
 
 Blow away your ofiences : but you must 
 Be steady now, and diligent. I told 
 You my design for Claudio's preservation. 
 The Provost was your uncle's creature, and 
 By him prefer' d. 
 
 Balt. The Provost will make good 
 Our trust, and ev'ry character of gratitude. 
 
 Ben. You must engage him, Lucio, and discern 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 167 
 
 By what pretext or obstacle the friar 
 Proceeds so far to interrupt our hopes. 
 
 Luc. I'll bind the Provost to your service in 
 His own shackles. And, concerning the friar, 
 I'll straight confess him, and you shall know all. 
 
 Ben. Be sudden and successful ! go ! [Exit Lucio. 
 
 Enter Beatrice and Page. 
 
 Beat. 0, are you come ? I would have cried you 
 as 
 A lost thing, but that I knew I should have 
 The ill luck to find you again. 
 
 Ben. You trip it too fast ! 
 You need not be so swift to meet misfojtune. 
 I had just now a letter from the Provost ; 
 Who either suspects the truth of the pardon. 
 Because I enjoin'd him to secresy, 
 Or else is led by a friar to some fresh 
 Design. 
 
 Beat. Are we circumvented by a friar ? 
 Eather than not vex that friar, I'll invent 
 A new sect, and preach in a hat and feather. 
 
 Ben. 'Tis strange that men of their discretion 
 Should come abroad in old fashion gowns. 
 And drest with abominable negligence. 
 
 Beat. Bus'ness makes them great slovens, and 
 they love 
 To be busy. 
 
 Ben. i^d never observe 
 The right seasons when they are necessary. 
 For though we are content with their company 
 When we are old and dying ; yet, methinks, 
 They should not trouble us with their good counsel 
 When we are young, and in good health. 
 
 Balt. Alas, poor book-men ! they want breeding. 
 
 Beat. Can we not separate the wicked Provost, 
 From this scrupulous friar ? 
 
168 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Ben. I have sent Lucio to him. 
 
 Beat. Benedick, 
 We will cast ofif the serious faces of 
 Conspirators, and appear to the deputy 
 As merry, and as gay, as nature in 
 The spring. This house shall be all carnival, 
 All masquerade. 
 
 Ben. Good ! we will laugh him out 
 Of s politics, till he make paper kites 
 Of Machiavel's books, and play with his pages 
 In the fields. 
 
 Balt. And shall we sing and dance 1 
 
 Beat. Till the old senators lead forth 
 The burghers' widows, and cry out for a pavin. 
 Page, call Viola with her castanietos ; 
 And bid Bernardo bring his guitar ! [Exit Page. 
 
 Ben. My brother wiU not endure this habitation. 
 
 Balt. He'U rather go to sea and dwell in a gun- 
 room. 
 
 Ben. Or lie round like a sexton's dog, beneath 
 The great beU. in a steeple. 
 
 \Viola strikes the castanietos williin. 
 
 Beat. Hark ! Viola has ta'en th' alarm. 
 
 Ben. Those castanietos sound 
 Like a concert of squirrels cracking of nuts. 
 
 Enter Viola dancing a saraband, awhile with 
 
 BE.A.T. Shall we stand idle in seasons of business ? 
 You have feathers on your head, Benedick ; 
 Have you none at your heels ] 
 
 Ben. I am, lady. 
 So very a kid at cap'ring, that you 
 May make gloves of my skin. Balthazar ! 
 Call for more music. 
 
 Balt. Not for me, sir, 
 I can dance at the mere tolling of a belL [They dance. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 169 
 
 After the dance, enter Eschaltts. 
 
 EsCH. Have you no apprehension of the deputy ? 
 Are you insensible ? 
 
 Beat. Do you suspect 
 We are insensible by our want of motion ■? 
 
 Ben. You should provide my brother-deputy 
 A politician's quilted cap to cover 
 His ears. 'Twill preserve him from noise. 
 
 Beat. These politic men should keep company 
 With their fellow-foxes in deep holes. 
 
 Balt. He'll grow so angry, that he'll lay the 
 punishments 
 Of law aside, and pistol us with his own hand. 
 
 EsCH. This, signior, is not the right way to meet 
 Your brother's temper. 
 
 Ben. Signior ! my meaning is 
 T'avoid the way where I may meet my brother. 
 I'll prove a very crab to him ; for still, 
 As he proceeds, I purpose to go backward. 
 
 EsCH. I hope you'll be cautious about the 
 pardon. 
 
 Ben. Pray, mingle so much courage with your 
 wisdom. 
 As may bring you into the possibility 
 Of sleep again. 
 
 EsCH. Sir, I more than beseech you 
 Not to provoke your brother's gravity 
 With fantastical noises. 
 
 Ben. Believe me, we 
 Are politic ; and do it to disguise 
 That melancholy which belongs to design. 
 
 EsCH. That may do well. 
 
 Ben. Go up, and retire with him ! 
 If you stay here, he'll take you for a man 
 Of mirth ; and then you'll lose his favour. 
 
 [Exit Eschalus.. 
 
17-0 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Beat. 'Tis fit, Benedick, you seek Lucio out, 
 To learn quickly the Provost's resolution. 
 I'll go change my scene to the garden-terrace, 
 Under your brother's window, that I may 
 Torment him with new noises. 
 
 Viol. Shall I fetch the great girls that make 
 bone-lace. 
 To sing out of tune to their bobbins 1 
 
 Beat. Do, Viola ! let them be long lean wenches. 
 
 Viol. And we'll hang a dozen cages of parrots 
 At his window, to tell him what's a clock. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Lucio and Provost. 
 
 Luc. I'd speak with that friar who obstructs 
 
 the pardon. 
 Prov. His business with Claudio being done, he 
 
 shall attend you. 
 
 Enter Fool in a shackle. 
 
 Luc. Fool ! what a pris'ner ^ I thought fooling 
 had 
 Been free. 
 
 Fool. Fooling is free before the wise ; 
 But truly, signior, a fool can no more 
 Suffer a fool, than one of the wits can 
 Endure another wit. 
 
 Prov. You, sirrah, are committed for the worst 
 Kind of fooling. You have brought both sexes 
 Together. 
 
 Lcrc. A bawd? alas, poor fool ! instead of being 
 In jest, you have been in earnest ! 
 
 Fool. I dealt with persons of quality. 
 With whom I thought fit to be mannerly. 
 Was't civil to let them meet to no purpose 1 
 
 Prov. You have been civil indeed. 
 
 Fool. AU deeds must submit to interpretation. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 171 
 
 For my part, to prevent all animosities 
 
 And heart-burnings between young men and 
 
 women, 
 I brought them lovingly together. 
 Luc. A bawd in a fool's coat ! 
 Prov. Mistress Mitigation gave him the livery. 
 LxJC. 'Tis a villainous new disguise 
 For the good old cause. 
 
 How does Mother Midnight ? what, she grows 
 rich'! 
 Fool. Signior, sh'as eaten up all her beef now, 
 And is her self in the tub. 
 
 Luc. Powder'd to make her last. 'Tis not 
 amiss. 
 But, prithee, what mean those keys at thy girdle 1 
 Prov. I have preferr'd him. He's an under- 
 
 jailor. 
 Luc. You have but chang'd your dwelling, fool; 
 your office 
 Is the same : for you were wont to keep doors. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Prov. Sirrah, look to your pris'ners ! Signior 
 Lucio, 
 I shall leave you with this rev'rend father. 
 
 [JSxeunt Provost, Fool 
 
 Luc. Good day, father ! 
 
 Duke. And to you, sir, a long and a good life ! 
 
 Luc. Father, I aim at no difficult things ; 
 If it be short and sweet, I'm satisfied. 
 
 Duke. How mean you, sir ? 
 
 Luc. Nay, I'm not now prepar'd for confession ; 
 besides 
 I'm in great haste. You must needs prevail 
 With the Provost to let the pardon pass. 
 
 Duke. Some hours after the date of the pardon. 
 An order came hither for execution, 
 
172 THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 
 
 Which had proceeded too, if Friar Thomas 
 Had not, by help of the deputy's confessor^ 
 Got a reprieve till to-morrow. 
 
 Luc. Th' absent Duke was a true friend to 
 lovers. 
 
 Duke. It seems you know the Duke 1 
 
 Luc. Know him ? yes friar, very well. I had 
 th' honour 
 To be of his council : but I mean, sir, 
 In midnight matters. He was about once 
 To raise a charitable foundation ; 
 Not for lousy learning, or such cripples 
 As creep from lost battles, but for poor 
 Diseas'd lovers. 
 
 Duke. I did not think he had been amorous. 
 
 Luc. Who, he 1 yes as far as to your beggar 
 Of fifty : and he us'd to put a ducket 
 In her clack-dish. 
 
 Duke. Is't possible ? 
 He was not, sure, in's youth this way inclin'd. 
 
 Luc. No, he began to steer 
 The right course about forty ; but, good man. 
 He repented the lost time of his youth. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. Virtue's defensive armour must be strong, 
 To scape the merry, and malicious tongue. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Jailor, Isabella. 
 
 IsAB. Good friend ! be courteous, and let Juliet 
 know 
 My name is Isabella, and I come 
 To serve her. Will you so much favour me ? 
 There's for your pains — 
 
 Jail. You must stay here, till I shall send her 
 to you. [Exit Jailor. 
 
 ISAB. A prison is too good a den for 
 This rude beast. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 173 
 
 Enter JujjlET,—IsabeU salutes her. 
 
 Have comfort, sister ! I must call you so ; 
 Though the uncivil law will not allow 
 You yet that name. 
 
 Jul. I am not worthy of it. 
 
 ISAB. Since you have spoke so humbly of your 
 self, 
 You must and shall be comforted : perhaps. 
 Like conscience, love, when satisfied within, 
 May oft oifend the law, and yet not sin. 
 
 Jul. I find the greatest love is an offence ; 
 For greatest love is greatest confidence ; 
 When, trusting those who for our credence woo, 
 We trust them with our love and honour too. 
 
 ISAB. I come to bring your sorrows some relief ; 
 And would your crime not lessen but your grief. 
 
 Jul. How can I lose that honour which I gave 
 To him who can and will that honour save 1 
 
 ISAJB. When you your honour did to Claudio 
 give, 
 Coz'ning your self, you did our sex deceive. 
 Honour is public treasure, and 'tis fit 
 Law should in public form dispose of it. 
 
 Jul. Oh Isabella ! you are cruel grown. 
 
 ISAB. Sister ! you gave much more than was 
 your own. 
 
 Jul. I lov'd too much ; yet, for your brother's 
 
 Who had that love, you my excuse should make. 
 
 ISAB. My mother's life did fair example give 
 How, after death, we might unpunisht live. 
 She, dying, did my childhood then assign 
 To Claudio's care ; he leaves you now to mine. 
 
 Jul. Oh HeaVn ! you mean that Claudio still 
 must die ; 
 And I am now become a legacy ? 
 
174 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 ISAB. My friends are suing for your liberty, 
 And that you may secure from penance be. 
 
 Jul. What need I for the shame of penance care 1 
 No blush e'er dy'd the paleness of despair. 
 
 ISAB. Do not, with weeping, vainly quench your 
 eyes. 
 Tears are to Heaven a useful sacrifice 
 Where ev'ry drop moves mercy ; but they gain 
 On earth no more remorse than common rain. 
 
 Jul. Is there no means your brother's life to 
 save? 
 
 ISAB. None that I would afford, or he would 
 have ? 
 Yet can I not aflSrm that there is none. 
 
 Jul. 0, call back Hope, which fast does from 
 us run. 
 
 ISAB. Sister, you call in vain; for, when you 
 know 
 How wicked now Saint Angelo does grow. 
 You will rejoice that death makes Claudio free, 
 And think your bonds more safe than liberty. 
 
 Jul. Is Angelo as wicked as severe 1 
 
 ISAB. I more his kindness now than anger fear. 
 
 Jul. To what would tyrant-force kindly per- 
 suade 1 
 
 ISAB. He gently treats, then rudely does invade. 
 I dare not give his purpos'd sin a name ; 
 It is too hard a word for untaught shame. 
 
 Jul. False image of refin'd authority ! 
 
 ISAB. Unless I yield my brother is to die. 
 Just now I left the guards drawn up, who wait 
 For execution at the prison gate. 
 
 Jul. Oh Isabell ! why are we useless made ? 
 Too weak t'inforce, and artless to persuade : 
 Nor you nor I can any help afford 
 To your dear brother, and my plighted lord. 
 Yet you have means ; but must not have the will 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 175 
 
 By evil to prevent a greater ill. 
 
 ISAB. Have I the means ? your grief misleads 
 your tongue. [She is going out. 
 
 Jul. I would do Claudio good, and you no wrong. 
 Your virtue is severe ! Hear me but speak ! 
 My heart will else out of my hosom break. 
 
 ISAB. Speak clearly then I You are not under- 
 stood. 
 May none do Ul, that so they may do good ? 
 Nature no greater gift than life can give. 
 
 ISAB. By virtue we our nature long outlive. 
 
 Jul. " Can it be virtue to let Claudio die ? 
 
 ISAB. His life should not be sav'd by infamy. 
 
 Jul. Loath'd infamy consists of evils grown 
 So impudent as covet to be known. 
 But those seem least which bashfully we shun 
 At first, and then for good intent are done. 
 
 ISAB. Sister, you argue wildly in your grief. 
 You are too good to seek a bad relief 
 For Claudio ; therefore look for no reply. 
 
 Jul. I look for none ; yet would not have him 
 die. \Going out. 
 
 ISAB. You seem'd to intimate that baslifulness 
 At evil doing makes the evil less ; 
 That, when we good intend by doing ill, 
 We bring necessity t'excuse our will : 
 And, that our faults, when hidden by our shame, 
 Pass free from blemish, if they scape from blame. 
 
 Jul. Forget my words. How could they be but 
 weak. 
 When grief did make those thoughts which fear 
 did speak. 
 
 ISAB. Suppose I can a likely way devise, 
 That you, assisted aptly by disguise. 
 May take to-night my place with Angelo : 
 The means is not remote : what will you do ? 
 
 Jul. I am amaz'd and apprehend you not. 
 
176 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 ISAB. Your sudden ignorance is strangely got. 
 I now am going to the deputy, 
 To make to his request my last reply ; 
 And I perhaps may promise willingness, 
 But on conditions made for my access 
 With bashful privacy retir'd from light ; 
 From ev'ry witness too but secret night ; 
 Whose thickest curtains shall immure the room, 
 Where for my promist person you may come. 
 Thus Claudio's life you save and lose no fame ; 
 For where none sees we cannot feel our shame. 
 Ascribe to dire necessity the ill, 
 The good of it belongs then to your will. 
 Quickly resolve and I'll prepare your way. 
 
 Jul. Ere I will Claudio in my self betray, 
 I will the torment of his death endure : 
 His sickness more becomes him than the cure. 
 
 ISAB. How, Juliet 1 can you righteously refuse 
 Th' expedient which you plead that I should use ? 
 Go chide the passion which would have me do 
 That which, though ill in both, seems least in you : 
 The good or ill redemption of his life 
 Does less concern his sister than his wife. 
 
 Jul. Alas, we know not what is good or ill. 
 
 ISAB. Perhaps we should not learn that fatal 
 skill. 
 The serpent taught it first. Sister, away ! 
 We'll more for patience, than for knowledge, pray. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Balthazar, Beatrice, Jailor, Page. 
 
 Beat. Where's Viola ? have I lost her ? that 
 scare-crow 
 Makes a very bird of her. 
 
 Balt. She's run up-stairs, madam, to inform 
 Your cousin Juliet of your being here. 
 
 Beat. Methinks this fellow looks not only ill, 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEES. 177 
 
 But saucily ill. 
 
 Balt. How so, madam 1 
 
 Beat. 'Tis impudence to shew so bad a face 
 In good company Friend, I'll reward you. 
 
 Jail. The sooner the better. 
 
 Beat. You shall wear my icolours ; 
 Boy, when he comes abroad 
 Bid my lacquies be careful to cudgel him. 
 
 Jail. I thank you. [Exit Jailor. 
 
 Enter Viola. 
 
 Viol. My cousin Juliet has lockt herself in 
 Her chamber, I saw her through the keyhole. 
 Weeping like nurse when she lost her wedding 
 ring. 
 Beat. Juliet, I cannot but 
 Pity thy private friendship, but am more 
 Vext at our public enemj', thy judge — 
 
 Balt. Your tears, madam, shew more pity than 
 
 anger. 
 Beat. No, sir, great storms do oft begin with 
 rain. 
 
 Enter Benedick. 
 
 Ben. I saw your coach at the prison-gate, lady. 
 And thought y' had been arrested on 
 Suspicion of love, which now is made high-treason. 
 Natural bodies by the body politic. 
 
 Beat. I should marvel. Benedick, how you had 
 The face to come within sight of my sex. 
 But that ill faces, being common, are 
 No cause of wonder. 
 
 Ben. Mine's a politic face ; and few of that 
 sort 
 Are held handsome ; so politic that it 
 Will hardly be seduc'd to make another 
 In these dangerous times. 
 V. M 
 
178 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Beat. So politic, as I'd have you walk only 
 At night, and with a dark lanthorn before you ; 
 That, though you see others, none may see you. 
 You are one of those whom I think unlucky. 
 
 Ben. This gloomy place presents you with 
 strange visions. 
 Your coach attends you : I pray change the scene. 
 
 Beat. Whither? to see your brother's guards 
 drawn up 
 For Claudio's execution 1 'las poor women 
 They get much by you men. 
 
 Ben. Truly, 'tis thought they might get more ! 
 For men are always civilly willing. 
 Though ever blam'd. But, patience ! and we shall 
 Have right when we are heard. 
 
 Beat. Heard 1 yes, may she, 
 Who henceforth listens to your sighing sex. 
 Have her ass-ears in public bor'd, as love's 
 Known slave, and wear for pendants, morrice- 
 
 bells. 
 As his fantastic fool. 
 
 Ben. No whisp'ring the Platonic way 1 
 
 Beat. Platonic way 1 my cousin has Plato'd it 
 Profoundly; has she not 1 i' th' name of mischief, 
 Make friendship with yourselves, and not with us. 
 Let every Damon of you chuse his Pythias, 
 And tattle romantic philosophy 
 Together, like bearded gossips. 
 
 Ben. Though such conversation might breed 
 peace in 
 A palace, yet 'twould make but a thin court. 
 
 Beat. Discourse all day, lolling like lazy ill- 
 Bred wits, with your right legs o'er your left 
 
 knees : 
 Defining love, till he become as raw 
 As if he were dissected by anatomists. 
 Give balls and serenades to your dear selves. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 179 
 
 Ben. That were, as we are taught by the old 
 proverb, 
 To be raerry and wise. 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Luc. We shall be more 
 Troubled with this fiddling friar, than with ten 
 Lay-fools. He has so infected the Provost 
 With good counsel, that there is no hope from 
 
 him. 
 The guards are doubled at the prison gate ; 
 And Claudio is to die at breaJr of day. 
 
 Beat. Where's now your valour, sir ? 
 Is furious Benedick, like beasts of prey, 
 Courageous only in the field, 
 And with familiar tameness creeps in towns 
 Beneath the anger of your feeder's law % 
 Jailor, where are you \ Bring me to my cousin ! 
 
 [Ex. Beat., Viol. 
 
 Ben. She's rais'd to a most amiable humour. 
 Now is your time, Lucio, to make love to her. 
 
 Luc. I am now for the Platonic way of billing 
 Like meek turtles, without the noise of passion. 
 
 Balt. We, Lucio, who are parcel-lovers, should 
 Mourn like turtles over a bottle in 
 These days of persecution. 
 
 Ben. Signiors, prepare t' offend the laws ! I find 
 I must grow rude, and make bold with my brother. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Peovost, Duke. 
 
 Peov. The guards thus doubled at the prison 
 gate. 
 Confirms my doubt that Signior Benedick 
 Did counterfeit the pardon which he brought. 
 . Duke. You have another prisoner here 
 Condemn'd to die 1 
 
180 THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 
 
 Prov. The wicked Bernardine hath long 
 Been a most painful and a watchful robber, 
 But now the short remainder of his life 
 He lazily consumes in sleep. 
 
 Duke. Is he so careless before death ] 
 
 Pkov. He minds 
 Not what is past, or present, or to come. 
 
 Duke. He wants advice. 
 
 Peov. We oft have wakened him, as if he were 
 To go to execution, and shew'd him too 
 A seeming warrant, but he seem'd not mov'd. 
 
 Enter Fool. 
 
 Fool. The hangman waits to despatch his 
 
 business 
 With your worship. 
 
 Prov. Sirrah, his business is with you. 
 
 Fool. My worship will hardly be at leisure for 
 
 him. 
 Prov. Call him in ! 
 
 Enter Hangman. 
 
 This fellow, early in the morning is 
 To help you in your execution. 
 He cannot plead a quality above 
 Your service, he has been a noted bawd. 
 
 Hang. A bawd ! fye on him, he'll disgrace our 
 mystery. 
 
 Fool. Sir, by your good favour, for surely, sir. 
 You would have a good favour, had you not 
 A hanging look, d'you call your trade a mystery ? 
 
 Hang. ' Yes, you will find it so. 
 
 Fool. What mystery there should be in hang- 
 ing, if 
 I were to be hang'd, I cannot imagine. 
 
 Hang. It is a mystery : but you must be hang'd 
 Ere you can find it out. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 181 
 
 Prov. Provide your block and axe ; 
 And call Bernardine ! [Exit Hangman. 
 
 Duke. What horrid instruments are us'd by 
 
 pow'r ! 
 Fool. Mr Bernardine, you must rise and be 
 hang'd. 
 Mr Bernardine ! 
 
 Bern, (within). Curse on your throat! who 
 makes that noise ? 
 What are you 1 
 
 Fool. Your friend, the hangman ! you must be 
 so good 
 As to rise, and be put to death. 
 
 Bern. Away you rogue ! I am sleepy. 
 Prov. Tell him he must wake. 
 Fool. Pray, Mr Bernardine awake till you 
 Are executed and sleep afterwards. 
 Prov. Go in, and' fetch him out. 
 Fool. He's coming, sir, for I hear his straw 
 rustle. 
 
 Enter Bernardine. 
 
 Bern. How now, Fool, what's the news with you ? 
 Fool. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap 
 close to 
 Your prayers, for the warrant's come. 
 
 Bern. Y'are a rogue ! I've been drinking all 
 night. 
 And am not fitted for the warrant. 
 
 Fool. The better, sir; for he that drinks all 
 night, 
 And is hang'd very betimes in the morning, 
 May sleep the soundlier all the next day. 
 
 Pkov. Look, sir, here comes your ghostly father ! 
 D'you think we jest now ? 
 
 Duke. Induc'd, sir, by my charity, and hearing 
 how 
 
182 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS, 
 
 Hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, 
 Comfort you, and pray with you. 
 
 Bern. Friar, not I. I've been drinking hard all 
 night, 
 And will have more time to prepare me, or they 
 Shall beat out my brains with billets. 
 I'll not die to-day. 
 
 Duke. 0, sir, you must, and therefore, I be- 
 seech you, 
 Look forward on the journey you shall go. 
 
 Bern. I'll not die till I have slept, for any 
 Man's persuasion. 
 
 Duke. But, hear you — 
 
 Bern. Not a wopd ; if you have any thing to 
 speak ■^■"''^ 
 Come to myward, for I'll not thence to-da^. 
 
 \Ex&u,nt Bernardine, -Hqol. 
 
 Prov. What think you of this prisoner, fath^rf^ 
 
 Duke. Nature did never make a thing-more 
 wretched. 
 He is unfit to live or die. 'Twere want 
 Of common charity to transport him 
 In the mind he is. Let him have more time. 
 And be restrain'd from ev'ry nourishment but sleep 
 Till I have made him fit for death. 
 
 Enter Jailor. 
 
 Jail. Sir, a messenger at the prison gate 
 Knocks hard, and says that he must speak with 
 
 you. 
 Prov. I come ! Father, if it please you, let's 
 
 retire. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Claudio and Fool. 
 
 Claud. Bolting the door we are unheard and 
 safe. 
 Thou art a mart, though in an ill disguise ; 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 183 
 
 And should'st support thy being worthily. 
 
 Fool. Why, truly sir, though I have had a couple 
 Of ill callings, yet I would live as well 
 As I could by both. 
 
 Claud. Thou hast a servant been to shame, and 
 now 
 Art but an officer to cruelty. 
 There, take this gold ! it is a thousand crowns. 
 Wilt thou not run a little hazard for 
 Much happiness ? The venture is not great ; 
 And it may probably produce at once 
 Thy freedom and support. 
 
 Fool. Sir, mine is but 
 A thin summer-skin ; 't has been often cut 
 And slasht with whipping. I would very fain 
 Sleep whole in it now. 
 
 Claud. Have courage, friend, 'tis gold ! 
 
 Fool. My grandam left me nothing at her death 
 But a good old proverb, that's Touch and Take : 
 And I may say 't has been a lucky proverb 
 To me. What would you have me do 1 
 
 Claud. I have within a Page's habit, packt up 
 Close. Prithee, convey it by your friend, 
 The Jailor, to Julietta, whose escape, 
 In that disguise, I newly have contriVd, 
 By correspondence with an officer 
 Who has the foremost station of 
 The guards without, and has been servant to 
 My father. If thou hast any tenderness 
 Do this, that she may scape from public penance. 
 
 Fool. But how shall I scape, sir? I shall do 
 penance 
 Without a sheet or shirt : for my kind tutor, 
 The hangman, will strip me stark naked 
 When I'm swinging, though the wind blow north 
 erly. 
 
 Claud. The law for thy offence can doom thee 
 
184 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 But to fetters during life, and half that gold 
 May purchase thy release. 
 
 Fool. A sore whipping may come into the bar- 
 gain. 
 But 'tis a poor back that cannot sometimes 
 Pay for the maint'nance of the belly. I'll do't ! 
 Claud. Pray lose no time ; I have but little left. 
 Fool. Have you no more gold 1 sure, you might 
 
 scape too. 
 Claud. Friend, I have given you all I have, nor 
 could 
 My greater plenty work my liberty ; 
 For my confederate dares not undertake 
 To make the passage clear for more than one. 
 Or, if he could, I want disguise for two. 
 Fool. If you get out, sir, you then scape from 
 
 death. 
 Claud. And she by freedom scapes from dread- 
 ful shame 
 Of doing penance. Pray, dispute it not ! 
 
 [Knocking within. 
 What hand is that 1 if you prove faithful now 
 You'll gain forgiveness for your past offences. 
 
 Fool. My golden guests retire you straight into 
 The closet of my breeches. 
 Much in all ages, good innocent gold, 
 
 Has been lay'd to your charge 
 
 [Puts wp the hag and looks through the key-hole. 
 It is the Lady Juliet's maid ! I'll let 
 Her in ; and bear the habit to her mistress. 
 
 [Exit Fool. 
 
 Enter Maid. 
 
 Maid. My lady with this letter, sir, sends you 
 Her dearest prayers and love. 
 
 Claud. Heaven value both, so much as they 
 Are priz'd by me [£eads the letter. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 185 
 
 The Provost's wife, in pity of your distress ; or 
 perhaps out of love to your person, or rather, as I 
 hope, out of respect to your virtue, has devis'd 
 means for your escape. She has by large gifts 
 prevail'd with my keeper to leave your passage free 
 to my chamber. I beseech you, with the efi&cacy 
 of my last breath, to make use of this occasion and 
 to hasten hither. Your way to liberty must be out 
 of my window, from whence by a small engine she 
 will wrench the bars. 
 
 Maid: Can you find leisure to consider, sir, 
 Of that which by my lady is so well 
 Kesolv'd ? 
 
 Claud. The Provost's wife ? will she facilitate 
 Your lady's liberty with mine 1 
 
 Maid. She says, she cannot undertake so far. 
 
 Claud. Then I'll refuse her courtesy. 
 
 Maid. My lady sends you this request in tears. 
 Will you deny it her 1 
 
 Claud. If my escape I from her chamber make. 
 The law will lay the guilt of it on her ; 
 And she remains behind to bear 
 The punishment. 
 
 Maid. She hath agreed to that 
 Condition with the Provost's wife. 
 
 Claud. Your lady makes me an unkind request. 
 
 Maid. Have you the heart to judge it so 1 
 
 Claud. Can she be ign'rant that the rigid law 
 Does judge it in a prisoner forfeiture 
 Of life, to help another prisoner to 
 Escape, who is condemn'd to die 1 
 
 Maid. That forfeiture she cheerfully will pay : 
 But has so govern'd me with desp'rate vows, 
 That I lackt courage to refuse to bring 
 This message to you. 
 
 Claud. How pow'rful, fatal Juliet, is thy 
 love ! 
 
186 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Yet must it not more valiant be than mine 
 
 [_Weeps. 
 
 Tell her, I've newly sent her a request 
 
 More just than that which she has sent by you ; 
 
 It will be brought her with a present too : 
 
 Which if, unkindly, she denies to take, 
 
 She does by 'xample my denial make. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Angelo, Servant. 
 Ang. Attend her in, and then wait you at dis- 
 tance ! [Exit Servant. 
 O Love ! how much thy borrow'd shapes disguise, 
 Even to themselves, the valiant and the wise ! 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Ang. Had you not fear'd th' approach of Claudio's 
 fate 
 Which shews you are to him compassionate, - 
 Though not to me, I had not seen you here. 
 He may your pity thank, and I your fear. 
 
 IsAB. My lord, I hardly could my self forgive 
 For suing still to have my brother live. 
 But that a higher hope directs my aim ; 
 Which, saving his frail life, would your's reclaim. 
 
 Ang. How desp'rate all your hopeful visits 
 prove ! 
 You bring me counsel still instead of love ; 
 And would in storms of passion make me wise. 
 Bid pilots preach to winds when tempests rise. 
 
 ISAB. But yet as tempests are by showers allay'd, 
 So may your anger hj my tears be sway'd. 
 
 Ang. You must by yielding teach me to relent. 
 Make haste ! the mourners tears are almost spent. 
 Courtiers to tyrant-death who basely wait, 
 To do that tyrant honour whom they hate, 
 Inviting formal fools to see his feast 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 187 
 
 To which your brother is th' unwilling guest, 
 And the absolving priest must say the grace : 
 Night's progress done, Claudio begins his race. 
 
 ISAB. And with the morning's wings your cruel 
 doom 
 He shall convey where you must trembling come, 
 Before that judge, whose pow'r you use so ill. 
 As if, like law, 'twere subject to your will. 
 The cruel there shall wish they had been just. 
 And that their seeming love had not been lust. 
 
 Ang. These useless sayings were from cloisters 
 brought : 
 You cannot teach so soon as you were taught. 
 You must example to my mercy give ; 
 First save my life, and then let Claudio live. 
 
 ISAB. Have you no words but what are only 
 good, 
 Because their ill is quickly understood ? 
 Dispose of Claudio's life ! whilst cruel you , 
 Seem dead, by being deaf to all that sue ; 
 Till by long custom of forgiving none 
 Y'are so averse to all forgiveness grown, 
 That in your own behalf you shall deny. 
 To hear of absolution when you die. 
 
 Ang. How, Isabell ? from calms of bashfulness 
 Even such as suppliant saints to Heaven express, 
 When patience makes her self a sacrifice, 
 Can you to storms of execration rise ? 
 
 [Isabell is going out. 
 Leave me not full of evil wonder : stay ! 
 
 ISAB. Can it be good to hear what you would 
 say ? [-Efe steps in and reaches a cabinet ; 
 
 Ang. In this behold nature's reserves of light, 
 When the lost day yields to advancing night. 
 When that black goddess fine in frosts appears, 
 Then starry jewels bright as these she wears ; 
 The wealth of many parents who did spare 
 
188 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 In plenteous peace, and get by prosperous war. 
 IsAB. Of that which evil life may get, you make 
 A wonder in a monstrous boast ; 
 Which death from you as certainly will 
 take, 
 As 'tis already by your parents lost. 
 Ang. Be in this world, like other mortals, wise ; 
 And take this treasure as your beauty's prize. 
 Wealth draws a curtain o'er the face of shame, 
 Restores lost beauty, and recovers fame. 
 
 IsAB. Catch fools in nets without a covert laid ; 
 Can I, who see the treason, be betray'd t 
 
 [Going ovi. 
 Ang. Stay, Isabell, stay but a moment's space ! 
 You know me not by knowing but my face. 
 My heart does differ from my looks and tongue, 
 To know you much I have deceived you long. 
 IsAB. Have you more shapes, or would you new 
 
 devise ? 
 Ang. I'll now, at once, cast off my whole disguise. 
 Keep still your virtue, which is dignified, 
 And has new value got by being tried. 
 Claudio shall longer live than I can do. 
 Who was his judge, but am condemn'd by you. 
 The martial of the guards keeps secretly 
 His pardon seal'd ; nor meant I he should die. 
 ISAB. By shifting your disguise, you seem much 
 more 
 In borrow'd darkness than you were before. 
 
 Ang. Forgive me, who, till now, thought I should 
 find 
 Too many of your beauteous sex too kind. 
 I strove, as jealous lovers curious grow, 
 Vainly to learn, what I was loth to know. 
 And of your virtue I was doubtful grown. 
 As men judge women's frailties by their own. 
 But since you fully have endured the test, 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 189 
 
 And are not only good, but prove the best 
 Of all your sex, submissively I woo 
 To be your lover and your husband too, 
 
 ISAB. Can I, when free, be by your words 
 subdu'd, 
 Whose actions have my brother's life pursu'd 1 
 
 Ang. I never meant to take your brother's life ; 
 But, if in trial how to chuse a wife, 
 I have too diffident, too curious been, 
 I'll pardon ask for foUy, as for sin ; 
 I loved you ere your precious beauties were 
 In your probation shaded at Saint Clare : 
 And, when with sacred sisterhood confin'd, 
 A double enterprise perplext my mind ; 
 By Claudio's danger to provoke you forth 
 From that blest shade, and then to try your worth. 
 
 ISAB. She that can credit give to things so 
 strange, 
 And can comply with such a sudden change,' 
 Has mighty faith, and kindness too so strong. 
 That the extreme cannot continue long. 
 I am so pleas'd with Claudio's liberty, 
 That the example shall preserve me free. 
 
 Ang. Was I, when bad so quickly understood ; 
 And cannot be believed when I am good. 
 
 IsAB. In' favour of my sex, and not of you, 
 I wish your love so violent and true. 
 That those who shall hereafter curious be. 
 To seek that frailty, which they would not see, 
 May by your punishment become afraid, 
 To use those nets which you ignobly laid. 
 
 Ang. Ah, Isabell ! you blam'd my cruelty ! 
 Will you, when I shew mercy, cruel be 1 
 
 IsAB. You might have met a weaker breast than 
 mine, 
 Which at approach to parley would incline : 
 How little honour then you had obtain'd, 
 
190 THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 
 
 If, where but little was, you that had stain'd ! 
 Had you been great of mind, you would have strove 
 T' have hid, or helpt the weaknesses of love, 
 And not have used temptations to the frail. 
 Or pow'r, where 'twas dishonour to prevail. 
 You will, if now your love dissembled be, 
 Deceive yourself in not deceiving me. 
 If it be true, you shall not be believ'd, 
 Lest you should think me apt to be deceiv'd. [Exit. 
 Ano. Break heart ! farewell the cruel and the 
 just ! 
 Fools seek belief where they have bred distrust : 
 Because she doubts my virtue I must die ; 
 Who did with vicious arts her virtue try. [Esdt. 
 
 Act V. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Duke and Isabella. 
 
 Duke. You told me, daughter, that the marshal 
 has 
 Your brother's pardon seal'd, and I shall watch 
 All means to keep him safe, lest Angelo 
 Should turn his clemency into revenge. 
 Do not th' assurance of his freedom buy 
 With hazard of a virgin's liberty. 
 
 ISAB. I shall with patience follow your instruc- 
 tion. 
 Duke. Night's shady curtains are already drawn ; 
 And you shall hear strange news before the dawn. 
 
 [Exit Duke. 
 
 Enter Francisca. 
 
 Franc. Is the good father gone ? 
 IsAB.. Yes, sister, and has left my breast in' 
 peace, [A hell rings.. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 191 
 
 Franc. This bell does nightly warn us ere we 
 sleep, 
 T' appease offended Heaven. Let us go pray, 
 That the world's crimes may vanish with the day. 
 
 [JExeunt. 
 
 Enter Benedick, Eschalus, Beatrice, Viola, 
 Lucio, singing a chorus within. 
 
 EsCH. Your brother, sir, has an unquiet mind : 
 'Tis late, and he would take his rest. 
 
 Viol. We'll sing him asleep. 
 
 Ben. Shall he who should 
 Live lean with care of the whole common-wealth. 
 Grow fat with sleep like a Greenland-bear 1 
 
 EsCH. Rulers are but mortal ; and should have 
 rest. 
 
 Ben. a Statesman should take a nap in his chair, 
 And only dream of sleep. 
 
 Beat. These great tame lions of the law. 
 Who make offenders of the weak, 
 Should still seem watchful, and like wild lions 
 Sleep with their eyes open. 
 
 EscH. Is night a season for singing 1 
 
 Viol. We'll sing like nightingales, and they sing 
 at night. 
 
 EsCH. Take heed ! for the grand- watch does walk 
 the round. 
 
 Beat. Signior, when did you hear of nightingales 
 Taken by the watch 1 
 
 Luc Madam, we'll sing ! The governor 
 May come, if he please, and sigh to the chorus. 
 
 EsCH. I'll bear no part, sir, in your song. 
 Nor in your punishment. [Exit Eschalus. 
 
 The Song. 
 
 Luc. Our ruler has got the vertigo of State ; 
 
 The world turns round in his politic pate. 
 
192 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 He steers in a sea, where his course cannot last, 
 And bears too much sail for the strength of 
 his mast. 
 Cho. Let him plot all he can, 
 
 Like a politic man, 
 Yet love though a child may fit him. 
 The small archer though blind. 
 Such an arrow will find, 
 As with an old trick shall hit him. 
 
 2. 
 
 Beat. Sure Angelo knows love's party is -strong • 
 Love melts, like soft wax, the hearts of the 
 young. 
 And none are so old but they think on the 
 
 taste, 
 And weep with remembrance of kindnesses 
 past. 
 Cho. Let him plot all he can, &c. 
 
 3. 
 
 Ben. Love in the wisest is held a mad fit ; 
 
 And madness in fools is reckon'd for wit. 
 The wise value love, just as fools wisdom prize, 
 Which when they can't gain, they seem to 
 despise. 
 Cho. Let him plot all he can, &c. 
 
 4. 
 
 Viol. Cold cowards all perils of anger to shun ; 
 To dangers of love they leap when they run. 
 The valiant in frolicks did follow the boy. 
 When he led them a dance from Greece to old 
 Troy. 
 Cho. Let him plot all he can, &c. 
 
 Enter Balthazar. 
 . Balt. Behind the garden of the Augustines 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 193 
 
 Your friends attend. You must be sudden if 
 You'ld be successful. 
 
 Ben. I come ! Bid Lucio in a whisper to 
 Retire, and to expect my orders at 
 Saint Laurence Gate. Lady, though you deny 
 Sleep to my brother, yet, you may do well 
 T'allow a little of it to your self 
 It grows late ; and Viola, methinks, begins 
 To lose an eye with watching in your service. 
 
 Viol. I love watching and dancing too in moon- 
 shine nights, 
 Like any fairy. 
 
 Beat. Can whispers hide your bus'ness, Benedick, 
 When you are such a weather-cock, that with 
 But looking on you I can quickly find 
 Where the wind sits ? Well, I wish you some 
 
 danger, 
 That you may get the more honour. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Angelo, Eschalus. 
 
 Ang. It is not just I should rebuke them for 
 Their harmony of mind ; that were to shew 
 The rage, and envious malice of the devil. 
 Who quarrels with the good, because they have 
 That happiness, which he can ne'er enjoy. 
 
 EscH. My lord, I find you sick for want of rest ; 
 And grieve to hear you say, the cause of your 
 Disease is in your self 
 
 Ang. No sickness, Eschalus, 
 Can be more dangerous than mine, of which 
 The cause is known to that physician, who 
 Enjoins me to despair of cure. 
 
 EsCH. Your words amaze me 1 
 
 Enter 1. Servant. 
 1. Serv. To arms, my lord, to arms ! 
 
 V." N 
 
194 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 The ancient citizens are wakt in terror 
 
 By the insulting youth ; who in loud throngs 
 
 March through the streets to the parade. 
 
 Ang. Hence, coward ! thou art frighted by thy 
 dream. [Uxit Servant. 
 
 Enter 2. Servant. 
 
 2. Serv. Arm^ arm, my lord ! your brother is 
 revolted, 
 Heading a body of disbanded officers. 
 He is in skirmish with your guards. 
 To rescue Claudio from the law. 
 
 Ang. My brother grown my public enemy ? 
 This iteration sounds like truth. I was 
 Just now sending to declare Claudio's pardon, 
 And to hasten his and Juliet's liberty. 
 
 EsCH. You purpos'd well, but your performance 
 was 
 Too slow. 
 
 Enter 1. Servant. 
 
 1. Serv. 'Tis said the marshal of your guards is 
 slain. 
 
 Ang. That's a surprise of fortune ; for he had 
 Claudio's pardon, and, had he shewn it, might 
 Perhaps have quencht the mutiny. 
 My armour ! and command my guard of Switzs 
 To march, and to make good the pass, which leads 
 To Saint Jago's Port. Haste, Eschalus ! 
 And bid Montano make a sally from 
 The citadel. [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Duke, Provost. 
 
 Duke. Lock up your pris'ners, and secure the 
 
 gates ! 
 Prov. I did suspect by Lucio's menacines, 
 That Benedick would Claudio's liberty 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 195 
 
 Attempt by force ; and therefore did provide 
 For opposition to attend th' assault. 
 Forty, selected from the guards without, 
 I have drawn in. 
 
 Duke. Are they enter'd ? 
 
 Prov. They are, and bold Ursino does com- 
 mand 'em. 
 
 Dtjke. Th' expedient which, in haste, I have 
 prescrib'd, 
 "Will in extremity be fit to use ; 
 Though when you threaten't men may think you 
 cruel. 
 
 Prov. Father, I'll strictly follow your advice. 
 
 Duke. Ofi"er a parley from the battlements. 
 Be careful, valiant Provost, of your charge, 
 And Heaven take care of you ! 
 
 Prov. I'll through the postern lead you out : 
 Your function will protect you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Benedick, Balthazar, Officers. 
 
 Ben. Eemove the marshal straight where sur- 
 geons may 
 Attend his wound, which is not mortal, though 
 His loss of blood deprive him of his speech. 
 
 Balt. a squadron of the guards, at our approach, 
 Retir'd into the prison, to make good 
 The gates against assault. 
 
 Ben. Their sudden fear begot that policy, 
 Eather to make conditions for themselves, 
 Than for the place. 
 
 Balt. The Provost will be obstinate. 
 
 Ben. It may be safer for him to preserve 
 His courage for some other use. 
 
 Enier Lucio, Duke. 
 
 Luc. Father Fox, the friar, is stoln out of his 
 hole ; 
 
196 THE LAW AGAINST LOVEES. 
 
 And is going to make a visit to 
 The geese of his parish. 
 
 Ben. Lucio, let him pass ! 
 
 Luc. If you give quarter to the enemies 
 Of lovers, you will be foUow'd in your 
 Next war by none but decrepid old soldiers ; 
 The youth will all forsake you. 
 
 Ben. Unhand him straight! we must, in rev'- 
 rence to 
 His function, make him free. 
 
 Duke. Peace be with your lordship. 
 
 Luc. Take care of lovers in your orisons. 
 And the rather, because, praying for them, 
 You pray for the Duke. Remember that friar. 
 
 Duke. If e'er I see the Duke, sir, he shall know 
 How much he is oblig'd to you. 
 
 Ben. Lucio, be stedfast in your station ! 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, Liicio. 
 
 Frovost from fhs battlements. 
 
 Ben. Look up ! the Provost does relent : he 
 seems 
 Inclin'd to parley. 
 
 Prov. May fortune serve the valiant Benedick 
 In all attempts, but when he does invade 
 The forts of law, where justice would secure 
 The trophies of her victories. 
 
 Ben. Provost, I take your greeting well, and 
 wish 
 Your courage more success, than you in your 
 Resistance now are like to find. You are 
 Too wise to talk of law to those who mean 
 To justify their actions by their swords. 
 
 Prov. My lord, some honour I have gotten in 
 The face of enemies ; and will not lose 
 It in the sight of friends. 
 
 Ben. You must give Claudio and Julietta liberty ; 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 197 
 
 And then your other pris'ners, and your self, 
 Shall, undisturb'd, be at your own dispose. 
 
 Prov. Claudio, by sentence, is condemn'd ; and, 
 sure. 
 My office does engage my honour to 
 Make good the sentence of the law. 
 
 Balt. Provost, we come not here to make a war, 
 Like women, with vain words. 
 
 Ben. Accept of peace by yielding that which I 
 Would gain by a request, or else expect 
 The worst event of force. 
 
 Prov. Your force I will 
 Oppose ; and when my temper is too much 
 Provok'd, perhaps the extremity may make 
 Me shew you such an object, as will hurt 
 Your eyes. 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Luc. My lord, retire to face your brother's pow'r. 
 Which now is doubled by a sally from 
 The citadel. 
 
 Ben. Make good the passage at Saint Laurence 
 Gate : 
 And, whilst my squadron does advance. 
 You, Balthazar, must march at distance with 
 The rear. 
 
 Prov. Ursino ! range your partizans ! 
 'Tis now our time to make a sally too. \Exeunt. 
 
 [Clashing of arms within. 
 
 Enter Beatrice, Viola, Lacquey. 
 
 Viol. Sister ! sister ! can we not hide our selves 1 
 Beat. Fear nothing, Viola, till you are in love. 
 But then our faces we like wood-cocks hide ; 
 Whilst foolish fear, which is in women shame, 
 Makes us but tempt the fowler to give aim. 
 
198 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Enter 1. Page. 
 
 1 Page. Madam, all's our own ! 
 Beat. WeU, speak ! you are one of those mes- 
 sengers 
 Who lost his wages by his diligence ; 
 Running so fast to bring good news, that he 
 Wanted breath to utter it. 
 
 1 Page. Count Benedick's a most substantial 
 man. 
 Would the sun were up, that his friends might see 
 How he stands to't, whilst his enemies fly from 
 him. 
 Beat. He is a substance fit to stand i' th' sun 
 To make a shadow. And, being the substance, 
 Lucio must be the shadow ! if Benedick 
 Fly first, Lucio will not fail to follow him. 
 
 1 Page. There is no end of Count Benedick's 
 
 valour. 
 Beat. Valiant without end ; that is, stout to no 
 purpose. 
 
 Enter 2. Page. 
 2. Page. Oh madam ! Count Benedick is lost. 
 Beat. How ? This foolish boy was ever given to 
 lying. 
 Lacquey, go out, and bring me truth ; such truth 
 As I shall like, or else return no more. 
 
 2. Page. Madam, all the maids 
 
 Beat. Peace ! Your intelligence comes from the 
 
 laundry. 
 Viol. Well ! I fear the news may be too true, 
 then ; 
 They know what they say. Carlo, tell it me ! 
 
 \Page and Viola whisper. 
 Beat. My eyes are not prophetical ; perhaps 
 They melt too soon. Lost, valiant Benedick, 
 Lost by thy noble kindness for my sake ; 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 199 
 
 Who, whilst I pitied Claudio in his danger, 
 Had of thy safety no indulgent care. 
 
 Enter Balthazar. 
 
 Balt. Madam, pardon my haste, which is as 
 rude 
 As my unseasonable visit. 
 
 Beat. Tell me, I pray, the business of this night ? 
 
 Balt. Count Benedick began it with success ; 
 Who to redeem unhappy Claudio from 
 The arms of death, and Juliet from the shame 
 Of public penance, did assault the guards 
 Attending near the prison gate; and at 
 The first encounter did disperse that force. 
 
 Beat. This is no wonder ; for, in honour's game. 
 Where many throw at the last great stake, life. 
 As if 'twere but light gold, young gamesters oft 
 Are lucky. 
 
 Balt. The Provost offered parley, but denied 
 To yield the pris'ners, and the cause which made 
 Him obstinate grew quickly evident ; 
 By old Montano's sally from the citadel, 
 And Angelo's advance with all his Zwitz : 
 These were by valiant Benedick repulst. 
 
 Beat. I'm not sorry now that I have his picture : 
 For the vain gentleman will quickly grow 
 So alter'd by success that without his 
 Image I should hardly know him. 
 
 Balt. Lord Angelo would have retir'd into the 
 citadel ; 
 But in the strife of that retreat 
 Brave Benedick receiv'd a wound. 
 
 Beat. A wound ! — excuse me, Balthazar, if I 
 Assume the feeling of your friendship to him, 
 And pity him for your sake. 
 
 Balt. The wound was slight ; 
 And rather serv'd t'augment his courage, than 
 
200 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 To waste his strength. 
 
 Beat. "Well, I'll allow him courage. Pray, 
 proceed ! 
 
 Balt. With many shouts saluted, be again 
 Summon'd the Provost ; who, enraged at our 
 Eesistance of his sally from the prison, 
 Licens'd his anger even to cruelty ; 
 For, as a dire expedient to prevent 
 Th' occasion of a new assault, he doom'd 
 Young Claudio to endure the bloody axe ; 
 And from the battlements shew'd us his head. 
 
 Beat. Enough ! your story grows too dismal to 
 Be heard. Dead Claudio yet more happy is 
 Than living Juliet. Pray be brief, if you 
 Have any other sorrows to reveal ! 
 
 Balt. The cruel Provost having thus provok'd 
 Count Benedick ; he straight prepares to storm 
 The prison ; and, th' assault was scarce begun 
 When, suddenly our sov'reign Duke breaks forth 
 From the dark cloud of that disguise, in which. 
 It seems, he hath remain'd conceal'd in Turin. 
 
 Beat. The Duke in town ? 
 
 Balt. Most visibly in person, and in pow'r. 
 For by his high command victorious Benedick 
 Is now with conquer'd Angelo, and both 
 Are pris'ners to the Provost. 
 
 Beat. Sudden and strange ! 
 
 Balt. Lord Angelo is kept from visitants, 
 To make him ignorant of what is past ; 
 And, by the strictness of the guards to Benedick, 
 'Tis whisper'd and suspected that he wiU 
 Be sentenc'd for rebellion. 
 
 Beat. I'll to the Duke! He's full of clemency ; 
 A Prince, who, by forgiving, does reclaim. 
 And tenderly preserve for noble use. 
 Many whom rigid justice, by exemplar death, 
 Would make for ever useless to the world. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 201 
 
 Balt. 'Tis fit you hasten to him. 
 
 Beat. In his own arms he bred my infancy. 
 He ever yielded to me when I su'd 
 For men who had no other plea to get 
 Their pardon but their misery ; and, sure, 
 He'll not deny me when in tears I kneel 
 For valiant Benedick. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Duke in his own habit, Eschalus, Pkovost, 
 Frtak Thomas, Attendants. 
 
 Duke. In favour of that pow'r, which I did 
 leave 
 In Angelo's possession, as my substitute, 
 I have reliev'd him from his brother's fury. 
 But Angelo, in his short government, 
 Disfigur'd and disgrac'd that fair 
 Resemblance which he wore of me 
 By many blemishes. 
 
 ESCH. Though your accustom'd clemency should 
 give 
 Him leave to use his eloquence in's own 
 Defence, yet he would silence it, and hope 
 For no relief but from yoar gracious mercy. 
 
 Duke. Provost, he is your prisn'er now 
 With Benedick. Take care they do not meet. 
 Pkov. Sir, they are sever'd under watchful 
 
 guards. 
 Duke. 'Tis well. Go, do what further I enjoin'd 
 
 you. 
 Prov. I humbly beg your Highness' pardon, for 
 my 
 Ignorance of what you were when you 
 Were pleas'd to make your visits in disguise. _ 
 
 Duke. You need no pardon, but have merited 
 My thanks and favour. [Exit Provost. 
 
 Frl Tho. Is it your Highness' will that I attend 
 you'! 
 
202 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Duke. I've left your habit, but will ne'er forsake 
 Your company nor counsel. Father, now 
 You must make haste, and do as I directed. 
 
 Fri. Tho. I shall be diligent in both of your 
 Commands. [Exit Friar Thomas. 
 
 Duke. You, Eschalus, complain of being wrong'd 
 By having been made ignorant of all 
 These evils past. I left you not to sleep 
 Away your time. 
 
 EscH. If you vouchsafe me not your pardon, 
 I shall with shame receive my punishment ; 
 Though it is better to be ignorant 
 Than to be guilty. 
 
 Enter Beatrice, Viola, 2 Pages, Lacquey. 
 
 Beat. As virtuous virgins, by their vows to 
 Heaven, 
 Have brought you here, so may their prayers 
 Preserve you long amongst us. 
 
 Duke. I thank you, beauteous maid. But I 
 perceive 
 Affliction in your eyes. Whence does it come ? 
 
 Beat. I am a lowly suitor to your Highness. 
 
 Duke. I hope you are not so unfortunate 
 As to desire a benefit, which I 
 Unwillingly shall grant. 
 
 Beat. If no offenders were, then sov'reign pow'r 
 Would have no use of mercy : 
 Though Benedick has much offended, yet 
 Forgive that valour which by yours was bred ; 
 And let him not be lost who was misled. 
 
 Duke. Your heart is alter'd since I saw you last. 
 Can Benedick in his affliction now 
 Prevail ; and be petition'd for by you 
 Who scorn'd him when he did in triumph sue ? 
 This riddle I will leave to Eschalus. 
 Give me a quick account of it. I shall 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 203 
 
 Consider and take care of your request. 
 
 [Exeunt several ways. 
 
 Enter Angelo, Friar Thomas. 
 
 Ang. In the perplexity of fight, when I 
 Was forc'd to a retreat, I did suppose 
 My brother, to procure the people to 
 His side, had publish'd but in artifice 
 The Duke's return. 
 
 Fri. Tho. The Duke is certainly in town, and 
 has, 
 During the time of your vicegerency, 
 Eemain'd here in disguise. He did converse 
 With Isabella, and continually 
 Receiv'd from her true knowledge of her griefs, 
 And by what art you have afflicted her. 
 
 Ang. Oh, Father, I am lost ! 
 
 Fri. Tho. Could you suppose 
 You were your brother's prisoner here ? 
 
 Ang. In the dark mist of our encounter, 
 I was led to that mistake. 
 
 Fry. Tho. 'Twas a mistake indeed ; 
 For Benedick's your fellow prisoner now. 
 And under strict command. 
 
 ^NG. I know him noble, though by passion urg'd 
 To this outrageous violence against 
 My ill dispos'd authority : and, had 
 He now been free, I easily should have hop'd 
 His favour with the Duke might have procur'd 
 My peace and pardon too. But, in my strict 
 Restraint, how. Father, did you get this visit t 
 
 Fri. Tho. By an especial leave to comfort you. 
 
 Enter Provost. 
 The Provost has perhaps occasion of concernment 
 With you. I'll take leave a while. [Exit Friar. 
 Prov. My lord, with blushes I appear 
 
204: THE LAW AGAINST LOVEKS. 
 
 r th' presence of your most unhappy fortune, 
 Asham'd of my authority ; but 'tis 
 His Highness' will, that you should now 
 Be subject to my pow'r, who have been long 
 Govern'd by yours. 
 
 Ang. You will be civil to me, Provost, if 
 You think I am contented with this change. 
 
 Pkov. You are so well prepar'd for grief, 
 That I may now ask leave to tell you, he, whom 
 You did hastily condemn, was, with dispatch, 
 As fatal as your sentence, executed. 
 
 Ang. Who can you mean ? 
 
 Prov. Th' unhappy Claudio. 
 
 Ang. Is he executed ? The Marshal had his 
 pardon seal'd. 
 
 Prov. The Marshal, who is now in hope of cure, 
 Was by his wound last night in the first charge 
 Depriv'd of speech ; so, by the law of destiny. 
 Your purpos'd remedy against your law 
 Was known too late : for, to divert 
 The fury of th' assault, by taking from 
 His friends that hope which was the cause of strife, 
 I did appoint him for the axe ; and from 
 Our battlements shew'd them his head. 
 
 Ang. All my sinister stars have met at once 
 In consultation how to ruin me. 
 
 Prov. A moment ere his death, a friar, who 
 was 
 Official here, did marry him to Juliet : 
 And therefore now I come to know, how far 
 You, by your plentiful estate, will please 
 To give subsistence to his mourning widow 1 
 You know that his possessions, and her dowry, 
 He dying guilty by the sentence of 
 The law, are both confiscate to the Duke. 
 
 Ang. My bosom is too narrow for this grief ; 
 I give her all I have. 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 205 
 
 Enter EscHALUS. 
 
 ESCH. My lord, I grieve to tell you, that the 
 Duke, 
 As a reward to Isabella's virtue for 
 Her sufiPrings, has already, by his promise, 
 Given her th' intended confiscation of 
 Your lands and treasure. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis righteously bestow'd. But where, 
 alas ! 
 She having all, is Juliet's recompence ? 
 
 Prov. Let's leave him, signior, to his thoughts. 
 
 [Exit Provost. 
 Ang. How wisely fate ordain'd for human kind 
 Calamity, which is the perfect glass 
 Wherein we truly see and know our selves. 
 How justly it created life but short ; 
 For, being incident to many griefs, 
 Had it been destin'd to continue long, 
 Fate, to please fools, had done the wise great 
 wrong. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 ISAB. I come, my lord, to see you in eclipse : 
 You did too hurtful to mine eyes appear. 
 When with your glory you did fill your sphere. 
 
 Ang. Is it revenge that hath this visit bred ; 
 Or are you hither by compassion led t, 
 
 ISAB. With no revenge nor pity I comply. 
 But come, perhaps, in curiosity ; 
 As in a great eclipse the curious run 
 T'inform themselves exactly of the sun : 
 For, when his light is lessen'd, they see more 
 - Of his unevenness, than they saw before. 
 
 Ang. The spots in him only imagin'd be ; 
 But all reported stains are true in me. 
 
 ISAB. As your confession of the worst of you 
 Seems now to utter more than does seem true. 
 
206 THE LAW AGAINST LOVEES. 
 
 So of the best of you, which is your love, 
 Perhaps you told much more than you could prove. 
 
 Ang. In an ill season you require a test, 
 T'assure you of that love which I profest ; 
 When I can offer nothing that is fit, 
 To be a pledge to make you credit it ; 
 Since all I had is by the Duke, as due 
 To injur'd virtue, freely given to you. 
 
 ISAB. Take back your wealth ! improperly con- 
 sign'd 
 To me, who prize no wealth, but of the mind. 
 
 Ang. How, Isabell 1 would you a present make 
 Of such a gift as you disdain to take 1 
 It would more worthy of your bounty prove, 
 To keep such trifles, and to give me love. 
 But I would have what you can never give ; 
 Claudio is dead, whose life should make me live. 
 
 ISAB. I shall redeem you now from half your 
 fear; 
 I must be gone, but Claudio shall appear. [Exit. 
 
 Ang. What may this mean? Virgins so soft as she 
 Can never pleasure take in cruelty. 
 Heav'n oft in wonders does propitious grow, 
 Fortune no faster ebbs than it can flow. 
 
 Enter Claudio, Julietta. 
 
 Claud. Let those who lost their youth retire to 
 graves. 
 Death's closets, where, though there be privacy, 
 Yet there is never use of thoughts. Let us thank 
 Heaven that we have life, since we together 
 May enjoy it. 
 
 Jul. From a wild tempest, where we both were 
 lost. 
 Heaven lands us strangely on a flow'ry coast. 
 Claud. Since none could thus recover'd be by 
 Heaven, 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 207 
 
 Were not the crimes which lost them quite for- 
 given, 
 Let us express a kind forgiveness too. 
 
 Jul. Honour, would that without rehgion do ? 
 
 Ang. Are you the mortal substances of forms 
 Which you resemble, Claudio and Julietta ; 
 Yet, like immortal angels, can so much 
 Of good forgiveness speak 1 
 
 Claud. What act hath Angelo severely done. 
 For which his brother Benedick hath not 
 By kindness ample satisfaction given 1 
 
 Ang. How is this wonder to be understood 1 
 
 Enter Benedick. 
 
 Ben. The Provost, brother, has to happy pur- 
 pose 
 Deceiv'd us by the death of Bernardine. 
 Let us embrace and mutually exchange 
 Forgiveness ! 
 
 Ang. Sure, our offences to each other will 
 Admit excuse, since the authority of mighty love 
 Did sway us both. This meeting has much com- 
 fort 
 In it though it be in prison. 
 
 Enter Beatrice, Viola. 
 
 Beat. Where is the rebel ? 
 
 Ben. No rebel, lady, to your pow'r. 
 
 Beat. If you had err'd that way y'had never 
 been 
 Forgiven ; but you may offend your Prince 
 As often as you please. There's your pardon ! 
 
 [Gives him a paper seal'd. 
 
 Ben. I hope you will not undo me. 
 
 Beat. How so, sir 1 
 
 Ben. I am afraid 'tis a licence for marriage. 
 
 Beat. No, sir, plays that end so begin to be 
 
208 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Out of fashion. 
 
 Ben. Do you not see your cousin Juliet 1 
 She has heen advis'd by a bald dramatic poet 
 Of the next cloister, to end her tragi-comedy 
 With Hymen the old way. [Beatrice salutes Juliet. 
 
 Beat. Alas, poor cousin ! Love has led thee a 
 dance 
 Through a brake of thorns and briars. 
 
 Jul. Madam, take heed ! though he be blind 
 He may find the way to lead you too. 
 
 Viol. 'Warrant ye I'll run from that foolish boy, 
 And then let him try to overtake me. 
 
 [A shout within. 
 
 {Within). The Duke ! the Duke ! 
 
 Enter Duke, Isabella, Eschalus, Provost, 
 Friak Thomas, Guards, Attendants, Bal- 
 thazar, Lucio, iehind the rest. 
 
 Duke. The motive, which last caus'd my visits 
 To this prison, was to give good counsel and to 
 Eeclaim the ill-advis'd. But now I come 
 To count'nance the reclaim'd I can relate 
 Your latter story, Angelo : and am 
 Not ignorant. Benedick, of yours ; but in 
 Eemembrance of your former merits I 
 Forget your late attempts. 
 
 Ang. Your Highness makes 
 An hourly conquest of our hearts, and we 
 Most humbly bow in thankfulness for your 
 Continual clemency. 
 
 Duke. The eye of pow'r does not alone observe 
 The heights, but lower regions of the world. 
 I have a convert here, whom I would see. 
 
 Prov. Call Bernardine ! 
 
 Ben. Is he alive 1 
 
 Duke. I am more willingly appeas'd, because 
 The fury of the last encounter has 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 209 
 
 Kot lost me any of my subjects' lives. 
 The marshal's free from danger of his wound ; 
 And as the military sword has not 
 Prevail'd so far as life, so Justice, with 
 Contrition satisfied, did sheathe up hers. 
 
 Enter Jailor, Fool, Bernardine. 
 
 Balt. There's no harm yet. 
 
 Luc. I hope we shall all 'scape ! 
 
 Duke. The Provost, whose fidelity I shall 
 Reward, did in the storm preserve from wrack 
 This penitent ; and from the battlements 
 Deceived you with the head of one, who of 
 A natural sickness died i' th' prison. 
 
 Luc. Under your Highness' favour, I suspected, 
 Afar off, that 'twas not Bernardine's, by 
 A small wart upon his left eye-lid. 
 
 Duke. You were not bid to speak. 
 
 Luc. No, an't please your Highness, 
 Nor wisht to hold my peace. 
 
 Balt. Lucio, you will be talking. 
 
 Duke. Remember, Bernardine, your vows to 
 Heaven ; 
 And so behave yourself in future life. 
 That I shall ne'er repent my mercy. 
 
 Bern. I am your Highness' debtor for this life. 
 And for th' occasion of that happiness 
 Which may succeed it after death. 
 
 Duke. Is there not, father, in this company 
 One too much troubl'd with a lib'ral tongue. 
 Who hath traduc'd me to a brother of 
 Your cloister 1 
 
 Frl Tho. Yes, sir, and here behold the man ! 
 
 Luc. Who, I, father ? I know you not. 
 
 Frl Tho. No, sir, but I know you. 
 
 Luc. I shall be glad, sir, of your acquaintance, 
 For my confessor is lately dead. 
 V. _ 
 
210 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 
 Duke. But, Lueio, you perhaps would know me 
 too, 
 Should I again put on the habit which 
 I wore, when boldly to my face you did 
 Traduce me in this prison. 
 
 Luc. If your Highness, forgiving now so many, 
 WiU pardon me too, I'll hereafter hang 
 A padlock at my lips, and this good father 
 Shall keep the key of it. 
 
 Duke. Your slanders, Lucio, cannot do me 
 harm. 
 Be sorrowful and be forgiven. 
 
 Balt. Thy mother hath bewitcht thee the right 
 way. 
 For no sword can pierce thee. 
 
 Duke. Think me not singular, because 
 I did myself a while depose ; 
 For many monarchs have their thrones 
 Forsaken for a cloistral life, and I, 
 Perhaps, may really that habit take, 
 Which I have worn but in disguise. 
 
 Ang. That were t' undo the world by leaving it. 
 
 Ben. Whilst so you seek imagin'd happiness, 
 We all shall find essential misery. 
 
 Duke. My resolutions are not soon remov'd ; 
 I'm old and weary of authority. 
 But, ere I leave it quite, since I have no 
 Successors of my own, let me dispose 
 Of best advantages to those whom I 
 Esteem, who may enjoy my pow'r. Lend me. 
 Chaste Isabella, your fair hand ; which with 
 Your heart I dedicate to Angelo ; 
 He now sufficiently that virtue knows, 
 Which he too much, too curiously has tried 
 
 ISAB. I have so long your council follow' d with 
 Success, as I am taught not to suspect 
 Much happiness will still attend 
 
THE LAW AGAINST LOVEES. 211 
 
 Th' obedience which does yield 
 To your command. 
 
 Ang. I fear my joys are grown too great to last. 
 
 Duke. I have a good occasion, Benedick, 
 To thank you now for your successful toils 
 And victory in the Millain war ; for which, 
 In ample recompense, I give you but 
 The heart, which I perceive you had before. 
 The witty war, which you so long have had 
 With -virtuous Beatrice, now must gently end. 
 In joyful triumphs of a nuptial peace. 
 
 Beat. Take heed ! our quarrel will begin again ; 
 And th' end of this long treaty will but bring 
 The war home to your own doors. 
 
 Ben. I'll venture. 'Tis but providing good 
 store of 
 Cradles for barracadoes to line my chamber. 
 
 Duke. Be happy, Claudio, in your faithful Juliet, 
 The persecutions of your loves are past. 
 
 Claud. They feel not joy who have not sorrow 
 felt. 
 We through afflictions make our way to Heaven. 
 
 Luc. Fool, I've a mind to marry your grand- 
 mother. 
 
 Fool. She stays for you in the church, and will 
 prove 
 A sweet bed-fellow, for she has not been 
 Buried above a month. 
 
 Duke. Provost ! open your prison gates, and 
 make 
 Your pris'ners free. The story of this day, 
 When 'tis to future ages told, will seem 
 A moral drawn from a poetic dream. 
 
THE RIVALS. 
 
Tlie Hivals. A Comedy. Acted by His Highness' the 
 Duke of Yorh^s Servants. Licensed September 19, 1668 
 (Roger VEstrange). London, Printed for William Cade- 
 man, at the Pope's Head, in the Lower Walk of the New 
 Exchange 1668. Ato. 
 
The comedy of the Rivals is an alteration of the "Two 
 Noble Kinsmen" which was first printed in 1634, 
 with the following title: — "The Two Noble Kinsmen, 
 presented at the Blackfriars by the King's Majesties 
 Servants, with great applause : written by the memor- 
 able worthies of their time, Mr John Fletcher, and 
 Mr William Shakespeare, Gent. Printed at London, by 
 Thomas Cotes, for John Watersone, and are to be 
 sold at the signe of the Crowne in Paul's Church- 
 yard, 1634." 
 
 The question of the real authorship of the " Two 
 Noble Kinsmen," more particularly in so far as relates 
 to Shakespeare, has frequently been discussed, but 
 without any very satisfactory result. Professor Spald- 
 ing in 1832 published " a letter on Shakespeare's 
 authorship of the ' Two Noble Kinsmen ' : a drama 
 commonly ascribed to John Fletcher " Edin. 8vo, in 
 which the argument is in favour of Shakespeare, 
 while Mr Charles Knight, who ingeniously suggests 
 that Chapman rather might have been the coadjutor 
 of Fletcher, includes this play among the doubtful plays 
 of Shakespeare in his pictorial edition of the Poet's 
 dramatic works. In concluding his notice he says • 
 " We have only one word to add. Chapman died in 
 the very year that the first edition of the ' Two Noble 
 Kinsmen' was published, with the name of Shake- 
 speare in the title-page. If the title-page were a book- 
 seller's invention, the name of Shakespeare would be of 
 higher price than that of Chapman." A fair conclusion, 
 and warranted by the fact that the play. was not printed 
 until eighteen years after the death of Shakespeare, 
 while the date of its first performance is unknown, 
 but if Fletcher was concerned in it, Mr Knight says : 
 "the inferences to be deduced from the prologue — 
 that it was acted during his lifetime, and that he 
 either claimed the sole authorship, or suppressed all 
 mention of the joint authorship — are to be weighed 
 against the assertion of the title-page, that it was 
 
216 THE RIVALS. 
 
 ' written by the two memorable worthies of their 
 time.' " 
 
 The plot of the "Two Noble Kinsmen" is derived 
 from Chaucer's " Knight's Tale," which is best known 
 at the present time through the medium of Dryden's 
 " Palamon and Arcyte." 
 
 When Queen Elizabeth visited Oxford, 1566, Wood 
 informs us, "at night the Queen heard the first part 
 of an English play named, Palsemon, or ' Palamon 
 Arcyte,' made by Mr Richard Edwards, a gentleman 
 of her chapel, acted with very great applause in Christ 
 Church Hall." Another play is mentioned in Henslow's 
 " Diary " under the date of September 1594, of " Pala- 
 mon and Arsett," which was acted four times ; and in 
 the collection of MSS. presented to the British Museum 
 by Patmore occurs : "Palamon and Arcite ; or, the Noble 
 Kinsmen, altered from Beaumont and Fletcher. A 
 tragedy in five acts." 
 
 Kippis says : " In the supplement to the edition of 
 ' Shakespeare's Plays ' published in 1778, it is ingeni- 
 ously and decisively shewn by Mr Stevens, that i^hake- 
 speare had no hand in writing the play of the ' Two 
 Noble Kinsmen.' It has not been proved, by evidence 
 of any kind, that he had the slightest connection with 
 Beffiimont and Fletcher." 
 /^ While the authorship of the " Two Noble Kinsmen " 
 is a matter of doubt, that of the alteration which we 
 now print under the title of " The Rivals " has also been 
 questioned, but the name of no one else than Sir WiUiam 
 Davenant has ever been associated with it. 
 
 "The Rivals" is one of the principal or stock-plays 
 given in Downes' list as performed during 1662 and 
 1665. He thus introduces it : " ' The Rivals,' a play 
 wrote by Sir William Davenant ; having a very fine 
 interlude in it, of vocal and instrumental music, mixt 
 with very diverting dances ; Mr Price introduced the 
 dancing by a short comical prologue which gain'd him 
 an universal applause of the town. The part of Theoeles 
 was done by Mr Harris ; Philander, by Mr Betterton ; 
 Cunopes, the jailer, by Mr Underhill ; all the women's 
 parts admirably acted, chiefly Celia, a shepherdess, 
 being mad for love ; especially in singing several wild 
 
THE RIVALS. 217 
 
 and mad songs — ' My lodging is on the cold ground, &o.' 
 She performed that so charmingly, that not long after 
 it raised her from her bed on the cold ground, to a bed 
 royal. The play, by the excellent performance lasted 
 uninterruptedly nine days, with a full audience." Davies 
 in his notes on Downes' " Roscius Anglicanus," Waldron's 
 edition, 1789, 8vo, says : " I know not on what authority 
 this play of ' The Rivals ' is ascribed to Davenant ; it is 
 not in the folio collection of his works, nor does the 4to 
 edition of it bear his name. It is a very indifferent 
 alteration of Shakespeare and Fletcher's ' Two Noble 
 Kinsmen,' and contains several songs, &c., not in the 
 original ; particularly a hunting dialogue sung by 
 foresters, hunters, and huntresses ; the ideas and hunt- 
 ing terms in which are entirely borrowed from Ben 
 Jonson's ' Pastoral of the sad Shepherd.' " In a subse- 
 quent note, he, in quoting the colophon of the title of 
 the edition of 1668, observes of the publisher: " If this 
 was Cademan, the actor, Downes might in addition to 
 his own official knowledge as prompter, have been 
 certified by him that Davenant was the author or alterer 
 of it ; which supposition clears up the doubt expressed 
 in former note." 
 
 But our chief authority for classing "The Rivals'' 
 among the works of Sir William D'avenant is Langbaine, 
 who, in his account of the English dramatic poets, 1691, 
 says: "Rivals, a tragi-comedy in quarto, which at 
 present 1 have not ; but have heard Mr Cademan, for 
 whom, as I think, it was printed, say it was writ by Sir 
 William D'avenant." 
 
 Waldron remarks : " I think, from what we may gather 
 from Downes and Langbaine, there can be no doubt of 
 Davenant being the alterer of the ' Rivals ' from the 
 ' Two Noble Kinsmen' ; though he did not think the 
 alteration worth owning." 
 
 " Downes" Davies goes on to observe, "has forgot to 
 tell us the name of the actress who performed Celia, 
 which name likewise he has mis-written for Celania ; the 
 character was represented, according to the 4to, 1668, 
 by Mrs Davis." 
 
 Mary Davis, certainly was " raised to the bed-royal ' of 
 Charles II., and had, by him, a daughter, Mary, who took 
 
218 THE rivals; 
 
 the surname of Tudor, and who, in 1687, was married 
 to the son of Sir Francis Ratcliffe, who became Earl of 
 Derwentwater. 
 
 Granger's *' Biographical History of England " vOl. 5, 
 page 392, notes her portraits, thus : — 
 
 " Madame Davis ; Lely p. Valkf. 1678, 4«o, mezz. 
 Madam Davis ; Lely p. Thompson exc. h. sh. mezz." 
 
 " She is represented playing on a guitar, which was 
 fashionable at court, and especially among the King's 
 mistresses, who were greater leaders in fashions of all 
 kinds than the queen herself. 
 
 " No wonder then, when all was love and sport, 
 The vrilling musea were debauch'd at court ; 
 On each enervate string th^y taught the note , 
 To pant, or tremble through an eunuch's throat." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 At Billingbere in Berkshire, the seat of Richard Neville 
 Neville, Esq., is a fine portrait of her by Kneller, with a 
 Black. This picture, which is in the painter's best 
 manner, was the property of Baptist May, who was 
 privy purse to Charles, and of singular service to him in 
 his private pleasures." 
 
 " It would be too indelicate to mention the particular 
 consequences of the jalup which was given to Moll Davis 
 at supper by Nell Gwynn, who knew that she was to lie 
 the same night with the king. It is sufficient to hint at 
 the violence of its operations and the disastrous effects, 
 such effects as the ancients would have attributed to 
 Anteros, a malignant deity, and the avowed enemy of 
 Cupid." 
 
 F. G. Waldron, in his appendix to Downes' Roscius 
 Anglicanus, notes: " The earliest instance I recollect of 
 the title of Miss or Mis is in the following lines, the 
 subject of which, I have no doubt, was Mins or Madam 
 Davis, the celebrated performer of Celania, in the ' Rivals.' 
 
 " ' To Mis Davies on her excellent dancing. 
 
 " ' Dear Mis, delight of all the nobler sort, 
 Pride of the stage, and darling of the Court, 
 Who would not think, to see thee dance so light. 
 Thou wer't all air ? or else all soul and sp'rite ? 
 
THE RWALS. 219 
 
 Or who'd not say, to see thee only tread, - 
 Thy feet were feathers ? others' feet but lead ? 
 Athlanta well could run, and Hermes flee, 
 But none e'er mov'd more gracefully than thee ; 
 And Circe charm'd with wand and magick lore, 
 But none, like thee e'er charmed with feet before. 
 Thou miracle ! whom all men must admire, 
 To see thee more like air, and mount like fire, 
 Whoe'er would follow thee, or come but nigh 
 To thy perfection, must not dance, but fly. " 
 
 Flechnoe's Epigrams. Land., 1669. 
 
 Downes is of opinion that elevation to the " bed royal " 
 conferred the title of " Madam" on Mrs Davis, as it had 
 previously done on her rival, jS^ell G-wyn. 
 
 Pepys mentions having seen " The Rivals" acted, but 
 as on that occasion Mrs Davis did not perform the part 
 of Celania, it is probable that it had been revived after 
 she had procured admittance to the royal household, 
 she having then left the stage. 
 
 " 10th Sep., 1664. — All the morning much troubled 
 to think what the end of our great sluggishness will be ; 
 for we do nothing in this office like people able to carry 
 on a war. We must be put out, or other people put in. 
 My wife and I, and Mercer, to the Duke's house, and 
 there saw ' The Rivalls,' which is no excellent play, but 
 good acting in it ; especially Gosnell comes and sings and 
 dances finely ; but, for all that, fell out of the key, so 
 that the musique could not play to her afterwards ; and 
 so did Harris also go out of the tune to agree with her." 
 
 Mrs Gosnell is noticed in vol. iv., p. 6, and Mr Harris 
 in Crowne's Works, vol. i. p. 6, in this series. 
 
 The following notice of the death of Mrs Davis's 
 daughter occurs in the Historical Register for the year 
 1726, vol. 11, a periodical which was printed at the 
 charge of the Sun Fire Office, behind the Royal Ex- 
 change : — 
 
 " 1726, Nov. 5. — Dy'd at Paris, aged 53 years or there- 
 abouts, the Lady Mary Tudor, Countess of Derwent- 
 water, relict of Francis Ratcliffe, second Earl of Der- 
 wentwater, who had issue by her, three sons and one 
 daughter, viz., James, who succeeded his father in the 
 Earldom, and was beheaded for high treason on Tower- 
 Hill in 1716, Francis, and Charles, and the Lady Mary 
 
220 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Tudor. She was twice marry'd after the death of the 
 Earl her first husband, viz., first to Henry Grahme, Esq. ; 
 and, after his decease, to Rooke, Esq., son of Bri- 
 gadier-General Rooke." 
 
 Although the play of " The Rivals" is characterised as 
 " an alteration" of the " Two Noble Kinsmen," they 
 bear little resemblance to each other either in the scenes 
 or dialogue, very few lines of the original having been 
 retained in the " alteration." 
 
THE ACTORS' NAMES. 
 
 Arcon, The Prince of Arcadia. Mr Young. 
 
 PoLYNiCES, His General. Mr Smith. 
 
 .„ \ Mr. and keeper of the f,^ _, 
 
 Provost, > C't dl I Sandfoku. 
 
 Theocles, ^ Rivals to the Prin- ( Mr Harris. 
 Philander, j cess Heraclia. \ MrBETTERTON. 
 CuNOPES, The Provost's Man. Mr Undekhil. 
 
 Heraclia, Niece to the Prince. Mrs Shadwel. 
 Celania, Daughter to the Provost. Mrs Davis. 
 Leucippe, Celania's Maid. Mrs Long. 
 
 Attendants and Guards. 
 
THE RIVALS. 
 
 Act First. 
 
 Enter Argon, Polynices, and Soldiers as from 
 victory. 
 
 Argon. The tyrant's high designs found ill 
 success ; 
 'Twas not so easy as he fondly hop'd, 
 To make this country subject to his pow'r 
 By violence. 
 
 POLYN. Sir, he presum'd, 
 That your Arcadians were grown weak with ease ; 
 And love had soften' d us to cowardice. 
 
 Argon. But he has found the heat of love in 
 them, 
 Had not so stifl'd all their sparks of valour, 
 But that they still retain'd enough to make 
 A lightning which did blast his spreading pow'r. 
 
 POLYN. And that they had not so much courage 
 lost. 
 Amongst the myrtles, as not to deserve 
 A victor's laurel, though they seem inclin'd 
 Only to pastoral delights ; yet when 
 They quit the sheep-hook to assume the sword. 
 They can write tragedies on those who shall 
 Intrench upon their liberty, in wounds, 
 And characters made legible by blood. 
 Our soft Arcadians conquer'd these who were 
 By tyranny and war to hardship bred. 
 
 Argon. But yet, Polynices, the day was bloody. 
 The tyrant fought with so much resolution. 
 
224 THE RIVALS. 
 
 And made such massacre amongst our troop?, 
 As if he had been arm'd with innocence, 
 Or, at the least, intended to atone 
 The butcheries his spleen had caus'd in peace ; 
 By slaughters which his valour made in war. 
 
 POLYN. Your justice lyes in Harpacus, his death, 
 Eising more splendid in his being set. 
 He was a most unbounded tyrant, sir ; 
 And though his actions in this bloody war 
 Merited life, yet his precedent deeds 
 Deserv'd a death more infamous than that, 
 Your sword vouchsaf d him. Yet 'twas justice in 
 
 And you derive a lustre from his crimes. 
 
 His blackness makes your glory shew more bright : 
 
 Thus darkness always ushers in the light. 
 
 Argon. Ascribe it to a justice more supreme, 
 From whose disposure we must own success. 
 A grave contains him, that usurp'd a throne. 
 Grasping at other's crowns he lost his own. 
 But, where's the Provost of our citadel 1 
 
 PoLYN. He guards the pris'ners hither. The 
 old man 
 Is valiant to a miracle : he fought as if he 
 Eeinforc'd his aged blood. 
 And gather'd life by taking it from enemies. 
 
 _ Enter Provost, with Theocles and Philander, 
 as prisoners and guards. 
 
 Argon. Welcome, brave man ! What chronicle's 
 enough 
 For thy deserts 1 The actions of thy age 
 Shall keep thy memory from growing old. 
 Thy worth which seem'd declining has broke out 
 With such surprizing splendour in the fight 
 As dazzl'd all our eyes who did behold it. 
 We now have nothing else left but wonder 
 
THE RIVALS. 225 
 
 To entertain thy merits. 
 
 Pkov. Eoyal sir ! 
 Supported by the justice of your cause, 
 I might do things perhaps beyond my age, 
 But ne'er out-do my duty. I owe more 
 To this my country and your sacred person ; 
 Than my exhausted blood or life can pay. 
 
 Arcon. The tempest is dispell'd, now thou 
 shalt set 
 In a full glory which no future cloud. 
 Or storm of war, shall ever overcast ; 
 Thou shalt wear out the remnant of thy days 
 In peace. Th' invader of our country's dead. 
 
 Prov. But how shall these his kinsmen be dis- 
 pos'd. 
 Who did so long support his reeling cause 1 
 Whose valour oft restor'd their army's health. 
 By letting ours blood. 
 
 Arcon. They are gallant spirits ! 
 Treat 'em as pris'ners, but as noble ones. 
 I pity their engagements in this war. 
 Who never own'd the tyranny that caus'd it. 
 Their valour seem'd distracted in the fight. 
 As if they did desire to save the person 
 Of Harpacus, and yet disgust his cause. 
 Their courage was inflam'd with loyalty 
 To him, but quench'd with pity towards us. 
 
 Prov. TheykiU'd 
 With such regret, as if they did embrue 
 Their swords in blood to blush for those they slew. 
 
 Arcon. How are they call'd 1 
 
 Prov. One is call'd Theocles, 
 Th' other Philander. 
 
 PoLYN. This is that Theocles, who, in reward 
 Of what he pleas'd to praise in me as valour, 
 Eescu'd my life when I was pris'ner tane 
 By his own troop, and gave me liberty, 
 V. f 
 
226 THE KIVALS. 
 
 A debt which I will strive to pay. 
 
 Argon. They are not wounded much ? 
 
 Prov. Not mortally ; 
 But yet their wounds are not contemptible. 
 
 Argon. Let'em have noble usage : Summon all 
 Our surgeons to their cure ; their lives concern us 
 Much more than millions do of common rank. 
 I value pris'ners of their quality 
 Too much to let 'em captives be to death. 
 Yet, Provost, let their persons be secur'd 
 I'th' citadel, tUl we give further order. 
 I Prov. Sir, I shall obey ! 
 My lords, I am sorry I must guard you both 
 Into restraint : But 'tis my Prince commands 
 I shou'd convey you to the citadel. 
 
 Theo. Lead on, sir ! we have seen the cruelty 
 Of Harpacus to others, and have learnt 
 By eyesight how to undergo misfortunes. 
 The tide of blood shed by our cruel uncle 
 Has our compassion so much wasted, even 
 For strangers, that we scarce have any left 
 Now for ourselves ; we can with patience bear 
 Imprisonment or death. 
 
 Phila. We have so often mourn'd when we 
 were free. 
 That we can smile at our captivity. 
 
 [Exemit Provost, Theodes, Philander, and Guard. 
 
 Argon. They have almost melted my severity 
 Into compassion. 
 
 POLYN. I'm full of pity, sir, for Theocles. 
 
 Argon. But why not for Philander too ? 
 He seems as full of merit. 
 
 POLYN. Theocles is he. 
 Who from the oppression of a multitude 
 In the late battle rescu'd me from death, 
 And checking the oppressor's violence, 
 In such a cowardly and base assault 
 
THE RIVALS. 227 
 
 Dismiss'd me, not discovering his name, 
 Making his courtesy the more obliging 
 By his not owning it. 
 
 Arcon. I have heard you speak of it. 'Twas 
 bravely done ! 
 
 Enter Heraclia, and her woman. 
 
 POLYN. The Princess, sir. 
 
 Arcon. Where is she 1 My return is yet so 
 new 
 I have not seen her. 
 
 POLYN. She's ent'ring, sir. 
 
 Hera. What welcome shall give vent [She kneels. 
 To my excess of joy for your return ? 
 
 Arcon. Eise, dearest niece, we have fought 
 hitherto 
 For liberty, and to preserve your knees 
 From such a disobliging posture ; as 
 Too much resembles bondage. You must rise I 
 
 [Lifts her up. 
 
 Hera. Your presence brings me a transport of 
 bliss 
 Proportion'd to the fears your absence caus'd. 
 As if that passion had instructed this. 
 
 Arcon. Cou'd you then fear ? 
 How cou'd your innocence so much distrust 
 The justice of our cause, as to admit 
 A jealousy or doubt of the success f, 
 
 Hera. Fear's ever credulous. I know not but 
 Some sword, a;mbitious of the blood of Princes, 
 Might drink too deep of yours, although at ebb 
 Leaving your orphan-subjects to be drown'd 
 In floods of tears occasion'd by your fall, 
 Weeping their own i'th' Prince's funeral. [Weeps. 
 
 PoLYN. How seriously she recollects a storm 
 
 [Aside. 
 Eais'd by her fancy, or at most but threat'n'd, 
 
228 THE RIVALS. 
 
 And talks her eyes into a real shower. 
 
 Akcon. How strangely does her love reveal 
 itself! [Abide. 
 
 She, since her joys with violent supplies 
 Silence her tongue, wou'd speak 'em with her eyes. 
 
 Hera. But since y'are safe return'd, why should 
 I weep 
 Strange joys, which do in tears their revels keep. 
 Since all your country now enjoys it's peace, 
 The conflict of my passions here shall cease. 
 Noble Polynices, I justly am transported 
 But shall soon return to you with praise. 
 When in Fame's-Temple I've enthron'd 
 The Prince, then give you those respects 
 Which you for loyalty and valour have deserv'd. 
 
 PoLYN. Though my merits were 
 As great as may deserve your notice, madam, 
 Yet they are no more than what may still be 
 
 nam'd 
 My duty. 
 
 Hera. But, Royal sir, your own joys seem 
 Clouded with something that resembles grief. 
 
 Argon. I much rejoice in that felicity 
 Our subjects from the victory derive ; 
 But that exempts me not from discontent 
 Whilst I foresee the posture of my throne. 
 When I expire. No remnant of my blood 
 Shall ere survive th' interment of my bones. 
 Or solemnize my burial with a tear 
 Of kin to those my aged eyes let fall. 
 Had I a child, my joys would then be full, 
 Which now prove empty and not worth a smile. 
 
 Hera. Wave, sir, such melancholy thoughts t 
 they prove 
 But wings to death : Those who so oft reflect 
 Upon their end come soonest thither. First 
 They thereby grow disconsolate, and then 
 
THE RIVALS. 229 
 
 Live out their days faster than other men. 
 
 Arcon. What other object may deserve my 
 thoughts ] 
 
 POLYN. Think, rather sir, on that solemnity 
 Which by th' Arcadian customs is allow'd 
 In honour of your birthday, and is still 
 With so much lustre celebrated here 
 'Tis as 'twere day-break to all the year. 
 
 Hera. That day shall still retrieve you from the 
 grave. 
 And, when one day i'th' year shall put on black 
 To mourn your loss, the sight and solemn shows. 
 Which intimate your death, shall so be drown'd 
 I'th' annual joys, wherein we still express 
 Your happy birth, that it shall still be said 
 You are new born and not that you are dead. 
 
 Arcon. You have almost persuaded me to lay 
 These serious thoughts asleep. 
 
 Hera. Your birthday, sir. 
 Comes as a triumph to your victory. 
 Your happy birth you shall see solemniz'd 
 With greater splendour by the tyrant's death. 
 They are preparing for the celebration. 
 
 Arcon. You have prevail'd : I am resolved to 
 soften 
 My thoughts of war by this solemnity. 
 Thus fields of blood may us to gardens bring. 
 As furious winter ushers in the spring. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter PHILANDER, and Theocles, walking on the 
 tarras in the citadel. 
 
 Phil. The Provost does oblige us by permitting 
 The freedom of this walk upon the tarras. 
 
 Theo. Cousin, how d'you 1 I am concern'd 
 So much in your wisht health that I enquire 
 After my own exactly from your pulse. 
 
 Phil. I'm strong enough, I hope, for misery. 
 
230 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Although I fear we are for ever pris'ners. 
 
 Theo. My thoughts are of the same complexion 
 too ; 
 Our fears do sympathize; just like our loves. 
 
 Phil. 0, cousin Theocles, how are we lost t 
 Where are our kindred, friends, and country now 1 
 Those comforts we shall never meet agen. 
 No more shall we behold the games of honour 
 Where youths, with painted favours hung 
 Like tall ships under sail, striving for fame, 
 Eival each other's glory. We no more 
 Like twins of honour e'er shall exercise 
 Our arms again. Our swords which lightn'd in 
 The people's eyes, must now like trophies hang 
 To deck the temples of the gods that hate us. 
 And signify our ruin and defeat. 
 
 Theo. Our hopes are pris'ners with us, we review 
 Our former happiness in vain. Our youth 
 Too soon will wither into age, and prove 
 Like a too timely spring, abortive. Here, 
 Which more afflict us, we shall both expire 
 Unmarried ; no embraces of a wife, 
 Loaden with kisses and a thousand cupids. 
 Shall ever clasp our necks, no issue know us. 
 No figures of our selves shall we e'er see 
 To glad our age, and, like young eagles, teach 'em 
 To look against bright arms. 
 
 Phila. No more shall we e'er hollow to our 
 hounds 
 Which shook the aged forest with their echo : 
 AH pleasures here shall perish, and, at last, 
 Which is the curse of honour, we shall die 
 Children of grief and ignorance. 
 
 Enter Celania and Leucippe as ai a window. 
 
 Leuc. This window, madam, looks into the 
 tarras 
 
THE RIVALS. 231 
 
 Where they are walking, you may over-hear 
 All their discourse, the curtain being clos'd, 
 Without discovery. 
 
 Cela. Their looks betray 
 No great dejection at their misery. 
 
 Theo. Though our misfortunes are as black as 
 midnight, 
 I see two comforts rising. We may here 
 Exercise patience, and enjoy each other, 
 Philander being with me I can ne'er 
 Think this a prison. 
 
 Phila. Cousin, 'tis most true 
 That our misfortunes are together twisted 
 Which to our misery brings some redress : 
 Affliction thus by spreading becomes less. 
 Our mutual society will teach us 
 To under-go what HeaVn in wrath design'd, 
 And never weep for necessary fate. 
 That man is free, who bondage bravely bears ; 
 But he does sink himself, who swims in tears. 
 
 Cela. How sweetly they express themselves, 
 Leucippe. 
 Trust me, methinks their words might melt the 
 
 stones 
 And make their passage through the prison walls, 
 
 Leuc. Let's listen, madam ! 
 
 Theo. Shall we make worthy uses of this place 
 Which all men hate so much ? 
 
 Phil. How, cousin Theocles 1 
 
 Theo. What can we want ? 
 Wealth we need none, we are each other's mine ; 
 Each other's wife, begetting every hour 
 New births of love ; we're father, friends, acquaint- 
 ance. 
 We are, in one another, families. 
 I am your heir and you are mine, this place 
 Is our inheritance ; and no oppressor 
 
232 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Dare take this from us. Here, with patience 
 We may live long. No surfeits seek us here. 
 
 Phil. Here no man falls by the rude hand of war, 
 And hy his groans half kills the next with fear. 
 Nor shall these as here swallow up our youth. 
 
 Cela. How they forget their miseries : they 
 brook 
 Affliction with so smooth a brow, they seem 
 Pictures of patience, and drawn in oil. 
 
 Theo. Were we at liberty and unconfin'd, 
 A wife might disunite us lawfully, 
 Bus'ness divide us. 
 
 Phil. Or I might sicken, cousin. 
 Where you should never know it, and so perish 
 Without your noble hand to close my eyes. 
 
 Cela. What charming language his aiFection 
 speaks ? 
 What kindness wou'd he to a woman show 
 That is enamour'd on his kinsman so ? 
 How happy were a maid which shou'd receive 
 So sweet assurances of love ! 
 
 Phil. I'm almost wanton with captivity. 
 What misery it is to live abroad. 
 And everywhere ! methinks 'tis like a beast : 
 I here enjoy a court : I'm sure I find 
 A greater satisfaction. 
 
 Theo. What had we been. 
 Had we grown aged in our uncle's court 1 
 Where sin was justice, lust and ignorance 
 The commendable virtues of great men. 
 Had not the loving gods found this place for us 
 We shou'd ha' died as they did, ill old men, 
 Without the charity of one man's tear. 
 But with their epitaphs, the people's curses. 
 
 Enter Cunopes. 
 CUNO. Gentlemen, the clock has struck ! 
 
THE RIVALS. 233 
 
 Phil. Cousin, our time of walking is expir'd, 
 We must submit to this man's insolence. 
 
 CuNO. What haste you make ! 
 
 Theo. Well, cousin, let's retire, 
 We'll sing our cares asleep, and then to bed. 
 
 CuNO. You will a time for catches in your 
 chamber. [Exeunt. 
 
 Cela. Hard-hearted Cunopes ; how could'st thou 
 have 
 So little mercy ? 
 
 Leuc. Madam, I have power 
 To make him much more civil. 
 
 Cela. What's your meaning 1 
 
 Leuc. He is in love with me. 
 
 Cela. In love with thee 1 
 
 Leuc. Yes, madam, have you not observ'd his 
 looks 
 And carriage towards me of late t 
 
 Cela. Now I remember I have seen him smile. 
 And shew you more respect than he was wont ; 
 But I am indispos'd to entertain 
 The cause of mirth or scorn. I weep to think 
 The gentlemen are so ill treated. 
 
 Leuc. So much concern'd 1 I guess what wind 
 blows up 
 This show'r, they both deserve to be belov'd. 
 Madam, may I know which you've pitched upon 1 
 
 Cela. WTiat is thy meaning, wench ? 
 
 Leuc. Nay, ne'er conceal it ! 
 I know by the distilling of your eyes, 
 There's fire underneath. Madam, confess ! 
 
 Cela. Confess ? what, prithee ? 
 
 Leuc. Which of the gentlemen 
 May boast the conquest ? which do you affect ? 
 
 Cela. I affect both of 'em, they are a pair 
 In whom the world is rich. 
 
 Leuc. Love both of them 1 
 
234 THE RIVALS. 
 
 I have so much experience in loTe 
 
 To know then, that it must be neither. 
 
 Cel. Well! 
 Suppose I'm inclin'd to one of them, 
 Am I oblig'd to tell you -which it is ? 
 Love is a grief of which few e'er had cause 
 To boast, and love is boasted when reveal'd. 
 
 Leuc. Is love a crime, that it must be conceal'd? 
 
 Cela. Love may grow cold when public it be- 
 comes. 
 Flames best preserve their heat in lesser rooms. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 The Second Act. 
 
 Enter Aecon, Polynices, and Provost. 
 
 Argon. To what does all this mediation tend ? 
 Why shou'd you intercede for Theocles ? 
 
 Poly. Sir, since I owe my liberty and life 
 To his unequall'd generosity. 
 Enable me to pay him with his own. 
 
 Aecon. That were to give him a capacity 
 Of making new attempts upon our peace. 
 The tyrant's subjects, animated by 
 The presence of a person so renown' d, 
 Will undertake revenge. 
 
 Poly. You may secure yourself by articles. 
 
 Prov. Or set him free, 
 Upon condition that he shall with speed 
 Arcadia leave, and never more return. 
 
 Poly. His noble nature will so well resent 
 Your clemency, he'll easily obey, 
 And stifle all desires to be reveng'd 
 In grateful recollections of your love. 
 
THE RIVALS. 235 
 
 Arcon. But whilst for Theocles you freedom 
 ask, 
 You seem forgetful of that solitude, 
 By which Philander's strict confinement will 
 Become to him more insupportable. 
 
 Poly. You may give him some hopes of liberty. 
 
 Prov. Upon a ransom that may correspond 
 To so much worth as he is owner of 
 
 Arcon. Polyhices, your suit is granted ! Set 
 Theocles 
 Free from prison : But forbid him 
 E'er to return to Arcadia, 
 So he his liberty enjoys, and we 
 From jealousies of new attempts are free. 
 Provost, take order for his liberty. 
 
 Poly. But let him still remain in ignorance 
 Who 'twas procur'd it, as he rescu'd me, 
 Yet kept his name f,nd quality conceal'd 
 Leaving me to admire, not thank my friend. 
 
 Arcon. But let Philander not so soon receive 
 The news of my resolves. I first will see 
 With what reluctancy he shall resent 
 The other's loss and his imprisonment. 
 
 Prov. I shall obey, sir. [Exeunf. 
 
 Enter Hbraclia, and Celania, severally. 
 
 Hera. Welcome, Celania ! I must give you 
 thanks 
 For your kind visit. 
 
 Cel. Madam, I am happy 
 To have the privilege of waiting on you. 
 Your thanks will make me proud. 
 
 Hera. Your company 
 Does merit more. How oft have I receiv'd 
 A respite from the pressure of those ffears 
 Which did present me with the chance of war, 
 And my dear uncle's hazard, by your talk, 
 
236 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Your sweet converse, I have forgot the thoughts 
 
 Of trumpets, and the music of your voice 
 
 Has charmed me to forget all threatening sounds. 
 
 Cel. My duty did instruct me to divert 
 Your troubles, madam, by concealing mine. 
 I often have spoke fearless of the war. 
 When my own thoughts have been in mutiny. 
 And my heart bandy 'd between hope and dread 
 For my dear father. 
 
 Heea. But, Celania ! 
 I hear there are two pris'ners, whose repute 
 Fame speaks with great advantage, very lately 
 Committed to your father's custody. 
 Cela. There are such, madam, 
 Hera. How do they support 
 Their strict confinement ? 
 
 Cela. With such constancy 
 As if they had forgot they e'er were free ; 
 Tis pity that they are in prison, and pity 
 They should be out. I overheard their 
 Mutual discourse, which does discover 
 A patience, that wou'd make adversity 
 Asham'd. The prison's proud of 'em. They turn 
 Their misery to mirth. They have all the world 
 Within their chamber. Though the prison seems 
 To mourn for their restraint, 'tis holiday to look 
 on 'em. 
 Hera. Are they both alike 
 So unconcern'd in their unhappiness, 
 That neither of 'em e'er does yield a sigh 
 To hint out some reflections upon what they have 
 been? 
 Cela. Sometimes one of 'em perhaps 
 Will unawares vent a divided sigh, 
 Martyr'd as 'twere in the delivery. 
 Which strait the other does so calmly chide 
 And then so sweetly comforts him who sigh'd it. 
 
THE RIVALS. 237 
 
 That I cou'd almost wish myself a sigh, 
 To be so chid ; or at the least a sigher, 
 To be so comforted. 
 
 Heka. But what can he 
 Eeply in vindication of himself 1 
 
 Cela. He strait redeems the error of that sigh 
 By singing, which he does to that degree 
 Of ravishing that even the prison walls, 
 Which only echo others' misery. 
 Bear a part in's music ; and, as if 
 They were in love with whatsoe'er he sings, 
 Eepeat his notes again. 
 
 Hera. But does he not 
 Sometimes let fall a tear as well as sigh 1 
 
 Cela. Though tears, when wept by you in time 
 of war 
 For your dear uncle's peril, seem'd to be 
 Refreshing showers let fall upon your cheeks 
 To make the roses look more fair ; yet they 
 Wou'd seem too much effeminate in him, 
 They wou'd like mildew, taint his blooming youth 
 And stain his courage : therefore still his eyes, 
 Like suns dry up that dew before it falls. 
 
 Hera. She loves him, sure 1 I'll try her. 
 
 You cannot tell, how long the citadel 
 Shall be their prison ? 
 
 Cela. Madam, are they like to be remov'd 1 
 
 Hera. I left my uncle 
 Together with the general and Provost 
 In consultation, how they shou'd dispose 
 O'th pris'ners : and amongst the rest of these, 
 Polynices employs his interest 
 For the release of one, that he may make 
 Retaliation for the liberty 
 He gave him, when opprest by multitudes 
 In some encounter. 
 
 Cela. Shall one be released 1 
 
238 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Hera. 'Tis very probable. 
 
 Cela. Good madam, which 1 
 
 Hera. I suppose Theocles. 
 
 Cela. That pleases me. And yet I know not 
 why 
 I wish the other better, yet methinks 
 I'm glad he shall a pris'ner still remain : 
 I willingly cou'd wish his happy state 
 Yet seem to hope he'll rest unfortunate. 
 
 Hera. She likes the news, yet seems not fully 
 pleas'd ; 
 I'll try her further ! Theocles shall be 
 Acquitted, but it is presum'd the other 
 Being too considerable to be freed, 
 
 wm 
 
 Cela. Do what, madam ? 
 
 Hera. Die. 
 
 Cela. Die 1 
 
 Hera. Have I found you 1 
 Die ? Yes, Celania. You are naught concern'd 
 Whether he die or live. 
 
 Cela. Madam, 'tis true ; 
 And yet, alas, I know not what I am. 
 I find a lively advocate within 
 That wou'd not have him die : I must withdraw, 
 Or else I shall betray my passion. 
 
 Hera. Celania ! You are grown thoughtful. 
 
 Cela. Madam, I'm scarce recover'd from the 
 fears 
 Begot by the late war. My company 
 Will be but troublesome, ^^our goodness will 
 Pardon my too abrupt departure. [Exit. 
 
 Hera. She is too visibly in love : Alas ! 
 I have deceiv'd her into too much fear : 
 I willingly cou'd undeceive her now. 
 But she'll soon find the fallacy. I'll take 
 A turn i'th' garden whose kind walks and air. 
 
THE RIVALS. 239 
 
 Make the evenings oft to me delightsome prove, 
 She's scorch'd i'th' fiery element of love. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Philander, and Theocles, as in the balcony, 
 walking in the palace-garden. 
 
 Phil. Is there record of any two that lov'd 
 Better than we do, cousin? 
 
 Theo. There cannot be. 
 
 Phil. Our friendship is hy long continuance 
 Become so ardent and invincible, 
 And by our resolution so confirm'd, 
 I think it is beyond the power of time 
 Or any accident e'er to infringe it. 
 
 Theo. Our love's bright fire has been preserv'd 
 so long. 
 The flame is, like the vestals', sacred grown, 
 Which nothing e'er can violate or quench. 
 
 Phila. Nothing but death : and, cousin, after 
 death 
 Our spirits shall be led to those that lov6 
 Eternally. Free from allay of flesh 
 Our love shall be refin'd to that degree 
 Of purity, that it shall kindle us 
 Into one constellation, by whose rays 
 Surviving friendships shall be so inflam'd, 
 They shall not languish, or know how to die. 
 
 Enter Heraclia, and Cleone, in the garden. 
 
 Theo. Cousin, why proceed you not ? 
 Hera. What fiower is this ? 
 Cleo. 'Tis call'd Narcissus, madam. 
 Hera. That was a pretty, but a foolish boy, 
 To lose himself. Were there not maids enow 1 
 Theo. Pray, forward. 
 Hera. Or were they all hard-hearted ? 
 Cleo. They cou'd not be to one so fair. 
 Hera. Thou wou'dst not ? 
 
240 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Cleo. I think I shou'd not, madam, 
 
 Theo. Will you proceed, cousin 1 
 
 Heka. Canst thou not work such flowers in silk, 
 wench ? 
 
 Cleo. Yes ! 
 
 Hera. They will shew rarely on a valence. 
 
 Theo. Cousin ! cousin ! how d'ye 1 
 
 Phil. Never till now was I a pris'ner. 
 
 Theo. Why, what's the matter 1 
 
 Phil. Behold and wonder ! She is not mortal, 
 sure ! 
 
 Theo. Ha! 
 
 Phil. She is divine, and now the sun draws 
 low, 
 Comes to revive the drooping flowers, and make 
 Them, like herself, immortal, by the beams 
 Proceeding from her eyes. 
 
 Hera. Of all the flowers methinks a rose is 
 best. 
 
 Cleo. Why, gentle madam 1 
 
 Hera. Because it is the emblem of a maid, 
 For when she's gently by the west wind woo'd. 
 How modestly she blows, with a complexion 
 Made up of smiles and blushes ; when the north 
 Comes near, impatient then, like chastity 
 She locks her beauties in her bud again, 
 And leaves him then to blow on nought but briars. 
 
 Cleo. Yet, good madam. 
 Sometimes her modesty will bloom so far 
 She falls for't : which a maid of any honour 
 Will hardly imitate. 
 
 Hera. "JThou art grown wanton ! 
 
 Theo. She's very fair. 
 
 Phil. She's all the beauty extant. 
 
 Hera. The sun is set. Let's walk in ! keep the 
 flowers 
 To see how near art can resemble them. [Exit. 
 
THE RIVALS. 241 
 
 Phil. Might not a man well lose himself and 
 love her 1 
 
 Theo. I cannot tell what you have done, I have ; 
 Beshrew my eyes for't : now I feel my bondage. 
 
 Phil. You love her then ? 
 
 Theo. Who would not 1 
 
 Phil. I saw her first. 
 
 Theo. What if you did? that poor pretence 
 will prove 
 Too weak. There's no priority in love : 
 I saw her too. 
 
 Phil. Yes, but you must not love her. 
 
 Theo. I will not, as you do, to worship her 
 As she's divine ; I love her, to enjoy her 
 As she's a woman : and thus both may love. 
 
 Phil. You shall not love at all. 
 
 Theo. Who shall deny me ? 
 
 Phil. I that first toolc possession with my eyes 
 Of all those beauties, which in her reveal 
 Themselves to mortals : If thou entertain' st 
 A hope to blast my wishes, Theocles, 
 Thou art as false as is thy title to her. 
 If thou dar'st love her, I disclaim all bonds 
 Of love and friendship. 
 
 Theo. Sir, I must love her. 
 If that can shake Philander off, adieu ! 
 I say, again, I love ; and will maintain, 
 I have as just a title to her beauty, 
 As any man who dares pretend a claim. 
 Let me deal coldly with you. Are not we 
 Of the same blood 1 Have not our souls combin'd, 
 As 'twere in correspondence with our blood, 
 To twist us into one by friendship 1 
 
 Phil. Yes! 
 
 Theo. Am I not liable to those affections 
 And passions, unto which my friend's expos'd 'i 
 
 Phil. You may be. 
 V. Q 
 
242 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Theo. Why would you so unkindly deal ] 
 To love alone ? Speak truly, do you think me 
 U nworthy of her sight 1 
 
 Phil. No, hut unjust, if thou pursue that sight. 
 
 Theo. Because another first sees the enemy, 
 shall I 
 Stand still, and never charge ? 
 
 Phil. Yes, if he be but one. 
 
 Theo. What if that one had rather combat me ? 
 
 Phil. Let that one tell me so, and use thy free- 
 dom ; 
 But otherwise thou art a monster, black 
 As guilt can make thee. 
 
 Theo. You are mad. Philander. 
 
 Phil. I must be so, tiU thou art worthy, Theo- 
 cles. 
 
 Theo. Fy, sir, you play the child extremely. I 
 must 
 Dare and ought to love her. 
 
 Phil. that now indulgent fortune 
 Wou'd vouchsafe us swords, 
 And one hour's freedom, to dispute thy claim, 
 rU make thee soon recant it. Put thy head 
 Once more without this window, and I'll nail thy 
 
 life 
 To't. 
 
 Theo. Alas ! your fury threatens what 
 You are too impotent to act. Philander. 
 But put my head out ! To advance your rage 
 I'll cast my body down into her arms. 
 When next I see her. 
 
 Enter Cunopes. 
 
 CuNO. My errand is to you, sir. 
 Theo. To me ? 
 
 CuNO.- The Provost sent me for you. 
 Theo. I am ready ! 
 
THE RIVALS. 243 
 
 Phil. But one word, Theocles. 
 CUNO. Sir, take another hour : I have other 
 business, 
 Than to waste time, in minding your discourse. 
 
 [Exeunt Cunopes, aiid Theocles. 
 Phil. Why, was the message sent to him alone ? 
 Am I so undeserving to be thought 
 Less worthy of the Provost's conference ? 
 This is the palace-garden, and I've heard 
 The Princess us'd to bless it with her presence. 
 This sure was she. blessed garden, and more 
 
 blessed flowers. 
 That blossom at the sun-shine of her eyes ! 
 I wish I were that blooming apricock 
 I would expatiate my wanton arms. 
 And be a bold intruder at her window, 
 And bring her fruit which should endear me to 
 her ; 
 
 Enter Cunopes. [Above. 
 
 Fruit that might tempt the palates of the gods. 
 Now, keeper, where's Theocles ? 
 
 CuNO. Set free. 
 The general has begg'd his liberty 
 Upon condition never to set foot 
 Within Arcadia : But, as for you. 
 We shall be troubl'd somewhat longer with you ; 
 I am afraid. 
 
 Phil. O Theocles, my rage 
 Converts to envy. Thou hast liberty 
 To make some brave attempts, and reinforce 
 The dissipated army. Were I free 
 I wou'd do things of such immensity. 
 This blushing virgin shou'd take manhood to her, 
 And seek to ravish me. 
 
 CuNO. You are tedious, sir ! 
 I wou'd desire less of your tongue, good sir. 
 
244 THE KIVALS. 
 
 And more of your ears. I have a charge to you. 
 
 Phil. Hast any orders for my death 1 
 
 CuNO. Not yet, sir, 
 But I'm in hopes of having it ere long, 
 I find it troublesome attending you. 
 My present orders reach no further, sir, 
 Than to remove you from these windows : th'are 
 too open. 
 
 Phil. Curse upon their envy ! prithee do me 
 The courtesy to kill me. 
 
 CuNO. Yes, and hang for't afterwards. I hope 
 erelong 
 To have authority for doing it. 
 You shall not find me backward, sir, to serve you 
 In any kindness of that nature. 
 
 Phil. Troth, had I a sword I wou'd kill thee. 
 
 CuNO. I thank you ! 
 
 Phil. Thou bringest such scurvy news, I will 
 not go. 
 
 CuNO. Sir, I shall call those who shall try the 
 mastery. 
 You should give better answers tiU you are free. 
 
 Phil. May I see the garden ? 
 
 CuNO. No ! 
 
 Phil. Then I'm resolv'd I will not go. 
 
 CuNO. When I clap shackles on you, you'll obey 
 More readily. 
 
 Phil. Good keeper, do it ; 
 I'll knock thy brains out with them ! or at least I'll 
 Shake 'em so, the house shall never sleep. 
 I'll make you a new morrice. Must I go ? 
 
 CuNO. Yes, you must go ! 
 
 Phil. Farewell, kind window. 
 May rude wind never hurt thee ! my lady, 
 If ever thou hast known what sorrows are, 
 Let dreams my sorrows to thy breast declare. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
THE RIVALS. 245 
 
 Enter Celania. 
 
 Cela. Why shou'd I love this gentleman ? 'tis 
 
 odds, 
 He'll never find a feature in my face, 
 To tempt so much as a kind look from him. 
 But who can love and give a reason for't 1 
 At the first sight I lik'd him, lov'd him, infinitely 
 
 lov'd him. 
 And though he had a cousin fair as he too. 
 Yet in my heart Philander is ; and there, 
 Lord, what a coil he keeps ! but he must die : 
 Philander, thou must die. For Theocles 
 Is by my father set at liberty. 
 Who stay'd not to resolve me of thy fate. 
 M''e shall not need to strew thy grave with flowers. 
 From such a root they cannot chuse but grow ; 
 Thy body shall not into dust dissolve. 
 But into spices to perfume those flowers. 
 
 Enter Leucippe, hastily. 
 
 Leuc. Madam, here's a comedy at hand 
 Will make you die with laughter ! Cunopes 
 Is grown enamour'd on you. 
 
 Cela. Ay me, there is no hope ! 
 
 Leuc. I know that, madam, but he's resolv'd 
 To prosecute his love, and I have given him 
 Encouragement. He'll presently be here. 
 
 Cela. Alas, he's gone ! 
 
 Leuc. Madam, I say, he's here, just upon en- 
 trance. 
 
 Cela. He must die ! he is 
 Too good to live on earth ; for wheresoe'er 
 He does reside, he makes it fair Heav'n there. 
 
 Leuc. I'd rather think he makes it hell, because 
 
 He looks so like the devil but she sure 
 
 Misunderstands me. She is taken up 
 
216 THE RIVALS. 
 
 With her affection to Philander ha 
 
 She's in a trance. Cunopes, madam, ^ha ! 
 
 Cela. Ha? 
 
 Leuc. Is entering to make love to me. 
 
 Cela. Make love 1 
 
 Leuc. Yes, truly, he's grown the very farse ! 
 He lays aside his surly looks, and falls 
 To fawning with a screw'd and mimic face. 
 As if he had been tutor'd by an ape. 
 He sings, and makes legs to the looking-glass : 
 Is pleas'd with's face, because he smiles again. 
 
 Cela. In love with thee ? It shall be so, 
 
 Leucippe, 
 Thou may'st procure Philander's liberty ; 
 Use him with kindness, wench ; perhaps the man 
 May be induc'd to be officious 
 In freeing him I love, or may resign 
 The keys into thy custody. 
 
 Leuc. I'll try him, madam. 
 
 Mnter Cunopes. 
 CUNO. Madam, I'm glad to understand- 
 
 Cela. It seems your understanding is improv'd — 
 CuNO. Madam, I say I'm glad to understand 
 Your ladyship approves of my affection 
 To mistress Leucippe. 
 
 Cela. There will be use of him; he must be 
 sooth'd. 
 She cannot sure refuse a handsome — you have a 
 
 face 
 Methinks might tempt a stone. 
 
 Leuc. To break his head. [Aside. 
 
 Cela. The pressure of my fears forbid my 
 Mirth ; Leucippe, what think you ? can you deny 
 him ? 
 Leuc. I scarce shou'd e'er be angry at his smiles. 
 
THE KIVALS. 247 
 
 CuNO. I thank you, madam ; 'tis for your sake, 
 
 [He sneers. 
 If her looks keep me alive. 
 
 Oela. I'll venture it but yet perhaps he'll 
 
 scarce 
 Resign the keys, Leucippe, in my presence. 
 I will withdraw a while. Cunopes, I'll leave you 
 To your courtship, wishing you success. 
 
 [JEx. Celania. 
 CuNO. I humhly thank your ladyship. 
 Leuc. You cannot surely be in love with me, 
 Though your deportment seems to say you are ] 
 
 CuNO. If deportment had said otherwise, 
 I wou'd have made him eat his words. 
 
 Leuc. Wherein 
 Can you convince me that your love is true 'i 
 I wou'd lose a smile upon a love 
 Consisting in pretence. 
 
 CuNO. Make trial, mistress, in what command 
 
 you please. 
 Leuc. True lovers will 
 Adventure through the frowns of all the world. 
 To gain a smile from those whom they affect. 
 CuNO. So would Cunopes ; if you wou'd but 
 try him : 
 If you'll but smile, let me see who dare frown. 
 Leuc. You shall be tried. I know you prize 
 those keys 
 And wou'd resign their custody to none but one 
 You lov'd : now, if your love be true. 
 Entrust me with their keeping but till to-morrow. 
 CuNO. The keys 1 mistress, you know I have a 
 
 pris'ner. 
 Leuc. I knew how real your affection was. 
 When you're brought to the test, you run for 
 
 shelter 
 Under excuses. [Offers. 
 
248 THE RIVALS. 
 
 CuNO. Pray, stay a while ! 
 Are you in earnest to make this trial of my love ? 
 
 Leuc. Yes, and do you try me with them if 
 you dare. 
 
 CuNO. Dare 1 there, take 'em ! 
 
 Leuc. This shows you're hearty. Early in the 
 morning 
 I will restore 'em, and be satisfied 
 With this experiment of your affection, 
 Since I cou'd have no other. 
 
 CuNO. But have a care o' the pris'ner. I'l'd be 
 loth 
 To have those looks your lady did commend 
 Be turn'd into an ugly face at last 
 Under the gallows. 
 
 Leuc. You begin to repent you. 
 
 CuNO. I never repent till I am half hang'd. 
 
 Leuc. Well, as the last mark of your love, be 
 gone and trust me ! 
 Madam, I have 'em. [Ex. Cunop. 
 
 Enter Celania. 
 
 Cela. Thanks, dear Leucippe ! 
 Philander, now I'll manifest my love 
 In thy release : thy glories are too bright 
 To set in clouds exhal'd from thy own blood. 
 I'll free thee from th' eclipse of these sad walls. 
 And like a shadow ever by thee run, 
 There's still a shadow where there is a sun. 
 
 [Ex. Celania. 
 
 Enter Theocles as at liberty. 
 
 Theo. Sent back to my own country? 'tis a 
 gift 
 Out- speaks my gratitude ; but then forbid 
 Th' Arcadian ground, and, in that prohibition. 
 The vision of Heraclia, for whom 
 
THE RIVALS. 249 
 
 I die ] ! 'tis a studied punishment. 
 
 I'm ever lost by having liberty, 
 
 By kindness kill'd, undone by courtesy. 
 
 Philander, thou hast now the start : she still 
 
 Shall bless thy eye-sight with her evening walks. 
 
 Who knows but thou mayst come to speak with 
 
 her? 
 And then she will be thine : thou hast a tongue 
 Fit to allure a tiger from his prey : 
 So charming that 'twould make a tempest tame. 
 But let me recollect myself a little : ere long 
 The birthdays of the Princess and the Prince 
 By the Arcadians will be solemniz'd 
 In pastoral delights, why may not I 
 Take sanctuary in another shape 1 
 I could, not long since, wrestle well, and run 
 As swift as the wind upon a field of corn. 
 I'll venture in some poor disguise ; who knows 
 Whether my brows may not a garland wear, 
 And happiness prefer me to a place. 
 Where I may see the vision of her face 1 
 
 [Ex. Theocles. 
 
 Eiiier Celania with the prison keys and Philander. 
 
 Phil. Madam, from whence can you derive your 
 courtesy t 
 
 Cela, Were I less courteous, nature would not 
 own me ; 
 CaU't my humanity to save your life. Good sir, 
 Begone ! These keys shall make your way, 
 Y'are sav'd by flight, but ruin'd if you stay. 
 
 Phil. I'd rather nobly die than thus be free, 
 And give my life than steal my liberty. 
 
 Cela. You'll not be innocent if so you die. 
 He kills himself who stays when he may fly. 
 
 Phil. So clandestine and cowardly a flight 
 Wou'd gather so much blackness from the night, 
 
250 THE RIVALS. 
 
 As soon wou'd blot the glories I have won 
 By valour, in the prospect of the sun. 
 
 Cela. The sun you speak of has withdrawn his 
 light 
 To give the more advantage to your flight. 
 He seem'd to say, whilst setting in. a smile, 
 Philander fiy, and I will wink the while ! 
 
 ■Phil. You are an ill interpreter : for he 
 Only withdrew, as 'twere, asham'd to see 
 A soldier start at death, and basely fly : 
 Thus to survive were to deserve to die. 
 
 Cela. He's an ill soldier, that, when danger's 
 great. 
 Loses the day for want of fair retreat. 
 Good sir, consent ! 
 
 Phil. Suppose I shou'd, when I 
 Am miss'd, your father must my place supply ; 
 By giving me a life, you leave him none. 
 And he that gave you yours must lose his own. 
 
 Cela. That makes me weak, but does success- 
 less prove, 
 My duty has resign'd all place to love. 
 If they should shorten his decaying breath 
 'Twill but a little antedate his death. 
 His glories are grown old, yours but begun ; 
 Men court the rising not the setting sun. 
 
 Phil. But when he's dead, his blood will still 
 remain 
 Upon my fame an everlasting stain. 
 
 Cela. If it a stain to any eye appears, 
 My eyes shall quickly wash it off with tears. 
 His death, in saving you, wou'd merit more 
 Than all his fighting life had done before. 
 Come, sir ! I'm sure he will a pardon find. 
 The Prince to his late valour will be kind. 
 His slaughter'd foes may save him from the grave ; 
 And those he slew may plead for one I save. 
 
THE RIVALS. ^51 
 
 Phil. Her last conjecture slackens my resolves ; 
 
 [Aside. 
 The Prince may pardon him : he cannot be 
 Severe to him who has deserv'd so well : 
 But then, alas, what will become of her ? 
 
 Cela. My loss is gain, 
 If you secure from loss of life remain. 
 
 Phil. Why shou'd I refuse 
 To accept her kindness 1 I may here reside 
 Under the shelter of some mean disguise, 
 And, if th'are doom'd to death, prevent that fate 
 By off'ring up my life : I can but die 
 At last. I will accept her courtesy. 
 
 Cela. I pray, let's go ! I shall, sir, if you stay, 
 "Weep out those eyes that shou'd direct your way. 
 Pray, follow pie ! I'll bring you to the door, 
 And teU you where to stay, whilst I provide 
 Some habit more convenient for your flight. 
 
 Phil. This gen'rous act is stretch'd to an extent 
 Beyond the prospect of all precedent. 
 Lead on ! what makes her thus obliging prove ? 
 I hope 'tis pity, but I fear 'tis love. [Exeunt. 
 
 The Third Act. 
 
 Enter Arcon, Polynices, Provost, Heraclia, 
 Cleone, Theocles {in disguise with a garland.) 
 
 Argon. Whoe'er you are, that wreath becomes 
 you well : 
 The beauty of the garland does receive 
 Advantage from the blossom of your youth. 
 You run and wrestle well, I have not seen 
 A man of more activity and strength. 
 What country owns your breeding 1 
 
 Theo. Part of this, sir, 
 But much unhappy in the distance from 
 
252 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Your royal court. 
 
 Arcon. Are you a gentleman 1 
 
 Theo. Sir, I have always thought so, and have 
 had 
 An education as refin'd as I 
 Presum'd my blood to be. 
 
 Arcon. May I demand wherein ? 
 
 Theo. In somewhat of all noble qualities ; 
 I could have kept a hawk and hollow'd well 
 To a deep cry of dogs. I dare not praise 
 My horsemanship, yet those who know me well 
 Give me a character I blush to own. 
 But I am most ambitious to be thought a soldier. 
 
 Poly. A most accomplish'd gentleman ! 
 
 Prov. What place has wrong'd us by concealing 
 him 
 
 In time of war 1 but in a cloudy day 
 
 We only view those things which nearer are, 
 And distant glories when the weather's fair. 
 
 Poly. What is your judgment of him, madam 1 
 
 Hera. His being young makes him appear more 
 noble. 
 His worth increases by his want of years ; 
 Because new risen he more bright appears. 
 Unless in him the wonder's rarely seen, 
 That fuel clearer burns for being green. 
 
 Prov. Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun, 
 Breaks through his baser garments. 
 
 Arcon. What made you seek this place ? 
 
 Theo. Royal sir ; 
 Hopes to advance my education here. 
 And perfect quickly what was well begun : 
 Fruits ripen soonest that are near the sun. 
 
 Arcon. Sir, we are much indebted to your 
 travel ; 
 Nor shall you lose yoar hopes. Polynices, 
 Dispose of this brave gentleman. 
 
THE RIVALS. 253 
 
 x. 
 
 Poly. Your Highness 
 Obliges me by that command. Whoe'er 
 You are, you are mine ; and I'll prefer you 
 To the Princess' service. This is her birth-day, 
 Which you have honour'd, and only one day 
 Does intervene betwixt her's and the Prince's. 
 Now you are hers : your virtues have deserv'd it. 
 Kiss her fair hand, sir. 
 
 Theo. You are a noble giver. 
 Thus, madam, let your servant seal his faith, 
 Whose studies shall be to deserve your favour ; 
 And if he shall offend you, frown him dead. 
 
 Hera. Frowns are too weak artillery to kill 
 So stout a man ; if you shall merit well 
 1 quickly shall discern it : you are mine. 
 And somewhat better than your rank I'll use you. 
 
 Arcon. My birth-day now draws near : we'll 
 spend the time 
 Till then, in some diversion. Niece, to-morrow 
 You must be ready, with the rest, to hunt 
 In Dian's wood. Your servant will attend you. 
 I'm confident he will deserve your estimation. 
 
 Hera. His faithful service shall not want my 
 favour. 
 
 Theo. And when my service shall unfaithful be, 
 Let fame recant what she has said of me. 
 And may my falsehood be as much reveal'd 
 To all the world as now my love's conceal'd. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Leucippe and Nurse, Cunopes dogging 'em. 
 
 CuNO. I'm sent for by the Provost, yet I'll stay 
 To over-hear my mistress and the nurse ; 
 For methinks they are in counsel : and perhaps 
 'Tis about love, and I may be concern'd. 
 
 Leuc. You have left the keys in Cunope's 
 chamber ] 
 
254 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Nurse. Yes, mistress ! 
 
 Leuc. Philander is releas'd, my lady fled ; 
 And I according to appointment going 
 To meet 'em at the brake in Dian's wood. 
 
 CUNO, Ha ! I shall pay as dear for love as those, 
 Who marry all to whom they promise marriage. 
 
 Leuc. Farewell ! good Cunopes, if thou art 
 hang'd 
 Thou'lt meet this comfort at the fatal place, 
 Hanging can never spoil so bad a face. 
 Nurse, farewell ! 
 
 Nurse. Farewell ! be sure you make haste. 
 
 [Exeunt Leucippe and Nurse severally. 
 
 CuNO. Though she saw me not, she took her 
 leave of me 
 After the old phrase ; farewell, and be hang'd, 
 Besides her commendations sent to my face. 
 Those have good stomachs who can love the meat, 
 Having been beaten with the spit. And yet 
 I cannot hate her. There's some witch-craft in't ! 
 But let me think. Philander free'd ! perhaps 
 The Provost sent for me to give accompt 
 Of him : Celania fled 1 Leucippe gone ! 
 The brake in Dian's wood 1 I shall be hang'd. 
 But the hangman, being no man of quality. 
 Cannot expect that I should be civil 
 To stay here for him, till he find me. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The Provost wonders you make no more 
 haste, 
 
 His bus'ness is 
 
 CuNO. Yes, yes, I know his bus'ness 
 
 Mess. Why don't you bring him word then, 
 how Philander 
 Carries himself since Theocles is gone ; 
 That he may know how to inform the Prince ? 
 
THE RIVALS. 255 
 
 CuNO. Bring word how Philander carries him- 
 self? 
 I know his meaning well enough ; go, tell him 
 I'll only step to see, and bring him word. 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 I must be gone ! If I can find Philander, 
 I may bring off myself by bringing him 
 Back hither, but if not, I am out of rope reach. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sffrns in several places, noise and hollaing as of people 
 hunting. 
 
 Enter Theocles in the wood. 
 
 Theo. I have lost the Prince and all the company : 
 They are all divided. Heraclia ! 
 Sweeter than spring and all the golden buttons 
 On her fresh boughs ; 
 How fortunate am I in such a mistress ! 
 Alas, poor pris'ner ! poor Philander ! 
 Thou little dream'st of my success : thou think'st 
 Thyself more bless'd to be near Heraclia. 
 Me thou presum'st mostwretched, though I'm free j 
 Because thou think'st me in my country, but 
 Wert thou acquainted with my happiness, 
 How I enjoy the lustre of her eyes. 
 What passion, cousin, wou'd possess thee 1 
 
 Enter Philander out of a bush. 
 
 ' Phil. Traitor kinsman ! thou should'st perceive 
 
 my 
 Passion, were this hand but owner of a sword ; 
 And were my strength a little reinforc'd with one 
 Meal's meat, thy wounds shou'd shewthe justice of' 
 
 my love. 
 I'd soon let out the bipod which makes us kin, 
 Aad prove thee a perfidious lord, not worth 
 
256 THE RIVALS. 
 
 The name of villain : dar'st thou call her thine 1 
 Theo. Cousin Philander ! 
 Phil. Treacherous Theocles ! 
 Theo. I am not conscious of a crime that may- 
 Deserve those attributes with which you now 
 Defile my fame ; and therefore I avoid 
 Eeplies in language of so coarse a web. 
 Passion transports you, cousin. Pray be pleas'd 
 To show in noble terras your grief. I am 
 Ready to vindicate my love by reason, 
 Or by the sword of a true gentleman. 
 Phil. 0, that thou durst ! 
 Theo. Cousin, you know I dare : 
 I'm confident you wou'd not tamely hear 
 Another blast my valour. 
 
 Phil. I confess 
 I've seen your sword do wonders : 
 But treachery makes men impotent, and then 
 They shun decisions by the sword. Their courage 
 Droops into fear and cowardice. Supply me 
 But with the charity of one poor meal, 
 And with a sword though rusty ; and, if then 
 Thou dar'st pretend to love Heraclia, 
 I will forgive the trespass thou hast done me ; 
 And if thou kill me, I'll acquaint those souls 
 In shades, which have died manly, that thou art 
 A soldier brave and noble. 
 
 Theo. Be content ! agen betake you to your 
 hawthorn-house. 
 I'll gratify your wishes : you shall have both 
 sword and meat. 
 Phil. O, you heavens ! Dare any venture so 
 nobly in a cause so guilty 1 
 Sure none but Theocles cou'd be so daring. 
 Sir, I embrace your offer, and shall thank 
 Your person with my sword. 
 
 [Wind horns and urrnets.^ 
 
THE RIVALS. 257 
 
 Theo. You hear the horns ! enter your muise.* 
 Take 
 Comfort and be strong. I'll keep my word. Give 
 me your hand. 
 Phil. Pray hold your promise, cousin Theocles, 
 And do the deed with a bent brow ; I know 
 You love me not : be rough with me, and pour 
 This oil out of your language. 
 
 Theo. My anger and content have but one face. 
 
 [Horns wind. 
 I'm call'd ! I have an office there. 
 
 Phil. Your office is unjust, and your attendance 
 
 cannot please Heaven. 
 Theo. Talk of that no more. Leave it to the 
 
 decision of the sword. 
 Phil. But this one word. You are going now 
 to gaze 
 Upon my mistress ; for sir, mine she is. 
 Theo. Nay, then — ^ 
 
 Phil. You talk of feeding me into my strength : 
 But you are going to inforce yourself 
 By feeding on her eyes. There, Theocles, 
 You have advantage over me. Adieu ! 
 My cause gives me advantage over you. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Celania. 
 
 Cela. He has mistook the beech, and is pursuing 
 The way his fancy leads. 'Tis now near morning ! 
 No matter, wou'd it were perpetual night. 
 Heark ! 'tis a wolf, but grief destroys my fear, 
 I care not though the wolves shou'd me devour. 
 If he had but this meat, and this disguise. 
 What, if I. hoUa'd for him ? I cannot holla ! 
 He has no sword, and wolves 'tis said have sense 
 To know a man unarm'd. Who knows but he 
 
 * Muse, also Muset. A hole in a hedge through which game, 
 and more especially the hare, passes. 
 V. E 
 
258 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Is torn in pieces ? Many howl'd together, 
 And then they fed on him. So much for that : 
 There is an end of all, now he is gone. 
 No, no, I lie ; my father's life must answer 
 For his escape. Alas, I grow mad ! I've eaten 
 No meat these two days, nor have clos'd my eyes ; 
 I find my sense unsettl'd. Which way now ? 
 The best way is the next way to the grave, 
 Each erring step besides is torment. Lo ! 
 The moon is down ! the crickets chirp ! The 
 
 screech-owl 
 Has bid the night farewell : but my misfortunes 
 Ne'er wiU find the break of day. [Exit Cela. 
 
 Enter Theocles with wine and meat. 
 
 Theo. Sure ! this is near the place. Ho ! cou- 
 sin Philander ! 
 
 Enter Philander. 
 
 Phil. Theocles? 
 
 Theo. The same ; I've perform'd my promise, sir. 
 Here is your meat, you shall not want a sword 
 When y'have recover'd strength. Come forth and 
 
 fear not ! 
 Here is no Provost. 
 
 Phil. Nor any one so honest. 
 
 Theo. That shall be 
 Decided another time. Take courage ! 
 I know you're faint ; here cousin, drink ! 
 
 Phil. Thou might'st poison me now. 
 
 Theo. But I must fear you first. 
 Well, coz, no more of this. Here, to your health ' 
 I'll drink you into blood, and then I'll drain you 
 
 Theo. Do, coz ! 
 
 Theo. Sit down, sir, and let me request you that 
 You mention not this lady : 'twill disturb us. 
 We shall have time enough. 
 
THE RIVALS. 259 
 
 Phil. Well, sir, I'll pledge you. 
 Theo. Drink a good hearty draught, it breeds 
 good blood. 
 Do not you feel it thaw you ? 
 
 Phil. By and by, I'll tell you of what operation 
 
 'tis. 
 Theo. Is't not mad lodging in the wild woods, 
 
 cousin ? 
 Phil. For them who have wild consciences, 'tis. 
 Theo. How taste's your meat 1 Your hunger 
 
 needs no sauce 1 
 Phil. Not much ! but if it did, your's is too 
 tart. 
 Give me more wine ! here, Theocles, a health 
 To aU the ladies of our old acquaintance ! 
 Your memory retains the marshal's daughter 1 
 She knew, sir, how to chuse a handsome man 
 To make the object of her love. 
 
 Theo. Alas ! that's no news, cousin, amongst 
 
 ladies. 
 Phil. And I have heard some call him Theocles. 
 Theo. What then, sir t 
 Phil. Nothing, but 'twas conceiv'd 
 You were so charitable to her sighs. 
 You turn'd 'em into groans for nine months after. 
 Because she was enamour'd on your face 
 You did supply her with your picture, drawn 
 Exceedingly lively, cousin. 
 
 Theo. I presume you yet remember the young 
 count's sister. 
 You'll pledge her, cousin 1 
 Phil. Yes, sir, yes. 
 
 Theo. She lov'd you well ! a pretty wench ! but 
 brown. 
 As if by often gazing on your eyes, 
 Which she call'd bright, she had been sun-burn't. 
 You have not yet forgot the song too, coz; 
 
260 THE RIVALS. 
 
 No, nor the willows 1 
 
 Phil. Well, let's have the song. 
 
 Theocles sings. 
 Theo. Under the willow shades they were 
 Free from the eye-sight of the sun. 
 For no intruding beam could there 
 
 Peep through to spy what things were done, 
 Thus shelter'd they unseen did lye 
 Surfeiting on each other's eye. 
 Defended by the willow shades alone. 
 The sun's heat they defied and cool'd their own : 
 Whilst they did embrace unspy'd 
 The conscious wiUows seem'd to smile. 
 
 That they with privacy supplied 
 Holding the door as 'twere the while. 
 And when their dalliances were o'er, 
 The willows, to oblige 'em more. 
 Bowing did seem to say, as they withdrew, 
 We can supply you with a cradle too. 
 Phil. You are merry, cousin ! 
 Theo. I hope we may reflect upon our loves, 
 
 And never cry heigh ho ! 
 
 Phil. 'Twas for Heraclia, upon my life. Away 
 With thy strain'd mirth ! I say that sigh 
 Was for Heraclia breath'd, ignoble cousin. 
 Theo. Fy, you are mistaken ! 
 Phil. By all that's good there's no goodness in 
 
 thee. 
 Theo. Nay, then I'll leave you : now you are a 
 
 child. 
 Phil. As thou hast made me, traitor. 
 Theo. I'll leave you meat, sir, to recruit you. 
 I'll return 
 With that shall quiet all, and speak my passion 
 Much better than my tongue. 
 Phil. You mean a sword. 
 
THE rivals; 261 
 
 Theo. Cousin, distrust me not, feed heartily ! 
 I wish you all fair weather in your bush ! 
 May no storm fall out, but what our swords shall 
 
 raise. 
 Farewell, you shall not want for any thing. 
 
 Phil. Ha! sir? 
 
 Iheo. I'll hear no more ! [Exit. 
 
 Phil. But thou shal't much more feel, 
 If thou perform thy promise. I will search 
 Each angle of thy heart to find thy love, 
 And mak't a victim to Heraclia, 
 That heart is fittest for her sacrifice 
 Which is already kindl'd at her eyes. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Celania (distracted), Leucippe. 
 Leuc. Alas ; she's distracted ! I have found her, 
 Enter Cunopes. 
 
 But she has lost herself. Ha, Cunopes ! 
 
 CuNO. Yes, mistress ! 
 
 Leuc. I am betray'd. 
 
 CuNO. I have made bold to try how you could like 
 This face here in the wood. I will remember 
 You gave it a good character at home. 
 
 Leuc. I would have rather seen a satyr, 
 But rough words may as soon 
 Blow down these trees 
 As do us any courtesy ; he must be sooth'd ! 
 Ah, Cunopes, reflect no more on these things ; 
 You are opportunely come to give attendance 
 Upon my lady : she's distracted ! 
 
 CuNO. Ha ! Is she mad 1 
 
 Leuc. Alas, her senses are all gone ! 
 
 CuNO. And mine too, out of compliment, 
 Are gone to bear 'em company. 'Tis grown 
 The fashion to be mad and wear plain heads, 
 Without the least trimming of wit. The Prince 
 
262 THE KIVALS. 
 
 By this time's mad with anger of the loss 
 
 Of s pris'ner ; And the Provost's mad with fear, 
 
 Lest he should take his turn : I'm almost mad 
 
 To think I was a fool in lending you 
 
 The keys. And mistress, if you have any reason. 
 
 You'll run mad too. 'Tis fit your wits should 
 
 Wait upon your lady's. 
 
 Cel. I'm very cold ! and all the stars are out 
 too j 
 Ev'n all the little stars which look like spangles : 
 The sun has seen my folly. Ah, Philander ! 
 Ay me ! He's in Heav'n, where am I now 1 
 
 Leuc. How wildly she discourses. 
 
 She sings. 
 
 Cel. For straight my green gown into breeches 
 I'll make. 
 And my long yellow locks much shorter 
 I'll take ; 
 Sing down a down, down a, down a. 
 Then I'll cut me a switch, and on that ride 
 
 about. 
 And wander and wander till I find him out. 
 With a heigh down, down a, down, down a. 
 
 for a hawthorn ; like a nightingale 
 To lean my breast against, or else I shall sleep 
 like a top. 
 Leuc. Let's follow her and see she injure not 
 
 herself ! 
 CuNO. I hope she is not so mad yet. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Country-man, and Women preparing fvr the 
 Solemnizing of the King's birthday. 
 
 1 CouN. Draw up the company ! Where's the 
 
 Taberer ? 
 Tab. Here, boys, here ! 
 
THE RIVALS. 263 
 
 Enter Taberer. 
 
 1 CoUN. You all know how to make your 
 
 honours. 
 All. Yes, yes. [All make honours^ 
 
 1 CouN. Sr. Reverence ! You make an honour, 
 you s — ? 
 
 Cast yourselves decently into a body 
 By a trace, and turn boys thus. 
 
 2 CouN. And sweetly we wiU do't, neighbours. 
 1 CouN. Where are your ribbands, maids ? swim 
 
 with your bodies. 
 
 3 CoUN. That they may do, they are light 
 enough. 
 
 1 OoTJN. Couple then and see what's wanting. 
 Friend, pray carry your tail without offence 
 Or scandal to the ladies ; and be sure 
 You dance with confidence, without being mov'd, 
 And when you stand still do it with judgment. 
 3 CouN. I'se warrant you I'se not stand a step 
 
 amiss. 
 1 CoUN. You, Mr Mason, you betray your trade 
 too much. 
 You dance as if you were treading of mortar. 
 Taberer, strike up ! 
 
 [Ee strikes up, and 1 Country-man dances a jig. 
 1. CoUN. Thou a Taberer, thou a tinker 1 we as 
 Well may dance after the tunes of grasshoppers. 
 
 Enter Celania, Cunopes, Leucippe. 
 
 Celania sings. 
 
 He deserVd much better than so 
 
 In the thick wood to be lost, 
 Where the .nut-trees grew so low 
 
 As if they had been nip'd with the frost, 
 whither, whither, my love, dost thou go ? 
 
264 THE RIVALS. 
 
 1 CoUN. Woman avoid : if it be your vocation 
 to be mad, 
 Pray be mad in some more fitting place ; 
 This is no place for mad folks. 
 CuNO. But 'tis for fools. 
 
 1 CouN. For though we have bells here ; yet we 
 have no whips. 
 Tho' we are about a morrice, 'tis no mad morrice. 
 CuNO. Who says she shan't be mad ? 
 1 CoUN. That do I, sir ! we have business here 
 that does concern 
 The Prince, matters of state and will not be disturb, 
 
 sir. 
 I cannot bear with her affronts. 
 
 CUNO. Can you bear with that, sir ? 
 
 [Cunopes strikes Mm. 
 1 CouN. Sir, I wou'd have you know I con ta' 
 any thing at a man's 
 Hands, but my spirit is too big to put up the 
 
 least 
 Affront offer'd me by a woman. 
 
 Celania sings. 
 There were three fools at mid-summer run mad ! 
 A bout an howlet a quarrel they had, 
 The one said 'twas an owl, the other he said 
 
 The third said it was a hawk but the bells were 
 
 cut away. 
 1. CouN. Woman, I say leave thy singing ! or 
 
 I'll give thee a good douze i'th' chop. 
 CuNO. Say you so, sir ? [SMkes him. 
 
 1. CoUN. Good sir, command your hands to be 
 more civil ; what, 
 
 Are you mad ? 
 
 Cela. Give me your hand ! 
 
 2. CoUN. Why] 
 
THE RIVALS. 265 
 
 . Cela. I can tell your fortune. You are a fool, 
 tell ten ! I have 
 Pos'd him — fa, la, la, la. 
 
 1. CoUN. Come, let's go and practice in some 
 other place. Prince 
 Will else be here ere we are perfect. 
 
 [Ex: Country Men and Women. 
 Cela. Well ! I'U go seek Philander: I shall find 
 him 
 Under some primrose : I am thirsty. Fetch 
 A glass of milk stript from the pretty dugs 
 Of some milch lady-cow. 
 
 Lady-cow, lady-cow, quick, go flee ! 
 
 And tell me now where my true love shall be. 
 
 Leuc. Let us keep close to her, good Cunopes. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Arcon, Polynices, Provost, Heraclia, 
 and attendants. 
 
 Arcon. They have found a pretty place within 
 the wood 
 For the solemnity. Methinks, Heraclia, y'are 
 melancholy. 
 Hera. Sir, I cannot chuse. 
 But bear a part in the good Provost's cares. 
 And mingle tears with him : he mourns, you see. 
 For his dear daughter's loss, poor lady ! 
 Good sir, cheer the Provost up. 
 
 Arcon. Provost, take comfort ! 
 Your daughter's not irreparably lost. 
 Nor yet the pris'ner : we'll send out to find 'em. 
 Prov. My grief, sir, will but discompose your 
 joys ; 
 Pray let your Highness now permit my absence. 
 Arcon. You will receive some ease by staying 
 here. 
 
266 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Prov. I shall not see for tears : Let me retire 
 Into some solitary place alone, 
 To bless your birthday, and to curse my own. 
 
 Argon. You have leave. Provost. But I hope, 
 ere long, 
 Your daughter's presence will dry up those tears. 
 
 PoLYN. Good man ! how has her loss dejected 
 him? 
 Methinks his face too much resembles death. 
 Each character of age does seem a grave. 
 
 Hera. Now I lament that e'er I tried Celania, 
 By telling her. Philander was to die. 
 
 PoLYN. Madam, you should suspend your grief 
 awhile, 
 Custom sometimes must nature overrule. 
 Think now not on Celania : but reflect 
 On this solemnity, and entertain 
 The birthday of the Prince, with thoughts that are 
 Of a serene complexion. See, they are coming ! 
 
 Enter First Country-man as Master of the revels. 
 
 Argon. This seems to be the country poet, 
 What 
 Represent you first ? 
 
 1 CoUN. We represent a morrice for the first thing. 
 Whose coutrements hang heavy on my 
 
 purse-string, 
 Tho' lightly on the hobby-horse and 
 
 dancers, 
 He learns to wighy,* and the rest to 
 
 prance, sirs. 
 They are all so skittish, that when you 
 
 behold 'em. 
 You may e'en swear the hobby-horse has 
 foald 'em, 
 Argon. Are they ready ? 
 
 * Wihie, or whinny. To neigh. 
 
THE RIVALS. 267 
 
 1 CouN. Th' are entering and, to shew I do not 
 bob ye, 
 The horse comes first here which is call'd 
 the hobby. 
 
 Enter hobby-horse. 
 
 Some with long spoons, quoth proverb 
 
 stale and addle 
 Eat with the devil ; this, sir, has a ladle. 
 
 Enter Tabeker. 
 
 Next comes the man with taber, which 
 
 by some 
 Among the pigmies is yclep'd a drum. 
 
 Enter all. 
 
 Then with the rest comes in that ugly 
 
 carrion 
 Which country batchelors do call maid- 
 
 Marrion. 
 
 [They dance the morrice here. 
 
 Argon. You have your thanks for this ! what is 
 your next 1 
 
 1. CouN. The next, sir, if your grace will be con- 
 tented, 
 
 A hunt in music will be represented. 
 
 If that your Highness' worship think it 
 good 
 
 To saunter but a little in the wood. 
 
 Good sir, be pleas'd to raise yourself and 
 go forth 
 
 To hear the horns, then see the hunt, and 
 so forth. 
 
 Arcon. Since you are master of the hunt, we'll 
 take 
 Our stand where you appoint us : lead the way ! 
 
268 THE RIVALS. 
 
 We'll change the scene awhile to see your sports : 
 Princes for pleasure may remove their courts. 
 
 [Ex. omnes. 
 
 The Fourth Act. 
 
 Enter AncoT'i, Polynices, Hbraclia, Attendants 
 and Country-Poet. 
 
 Poet. Let man of might sit down in dainty arbour, 
 Where trees are trimm'd as periwig is by 
 
 barber ; 
 And huntsmen soon shall come with horns 
 
 call'd bugle 
 Which are but few,, because we will be 
 frugal. [Exit Poet. 
 
 Arcon. Well ! we will be directed : 
 This wood has various places of delight, 
 It can afford both privacy and pleasure. 
 The call begins 
 
 Enter two Foresters. 
 
 [The call at distance representing the sound of 
 horns by instrumental music. 
 
 1 For. Heark, heark ! the call ! at distance it 
 
 appears 
 So gently that it softly courts our ears. 
 Whilst echo newly waken'd with the noise 
 Does drowsily reverberate the voice. 
 
 [The call agen louder. 
 
 2 For. Now 'tis come nearer, and does reach 
 
 the sky : 
 Objects grow greater by their being nigh. 
 1 For. Woods tremble with the wind, as if they 
 were 
 For some of their inhabitants in fear. 
 
THE RIVALS. 269 
 
 2 Foe. For one of them they well may fearful 
 seem, 
 For I myself did help to harbour him. 
 
 1 For. If so, you can with ease inform me then. 
 
 Of what head is he 1 
 
 2 For. A brave hart of ten. 
 
 1 For. But do his port and entries * promise 
 
 game? 
 
 2 For. That both his slote t and fumers J do pro- 
 
 claim. [A single reeheat winded. 
 
 1 For. Heark ! the reeheat ! § the stag now quits 
 
 his lair, 
 And sprightly bounds into the open air. 
 
 Music expresses the chase by voices and instru- 
 ments like holloing and winding of hoi-ns. 
 
 2 For. Now, now the dogs in a full cry pursue 
 
 The hart as fast as he does them eschew. 
 Whilst they with hollow mouths, foretel 
 
 his fall; 
 And in a concert chime his funeral. 
 Prithee let's take our stand here. 
 1 For. No ; they are at a loss, let's to 'em ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Huntress. 
 
 [Hollaing and shouting within. 
 Hunt. The dogs when at a loss their voice sup- 
 press'd, 
 And by that silence soon their fault con- 
 f^ss'd, 
 
 * Entries. Places in thickets -where deer have recently passed 
 through. 
 
 + The pit of the stomach. 
 
 t Fumes. Ordure. "And gif men speke and ask him of 
 the fumes, he shal clepe fumes of an hert.-' Mayster of the 
 Game, MS., Bodl., 546. 
 
 S A lesson which the huntsman wmds on the horn, when tne 
 hounds have lost their game, to call them back from following 
 a counter-scent. 
 
270 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Most of 'em were staunch-hounds ; * and 
 
 it is strange, 
 They made a loss which never hunted 
 
 change : 
 But now th'ave got the game agen in 
 
 view, 
 And do with violence the chase renew ; 
 Now, now, the stag is more in danger far 
 Of sinking soon. Eelapses fatal are ! 
 (Huntsmen within) There hlue-cap ! there, there, 
 there ! so ho, ho ! 
 Hunt. Heark ! heark ! The noise is now more 
 lively grown. 
 Their clamour shews the stag is plucking 
 
 down. 
 He sinks, he sinks ! their voice proclaim 
 
 his fall. 
 As thunder speaks a monarch's funeral. 
 [A noise of dogs representing the death of the stag. 
 
 Enter Two Forresters, Four Hunters, and 
 Four Huntresses, loith the stag's head. 
 
 1 For. They have made both essays. 
 
 2 For. a brave fat deer. 
 
 1 Hunt. See the stag's head which so did spread 
 his beam, 
 The small trees did seem to envy him. 
 
 1 For. When the relays were set of hound and 
 
 horse, 
 
 2 For. We all resolv'd to hunt it out at force. 
 Hunt. When first we rouz'd him, and he fled, 
 
 the wind 
 Was with the dogs left equally behind. 
 1 For. But when the game their following sight 
 
 out-went, 
 The dogs pursu'd him hotly by the scent. 
 
 * " Well entered for the game." 
 
THE RIVALS. 271 
 
 2 For. Then wearied to a bay lie quickly fell ; 
 
 And in a groan his tragedy did tell. 
 1 Foe. Nature with music did that groan out-vie, 
 
 A quire of birds did sing his obsequey. 
 
 Chorus. That chorus was, for fear they should 
 Forget their melting strain. 
 Taught by the echoes of the wood 
 To sing it o'er again. 
 
 Poet. Now for our dance, wherein we have no 
 small hope, 
 Because it does both amble, trot, and gal- 
 lop. 
 
 A Dance. 
 
 Hera. This entertainment's parcel-gilt, made up 
 Of various diversions. 
 
 Poly. We have had a country muse, who 
 Has set up with the help of a town poet. 
 
 Argon. Since all is done, 'tis time we shou'd 
 retire ; 
 Polynices, reward him ; we'll away ! 
 We must not keep too long a holiday. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Celania, Leucippe, and Cunopes. 
 Cela. Heark ! heark ! the grasshoppers — ^Phil- 
 ander's gone, 
 Gone to the wood to gather mulberries ! I'll find 
 Him out to-morrow. 
 
 Leuc. Alas ! how shall we do to get her home 1 
 
 Celania sings. 
 
 The heifer was lost in the green wood, 
 In the green wood, in the green wood, 
 
 Where she had gone astray. 
 By a bank of strawberries she stood 
 
 Lowing till break of day, 
 
272 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Then did the strawberries upon her smile 
 And sweetly seem'd to beg for cream the while. 
 
 Cela. Is not this a fine song 1 
 
 Leuc. 0, a very fine one. 
 
 CuNO. So fine, I'm sure it set my mouth a- 
 water. 
 
 Cela. I can sing twenty more. 
 
 Leuc. I think you can. 
 
 Cela. Yes truly, can I. Are you not a tailor 1 
 
 CuNO. A tailor, madam ? Troth, I think I am 
 none. 
 Because I eat so little bread : I'm sure 
 I have not touch'd a bit these two days. 
 
 Leuc. Fy, you must humour her ! say you are a 
 tailor. 
 
 CuNO. Must I then lie to call myself a thief? 
 Well, madam, I am a tailor. 
 
 Cela. Where's my wedding gown ? 
 
 CuNO. I'll, bring it home to-morrow. 
 
 Cela. Do. Very early ! I must be abroad else, 
 To call the maids and pay the music too ; 
 'TwiU never thrive else : but suppose Philander 
 Is taken, he must die then. 
 
 She sings. 
 
 And when Philander shall be dead, 
 
 I'll bury him, I'll bury him, 
 And I'll bury him in a primrose bed : 
 Then I'll sweetly ring his knell, 
 With a pretty cowslip bell. 
 Ding, ding, &c. 
 D'ye know Philander ? 
 
 CuNO. Know him ? Yes, yes, 
 Wou'd I cou'd see him, that I might renew 
 My old acquaintance witli him. 
 
 Cela. Is't not a fine young gentleman ? 
 CuNO. Too fine it seems to bear me company. 
 
THE RIVALS. 273 
 
 Leuc. By no means cross her : ste'll be then 
 distemper'd, 
 Far worse than now she seems. 
 
 Cela. You have a sister 1 
 
 CuNO. Yes, and a handsome one ; of my com- 
 plexion. 
 
 Cela. Many are now with child by him ; yet I 
 Keep close as any cockle. All are boys, 
 And must be eunuch' d for musicians. 
 To sing the battles of the king of pigmies : 
 They say he lately conquer'd all the cranes : 
 And took 'em pris'ners with his lime-twigs. 
 
 CuNO. 'Tis very strange ! 
 
 Cela. As e'er you heard : but say nothing. 
 Come hither ! you are a wise man. 
 
 CuNO. So, so, madam, I have a spice of policy : 
 But yet I fear, I hardly shall be made 
 A privy-counsellor, because I let 
 Philander 'scape. 
 
 Cela. And are not you the master of a ship 1 
 
 CuNO. Yes ! here's the vessel ! 'tis a man of 
 war: [Views himself . 
 
 Only it wants due stowage. I am hungry, 
 ]My guts are grown artillery, and roar 
 Like cannons. 
 
 Cela. Set your compass to the north 
 And steer towards Philander. 
 
 See how the dolphins caper there. 
 
 The fish keep holiday. 
 They dance corantos in the air, 
 
 And thus they shoot awa;y. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Philander, as from a bush. 
 
 Phil. I did not think so little time could have 
 Eestor'd a health so much decay'd : methinks 
 I am stronger than I was before, and long 
 v. s 
 
274- THE RIVALS. 
 
 Till we encounter, as if valour's heat 
 
 Grew, like a fever's, greater by a meal. 
 
 Cousin, thou hast built a buttress to support 
 
 My falling fabric and to crush thy own. 
 
 My thirst's allay'd : but, Theocles, thy blood 
 
 Must quench the draught rais'd by the heat of love ! 
 
 He promis'd to come double-sworded. That 
 
 Which he refuses I will kill him with. 
 One of us with this ev'ning sun must set. 
 
 Enter Theocles with two swords. 
 
 Theo. How d'ye, sir 1 
 
 Phil. A little stomach sick ; 
 But opening of a vein in you will cure me. 
 
 Theo. Be your own surgeon ; here are instru- 
 ments. 
 
 Phil. I've given you too great a trouble, sir. 
 
 Theo. 'Tis but a debt to honour and my duty. 
 
 Phil. I wish you would so well consult your 
 honour, 
 In your affection as your enmity, 
 Then my embraces not my blows should thank you. 
 
 Theo. Either well done is a brave recompence. 
 
 Phil. I shall not be behind hand with the pay- 
 ment. 
 
 Theo. These soft defiances oblige me, sir. 
 When I am wounded, some such words as these 
 Will fall like oil into my wounds, and cure 'em. 
 But for your rougher terms they are like bullets 
 Chawl'd into poison. Let our language be 
 Serene, and if a tempest must be seen, 
 Let our swords shew it : here I have brought you 
 
 one. 
 But if you feel yourself not fitting yet, 
 I'll stay till you recover health. 
 
 Phil. Cousin ! thou art so brave an enemy, 
 That none is fit to kill thee but a kinsman ; 
 
THE RIVALS. 275 
 
 I'm well and lusty : choose your sword ! I have 
 Advantage of you in my cause. 
 Theo. Choose you, sir ! 
 
 Phil. Wilt thou exceed in all ? Or dost thou do 
 it 
 To make me spare thee t 
 
 Theo. If thou think so, cousin. 
 You are deceiv'd, for I shall not spare you. 
 
 Phil. That's well said ! this is mine, then ; 
 And be sure I shaU strike home. 
 Theo. I'll give you cause enough ! Is there 
 
 ought else to say ? 
 Phil, This only, and no more, sir : If there be 
 A place prepar'd for those who sleep in honour, 
 I wish his weary soul, who falls, may have it, 
 Whilst the survivor does enjoy the pleasure 
 Of an unrivall'd love. Give me your hand ! 
 Theo. Philander, here ! This hand shall never 
 more 
 Come near you with such friendship. 
 Phil. Once more stand off ! 
 
 [They fight. H<rrns within. They stop. 
 Theo. Hark, cousin, hark ! our folly has undone 
 
 us. 
 Phil. Why 1 
 
 Theo. The Prince is returning from the celebra- 
 tion 
 Of his nativity. Dear sir, retreat 
 Into your bush agen ; if you are seen 
 You perish instantly, for breaking prison. 
 And I, if you reveal me, for contempt of 
 The Prince's order. 
 
 Phil. I'll no more be hidden ; I know your cun- 
 ning and I know 
 Your cause ; I'll not refer this great adventure 
 To a second trial. Stand upon your guard ! 
 Theo. You are mad I 
 
276 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Phil. Let what will threaten me ; the beauty of 
 Heraclia 
 Makes me scorn the frowns of fortune for Her- 
 aclia. 
 Theo. Then come what may come, you shall see 
 I can as well tight 
 As talk, only I fear the law will have the honour of 
 our 
 
 Ends. Philander at thy life ! 
 
 Phil. Guard well thy own ! 
 
 Unter Arcon, Polynices, Heraclia, Attendants 
 wnd Guards. 
 
 Arcon. "VlTiat insolent and unadvised men 
 Are these, which here attempt each other's life 
 Against the tenour of my laws ? You both 
 Deserve to die for striving thus to kill each other. 
 
 Phil. I know it, sir : we are both 
 Contemners of your mercy ! I'm Philander 
 Who broke your prison. This is Theocles ! 
 
 Arcon. Ha ! 
 
 Phil. A bolder traitor never trod your ground. 
 
 PoLYN. Alas ! I have been generous in vain. 
 
 Phil. 'Tis he contemns you, and in this disguise. 
 Forgetting your command, attends that lady, 
 Whose servant, if there be a right in seeing 
 And first bequeathing of the soul, I am ; 
 Yet he dares think her his, which treachery 
 I call'd him here to answer. If you e'er 
 Deserv'd the attributes of great and just. 
 Bid us to fight again, and you shall see 
 Such justice as you'll envy ; then you may 
 Divest me of my life. I'll woo ye to it. 
 
 Hera. What miracle is this ? Both fight for me ? 
 
 Arcon. You are a bold defyer of your fate. 
 
 Theo. Your breath of mercy, sir, I shall not 
 court. 
 
THE RIVALS. 277 
 
 I can as resolutely die as you command it ; 
 Only let me say I am no traitor, tho' Philander 
 Calls_ me so ; unless my love be treason. Then 
 
 indeed 
 I'm the greatest traitor, and am proud on't : 
 If you ask why I slighted your command. 
 Ask why I love, and why that lady's fair 1 
 
 Hera. Can both be kindl'd into love by me. 
 And love enflame 'em into so much hate ? [Aside. 
 
 Phil. Monarch ! as you are just, shew us no 
 mercy : 
 Let us expire together ; only, sir. 
 Let Theocles a while before me fall. 
 That I may tell my soul he shall not have her. 
 
 ArCON. Your wish is granted ! he oiFended most, 
 And first shall die : nor shall you long survive 
 
 him. 
 Polynices, secure them till the morning ! 
 Then they shall wake to sleep for ever. 
 
 PoLYN. Good sir, be pleas'd to moderate their 
 doom. 
 
 Argon. You supplicate in vain : convey 'em 
 hence ! 
 
 PoLYN. I shall obey you, sir, but heaven can tell 
 With what reluctaiicy : Now, madam, you must 
 Intercede for 'em, or else your face. 
 Wherein the world reads beauty, yet will be 
 With curses blotted of succeeding youth, 
 For these lost gentlemen. 
 
 [Ex. Polyn., Philan, Theocles. 
 
 Hera. My face is guiltless of their ruin ; but 
 The misadventure of their own eyes kills 'em, 
 Yet I have pity and will plead for 'em. 
 Grood sir, retract your sentence ! if they fall 
 Virtue will suffer in 'em. 
 
 Arcon. Why should you iiltercede ? if they 
 survive 
 
278 THE KIVALS. 
 
 The public danger will be kept alive. 
 I'm sorry niece, they love you ! 
 
 Heea. 'Tis their fate ! 
 Can love to me deserve my uncle's hate 1 
 Should they for loving me untimely fall ? 
 Tho' now Heraclia they may gentle call, 
 Their groans will speak me cruel at the last, 
 And every sigh my reputation blast. 
 
 Argon. Suppose I should permit 'em both to 
 
 live, 
 'Twould but a little time their death reprieve : 
 They'ld love you still, and loving you would fight, 
 Eivals' affections do to death excite. 
 Whilst they survive they will foment that fire 
 Which in their ashes quickly would expire. 
 
 Hera. But when that flame, sir, with their ashes 
 
 dies. 
 Another flame will from my beauty rise ; 
 And that, which kindl'd their unhappy love, 
 To other's hate will provocation prove ; 
 Their de&,ths will make me loath'd ; my honour 
 
 shall 
 Contract a blackness from their funeral. 
 
 Arcon. Since with such violence you intercede. 
 One shall find pardon, though th' other bleed. 
 Your breath shall have the liberty to save 
 One, and condemn the other to the grave. 
 
 Hera. The death of one alone then shall 
 
 sufl&ce, 
 I'll make him the survivor's sacrifice. 
 
 The noble Theocles shall live but why ? 
 
 Philander is as much too good to die : 
 Distracted thus I know not which to choose. 
 One I would save, but not the other lose. 
 May not both live ? 
 
 Arcon. Not in regard of them. 
 But for your sake, I do not both condemn. 
 
THE RIVALS. 279 
 
 You cannot marry both, and, when I save 
 But one, you can no more from hymen crave ; 
 By love's great law you can but one enjoy, 
 Him you must quickly choose or both destroy. 
 
 [Exit Anon. 
 
 Hera. With rigid honour, gentle pity join'd 
 To plead for those whom he to death design' d. 
 He thinks I spake from principles of love, 
 Now both of 'em I from my thoughts remove. 
 He told me I by one should be enjoy' d. 
 Which partial fortune that I may avoid, 
 I'll equally permit 'em both to die. 
 That so I may do neither injury. [Exit Princess. 
 
 The Fifth Act. 
 
 Enter Messenger and Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. How sir ? Did Cunopes assist you then 
 To bring my lady back 1 
 
 Mess. Yes, but he stood a long time in suspense, 
 And scarce would have return'd, had not two men, 
 Who cross'd the way in haste, acquainted us 
 That not far off the Prince had in the wood 
 Surpris'd Philander fighting with his cousin. 
 
 Nurse. Alas ! poor gentleman. 
 
 Mess. This news made him hope 
 He might be pardon'd, then he assum'd courage. 
 And with Leucippe's help we have brought home 
 Celania, though distracted. 
 
 Nurse. Blessing on your heart ! 
 We have some hopes she soon will be recover'd. 
 The Prince's physician gives the Provost comfort. 
 He says Philander's and her want 
 Of sleep caus'd her distemper : He prescrib'd 
 
280 THE RIVALS. 
 
 A cordial, which by this time she has taken 
 To force her to a slumber. 
 Mess. They are ent'ring ! 
 Nurse. I dare not stay to see her ! 'las, poor 
 lady : 
 I cannot look upon her without weeping. 
 
 [Ex. Nurse. 
 
 Enter Provost, Celania, Leucippe, and Cunopes. 
 
 Prov. ! May the cordial rectify her senses, 
 Or mine will else unsettle ; I shall grow 
 Distracted with her madness : as if reason 
 Might be infected, like related blood. 
 
 Cela. Have you seen the crop'd horse Phil- 
 ander gave me t 
 
 CuNO. A horse ? Yes, yes ! I thank him too : 
 he did 
 His good-wiU to bestow a horse on me, 
 A wooden one that must be rid forsooth 
 With a halter instead of a bridle. 
 
 Cela. He's a fine horse ! you never saw him 
 dance 1 
 
 Leuc. No, madam . 
 
 Mess. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 Cei.a. He'll dance the morrice twenty mile an- 
 hour. 
 And that will founder the best hobby-horse in 
 Arcadia : he gallops to the tune of green-sleeves. 
 What think you of him ? 
 
 CuNO. Having these virtues 
 I think he might be brought to play at tennis. 
 
 Cela. Alas, that's nothing ! 
 
 CuNO. Can he write and read too 1 
 
 Cela. yes, a fair hand, aiid casts himself 
 Th' account of all his hay and provender. 
 That hostler that does cozen him must rise betimes. 
 
 CuNO. This horse has so much reason, I believe 
 
THE RIVALS. 28 1 
 
 The Trojan-horse begot him whilst he had 
 So many men in's belly. 
 
 Cela. The Prince's chest-nut mare's in love with 
 him. 
 
 CUNO. What portion has she 1 
 
 Cela. Two hundred bottles of hay, and twenty 
 strike 
 Of oats: he lisps in his neighing too, and that 
 
 entic'd 
 Her first : but he'll ne'er have her. 
 How far is't to the world's end ? 
 
 CuNO. That's a hard question. Had Philander 
 ne'er been found, 
 Again, I might within these two days 
 Have been so much a traveller as to resolve her, 
 But as things stand she may know best herself : 
 For she's the next door to't ; at her wit's end. 
 
 Cela. I must go to the world's end, and must 
 meet 
 Philander there. We shall be ferried o'er 
 Into the shades where blessed spirits walk 
 To gather nose-gays and sometimes to play 
 At barley-break. 
 
 Mess. How prettily her fancy wanders ! 
 
 Cela. They lead a sore life in the other place. 
 Burning, frying, boiling, hissing, cursing ! 
 There some are put in cauldrons full of lead 
 And userers' grease, amongst a million 
 Of cutpurses, and there boil like a gammon 
 Of bacon that will never be enough. 
 
 Prov. Alas ! will the cordial never work 1 
 
 Cela. 'tis fine sport to hear a city wife 
 And a proud lady howl together there : 
 One cries out : 0, this smoke ! the other, this fire ! 
 One curses the day-bed and garden walks. 
 The other all her husband's customers ; 
 But in the other place we dance and sing. 
 
282 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Here she sm 
 My lodging it is on the cold ground, 
 
 And very hard is my fare, 
 But that -which troubles me most, is 
 
 The unkindness of my dear, 
 Yet still I cry, 0, turn love, 
 
 And I prithee love turn to me, 
 For thou art the man that I long for, 
 
 And, alack ! what remedy 1 
 
 I'll crown thee with a garland of straw then, 
 
 And I'll marry thee with a rush ring,* 
 My frozen hopes shall thaw then, 
 
 And merrily we will sing : 
 turn to me my dear love. 
 
 And prithee love turn to me ! 
 For thou art the man that alone canst 
 
 Procure my liberty. 
 
 But if thou wilt harden thy heart, still. 
 
 And be deaf to my pitiful moan. 
 Then I must endure the smart still. 
 
 And tumble in straw alone. 
 Yet still I cry, 0, turn love. 
 
 And I prithee love turn to me ! 
 For thou art the man that alone art 
 
 The cause of my misery. 
 
 [That done, she lies down and falls asleep. 
 
 Prov. At last it has prevaiFd ! 
 Oh ! in mercy Heaven, to-day, 
 Restore her senses or take mine away. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing Celania out. 
 
 * A custom extremely hurtful to the interests of morality 
 appears anciently to have prevailed in England as well as in 
 other countries, of marrying with a rush ring ; chiefly practised, 
 however, by designing men for the purpose of debauching their 
 mistresses, who sometimes were so infatuated, as to believe that 
 this mock ceremony was a real marriage. — Brand. 
 
THE RIVALS. 283 
 
 JiJnter Arcon. 
 
 Arcon. My niece, whilst she refuses to disclose 
 Which she affects, does both to death expose, 
 But I've contriv'd a means to end the strife, 
 And, saving one, destroy the other's life. 
 If by her love their fate cannot be known, 
 It shall be soon discover'd by their own ; 
 I've sent to try their honour and their love. 
 He, who possesses most of both, shall prove 
 His own absolver, and who ever shall 
 Merit the least will best deserve to fall. 
 
 Enter Heraclia. 
 
 Hera. Though I was once resolv'd to let 'em 
 die, 
 The Prince's temper I again will try. 
 I then for neither any pity felt. 
 But now I find that resolution melt. 
 For one of 'em I needs must intercede, 
 Yet for the other I alike shou'd plead. 
 
 Arcon. She comes ! I'll try her ! Welcome my 
 fair niece. 
 Come you to bring Philander a release 
 Or Theocles 1 Which choose you ? 
 
 Hera. Sir, I come 
 To implore that you would mitigate their doom. 
 
 Arcon. My justice and my mercy in me strive. 
 Both to destroy and both to keep alive. 
 
 Hera. Both to destroy would look like cruelty. 
 
 Arcon. In saving both I should too gentle be. 
 
 Hera. I'm disoblig'd if you take cithers' life. 
 Because their love to me begot their strife. [Aside. 
 
 Arcon. This intercession must proceed from 
 love, 
 Else so importunate she could not prove. 
 Yet then, methinks, she but for one should sue, 
 Afi^ection never hovers betwixt two, 
 
284 THE RIVALS. 
 
 I'll try which way her inclination lies, 
 If either she affects the other dies. 
 
 Hera. Why are you silent, sir'! your mercy 
 may 
 Be shown without consulting or delay. 
 
 Arcon. My justice bids me neither to respect, 
 But when I do on Theocles reflect, 
 My justice into mercy does relent. 
 To save him I could easily consent. 
 
 Hera. Have you forgot Philander's manly looks, 
 And with what courage he misfortune brooks 1 
 Valour enthron'd upon his brow does sit. 
 Commanding pity yet disdaining it ; 
 So brave a spirit who could not forgive t 
 By scorning life he more deserves to live. 
 
 Arcon. Pardon should to entreating looks be 
 shown ; 
 Philander's face presents us threats alone. 
 He has no winning feature to allure : 
 He has wherewith to kill but not to cure. 
 
 Hera. Though killing frowns sit on his fore- 
 head now. 
 He when he pleases can unbend his brow ; 
 And then his face, which did appear ere while 
 All overcast, clears up into a smile. 
 His face would make a winter and a spring. 
 What his frowns nipt his smiles to life would 
 bring. 
 
 Arcon. Now I'm a little satisfi'd, I know [Aside 
 On whom my justice rightly to bestow ; 
 Poor satisfaction made of grief and joy 
 To be instructed whom I may destroy. 
 Heraclia ! I must needs approve your choice. 
 Philander highly does deserve your voice. 
 
 Hera. How, sir 1 [Starts 
 
 Arcon. His sadness does become him well. 
 Pleasure does in his graver aspects dwell. 
 
THE RIVALS. 285 
 
 Theocles then must die. 
 
 Hera. Theocles die ? 
 The man whom you but now extoll'd so high 1 
 Your voice exalts his worth before he dies, 
 As beasts are garnish' d for a sacrifice : 
 How can you, sir, brave Theocles conceive. 
 Too good to die, and yet too bad to live. 
 
 Argon. My commendations only were design'd 
 To try which way your fancies were inclin'd ; 
 And since you do Philander's worth approve. 
 Straight Theocles must yield his life and love. 
 
 Hera. Shall his bright glories in their east de- 
 cline. 
 And must they set before they fully shine ? 
 
 Argon. Now my distraction's greater than 
 before, [Aside. 
 
 Hoping to make it less I've made it more ; 
 Her fancy's at a loss, and knows not whom 
 To choose : 'Tis like a gazing child become, 
 Which when two toys alike do please his eye, 
 Cannot distinguish but for both does cry. 
 Yet she shall see her rival-lovers tried. 
 Her kindness, through some blush may be descried. 
 
 Unter PoLYNiCES, Philander, Theogles, and 
 guards. 
 
 Polynices ! How find you them inclin'd ? 
 
 Poly. Your .trial, sir, will best disclose their 
 mind; 
 According to your orders here they are ! 
 Both alike hope, and both alike despair. 
 
 Argon. The strange afiection which in both I 
 see, 
 I can admire, but cannot remedy ; 
 Both love her whom you both cannot possess, 
 Whilst neither more affects, and neither less, 
 Both being kindl'd with such equal fires. 
 
286 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Each to the other's prejudice conspires, 
 Theocles makes Philander's hope in vain. 
 Who equally does Theocles restrain ; 
 My resolution staggers into doubt. 
 
 POLYN. The hand of fortune may perhaps find 
 out 
 The most deserving and whom fates decree 
 To be most happy they by lottery 
 May so reveal as may your doubts remove, 
 Blind chance oft guides in blind intrigues of love. 
 
 Arcon. Are you content that fortune shall 
 decide 
 This intricate dispute 1 
 
 Phil. I'll not be tried 
 By chance ; fortune has cruel been to me, 
 Which makes me now defy her courtesy. 
 Sir, I have felt her injuries so long. 
 That I presume in this she'd do me wrong : 
 I have so long contemn'd her frowning brow. 
 That for a smile I scorn to court her now. 
 
 Hera. Bravely resolv'd ! 
 
 Argon. But, Theocles, do you 
 Eefuse to trust your cause with fortune too 1 
 
 Theo. This lady's beauty, and the judge 
 assign'd, 
 Both inconsistent are. 
 Why should a judge so altogether blind 
 Bestow a prize so fair 1 
 
 Phil. We scorn the hands of fortune, and alone 
 Request we may decide it with our own ; 
 Let's fight it out ! 
 
 Theo. The sword must end the strife, and the 
 same bell 
 Eing one his wedding and the other's knell. 
 
 Arcon. Neither does to his rival yet give place, 
 Nor any index in Heraclia's face 
 Does yet discover which she does affect ; 
 
THE RIVALS. 287 
 
 She knows not which to choose nor to reject. 
 Will you then both remit it to her choice, 
 And either be contented if her voice 
 Elect the other, calmly to resign 
 His title 1 
 
 Phil. Calmly, sir ! If she incline 
 To Theocles then let her bid me die, 
 And willingly I'll on her voice rely. 
 Let the same breath bless him, and me destroy, 
 'Tis not so much to live as to enjoy. 
 
 PoLYN. 'Tis bravely spoken ! 
 
 Hera. His last charming breath 
 Has almost won my love by courting death. 
 
 Arcon. His words have mov'd her, in her face 
 I find 
 She quickly to Philander will be kind. 
 But what says Theocles ? 
 
 Theo. I only crave, 
 That if she bless Philander with her bed. 
 She wou'd in pity bless me with the grave. 
 Why should I live after my hopes are dead ? 
 If her enliv'ning smile his love shall crown, 
 I beg the mercy of some killing frown. 
 Let her eyes lighten and destroy me so, 
 I shall be happy in the shades below : 
 Where in some melancholy cypress grove, 
 Transform'd into a ghost, I'll always love. 
 As well as ghosts may do, for there I will 
 Be blest in courting her idea stUl. 
 
 Hera. I'm lost again ! 
 
 Arcon. Ha ! she's concern'd ! it was an error then 
 To think she lov'd Philander, yet I'll make 
 Some farther trial, lest I should mistake. 
 Go, call in the men ! 
 
 PoLYN. Royal sir, I shall ! [Exit Polyn. 
 
 Hera. "V^Tiat can these be whom he in haste 
 does caU ? 
 
288 THE RIVALS. 
 
 One of my servants 1 What can they design 
 By introducing any man of mine 1 
 
 Enter Polynices with two men. 
 
 PoLYN. What is't that you of Theocles can 
 say ? 
 
 1 Man. That he disguis'd himself in mean 
 array 
 To be admitted in the Princess' train, 
 Hoping an opportunity to gain 
 Of singling out her person, when she shou'd 
 Be hunting next within Diana's wood. 
 Having resolv'd first to convey her hence 
 Then to assault that love by violence : 
 Which by his courtship he might well despair 
 Of gaining. 
 
 Phil. These, thy black aspersions are 
 As false as Theocles to honour true. 
 He offer violence ! Heavens can you 
 Permit this blasphemy 1 Can you endure 
 To see so black a cloud his worth obscure ? 
 Which wou'd, but that he does unjustly love, 
 So bright appear, as wou'd all envy move. 
 
 Argon. Can you be guilty, sir, of this attempt 1 
 
 Theo. Sir ! 
 
 Phil. From such designs I'm sure he is exempt. 
 
 Arcon. Will you your rival vindicate ? 
 
 Phil. I must ! 
 Else to his honour I shou'd be unjust. 
 
 Theo. Cousin, you are too civil. Let me be 
 Judg'd of by circumstance. 
 
 Hera. Methinks I see 
 The brightness of Philander's worth increase. 
 Whilst he would clear the worth of Theocles. 
 Now my respects more evident will grow : 
 The world Philander's equal cannot show. 
 
 Argon. I see she fixes on Philander j yet 
 
THE RIVALS. 2SII 
 
 I'll try her somewhat further. Friend, repeat 
 What of Philander you but now confess' dj 
 
 2 Man. Philander, sir, deserves not to be bless'd 
 With such a lady. 
 
 Phil. Villain! 
 
 Argon. Calm your rage. 
 And let your reason passion now assuage, 
 Till you have heard him out. Let him proceed ! 
 
 2 Man. His glories are all sullied by a deed 
 As black as she is fair : for he has shewn 
 A cowardice which he will blush to own. 
 
 Theo. Detracting villain, could Philander fly 
 Each motion of his sword gives thee the lie, 
 Whose light'ning took perhaps thy sight away, 
 As bats and owls are dazzl'd with the day : 
 That sword which brandish'd made all otlieis 
 
 quake. 
 Blinded thy eye-sight into this mistake. 
 
 PoLYN. How equally these miracles of men 
 Do share in honour ! 
 
 Hera. I'm lost again ! 
 O Theocles, a parallel to thee 
 Can be produc'd by no chronology. 
 
 Argon. Ha ! my confusion then must still re- 
 main ; 
 My trials do but more distraction gain. 
 They are alike deserving and belov'd. 
 But, if perhaps Philander were remov'd, 
 On Theocles she then may fix her mind. 
 Which is unconstant now, and unconfiu'd. 
 Polynices ! Convey Philander hence. 
 
 Phil. Wherein have I committed more offence 
 Than Theocles, that I no longer may 
 Have equal happiness by equal stay 1 
 
 PoLYN. Stand not disputing, sir! you must away. 
 
 [Ex. Polyn. tvUh Phil. 
 
 V. T 
 
290 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Enter Provost, Celania, Leucippe, Cunopes, at 
 another door. 
 Argon. Provost, you are welcome ! 'Tis some 
 joy to me 
 That such fair weather in your face I see. 
 Prov. If I appear serener than before, 
 It is because kind fortune does restore 
 My long lost daughter to me, and to her 
 Those wandering senses which distracted were. 
 Hera. I heard she was return'd, but that which 
 you 
 Eelate of her distraction, never knew. 
 
 Cela. You have falsely said 
 That I shou'd find Philander here : He's dead ! 
 Ay me, he's walking in some pleasant shade 
 Amongst the ghosts, singing the songs he made 
 Concerning love. 
 
 Prov. 0, where's Philander, sir ? 
 She will relapse again, if we defer 
 To bring her to him. 
 
 Argon. Some of you make haste, 
 To bring Philander back. [Ex. for Philander. 
 
 Cela. Now does he through each pleasant 
 meadow go, 
 And then he walks through all the groves below, 
 Where, when his eyes shine brightly through the 
 
 glades. 
 The ghosts may walli in groves, but not in shades. 
 Prov. His speedy presence must her sense re- 
 store. 
 Or it will farther wander than before. 
 
 Enter Polyniges, Philander, and Guards. 
 
 Cela. Ha ! Can Philander yet be living ? Ko, 
 He's not above, but I am sure below 
 Amongst the blessed spirits, and, at most, 
 I do but now behold Philander's ghost. 
 
THE RIVALS. 291 
 
 Alas, why fly you, sir 1 can ghosts be coy 1 
 Or is't because none e'er can ghosts enjoy 1 
 
 Hera. I see ; 
 Except Philander there's no remedy. 
 
 Cela. I'll follow you through every myrtle grove, 
 Through all the thickest labyrinths of love, 
 As shadows always with the substance move. 
 
 Phil. Madam 
 
 Hera. Celania, I have done you wrong. 
 And I have sufler'd by my fault too long. 
 
 ASCON. Now I'm well instructed to proceed : 
 I see to whom Heraclia is decreed ; 
 The controversy I shall soon decide, 
 Both now shall live, and both be gratified. 
 Here, Theocles, on you I will bestow 
 Heraclia. 
 
 Phil. Ha! 
 
 Theo. Will she herself say so ? 
 
 Hera. Celania to Philander's love does lay 
 So great a claim, that I must needs obey ; 
 Sir, you have my consent. I cannot defer 
 To give myself lest I should injure her. 
 
 Phil . 'Then I am happy made to that degree, 
 That the most fortunate should envy me. 
 
 Theo. Must I be to Heraclia lost ? 
 
 Arcon. You must. 
 Else to Celania you will be unjust. 
 
 Hera. I weep when I your obstinacy see. 
 And sigh when I remember her. Good sir. 
 Permit my tears to quench your flames to me. 
 And let my sighs kindle your love to her. 
 
 Prov. Her reason has to love a martyr been, 
 O, let your pity give it life again ! 
 Phil. My heart did first Heraclia's ca])tivi- 
 prove. 
 To her I am oblig'd in bonds of love. 
 Celania gave my person liberty, 
 
292 THE RIVALS. 
 
 To her by honour I should grateful be, 
 I owe myself to both, what shall I do 
 To be to love, and yet to honour, true ? 
 
 Theo. Cousin, the Princess does herself bestow 
 On me, so that whatsoever debt you say. 
 You, in affection, still to her may owe. 
 You are oblig'd in honour not to pay. 
 
 Phil. 'Tis true she has forsaken me. 
 
 POLYN. You may. 
 Without entrenching on your love, defray 
 The debt you owe to honour, since you see 
 The Princess from the other sets you free. 
 
 Argon. Stand not demurring, sir : give me your 
 hand ! 
 With that I doubt not but I shall command 
 Celania into health. See how her eye 
 Is fix'd on you as on her remedy. 
 
 Cela. What do I feel ? Can apparitions be 
 
 So liable to sense 1 Or is it he. 
 
 And living stiU 1 
 
 Speak, sir, may we with truth conceive 
 That you still live ? I shall your voice believe 
 Though I distrust my senses. 
 
 Phil. I am still 
 The same Philander which you freed. 
 
 Cela. And can you love 1 
 
 Phil. Ay, there's the question which I knew 
 she'd move. 
 Know I can love, and since that love does want 
 Growth in Heraclia's bosom I'll transplant 
 It into yours. 
 
 CUNO. Mistress, I wish you'ld be 
 As pliant and as merciful to me. 
 
 Leuc. I am flesh and blood. 
 
 <^UNO. I would not wed a ghost. 
 
 Leuc. I cannot see so good a servant lost. 
 
 Hera. Dear Celania ! nought greater can ensue 
 
THE RIVALS. 293 
 
 May do this bliss in Theocles and you. 
 
 Theo. My admiration and my love contest, 
 Which shall out-vie the other in my breast. 
 
 Phil. My quarrel here with Theocles shall end, 
 I lose a rival and preserve a friend ; 
 Celania does our cause of strife remove, 
 We only shall contend which most shall love. 
 Cela. How much am I to love and fortune 
 bound l 
 Finding Philander I myself have found. 
 
 Argon. Those senses which excessive grief 
 destroys. 
 May be recovered by excessive joys. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 
MACBETH. 
 
Macbeth, a Tragedy ; with all tJw Alterations, Amend- 
 ments, Additions, and New Songs, as it is now acted at the 
 Tlieatre Royal. London, printed for Hen. Herringham, 
 and are to he sold by .Tos. Knight and Fra. Saunders at 
 the Blue Anchor, in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 
 1673. 4*0. 
 
 lb., 1687. _ Uo. ' 
 
 lb. As it is now acted at the Queen's Theatre. London, 
 jirinted for J. Tonson, and sold by John Phillips at the 
 Black Bull, over against the Royal Exchange in Cornhill. 
 1710. ito. 
 
The Tragedy of "Macbeth," as adapted for representation 
 by D'avenant, "was brought forward with machines for 
 the Witches, with dancing, and with all that singing 
 which still continues to disgrace this admirable tragedy. 
 In this shape it was very successful, and proved a 
 lasting play. It was published in 1674 with all the 
 alterations, amendments, additions, and new songs, as 
 acted at the Duke's Theatre." * The name of D'avenant 
 does not appear on the title, but Downes expressly 
 attributes it to him ; and as it was produced at his 
 Theatre with those scenic additions which had in 
 previous dramas delighted the public, the presumption 
 is that he it was who ventured upon the bold experiment 
 of disfiguring Shakespeare. 
 
 The play was reprinted in 1687, 4to, but this has not 
 been noticed in the Biographia Dramatica. 
 
 A verbatim reprint again of that edition, retaining 
 even the printer's blunders, appeared in 1710, and the 
 following was then the cast of the characters : — ■ 
 Men. 
 
 ■if 
 
 Mk Keen. 
 Mb Coeey. 
 Mk Bullock, Junr. 
 Captain Geiffin. 
 Me Bettbrton. 
 Me Mills. 
 Mr Wilks. 
 Mb Husband. 
 Me Biokeestaffe. 
 Mes B. Poetee. 
 Me Faiebank. 
 Me Cross. 
 
 Women, 
 Maobeth's Lady .... Mrs Knight. 
 Macdujt's LiADy .... Mrs Eogers. 
 
 Heocate Me Johnson. 
 
 A waiting Gentlewoman, Witches, Sei-vants, and Attendants. 
 • Geneste, Vol. I., p. 139. 
 
 King of Scotland 
 
 Malcolm 
 
 donalbain . 
 
 Lenox 
 
 Macbeth 
 
 Banquo 
 
 Macduff 
 
 Seymour 
 
 Seyton 
 
 Banquo's Son 
 
 1 murtherer 
 
 2 murtheeeb 
 
298 MACBETH. 
 
 There is no decisive evidence of the first performance 
 of D'avenant's " Macbeth." Pepys says that on the 5th 
 November 1664 he went " to the Duke's house to see 
 Macbeth, a pretty good play, but admirably acted."* 
 He did not again return until the 28th of December 
 1666, when he went to the " Duke's house, and there 
 saw Macbeth most excellently acted, and a most excellent 
 play for variety." t Upon the 7th of January following, 
 he was at the same Theatre, " and saw Macbeth, which, 
 though I saw it lately, yet appears a most excellent play 
 in all respects, but especially in divertusement, though it 
 be a deep tragedy ; which, is a strange perfection in a 
 tragedy, being most proper here and suitable." J 
 
 These remarks establish that Pepys was greatly 
 gratified with the "divertissements," and considered it a 
 " strange prefection " in a deep tragedy — ^but proper 
 here and suitable. This appears to have been the pre- 
 valent opinion at the time. 
 
 Betterton originally performed Macbeth ; on one 
 occasion, having been taken ill, his part was assigned to 
 a Mr Young, who, according to Pepys, was a bad actor, 
 so much so that when he went§ to witness the perform- 
 ance, he says, "what a prejudice it wrought to me 
 against the whole play ; and every body else agreed 
 in disliking this fellow." Mrs Pepys was so much 
 displeased that she left the Theatre in disgust, and 
 went home, where her husband found her. It may 
 be suspected that he had been looking too much about 
 him, and that it was the pretty faces of the ladies, and 
 not the bad acting of Young, that was the cause of the 
 lady's anxiety to get away from the theatre. 
 
 The last entry in his diary, when he went on a sub- 
 sequent occasion to the Duke's playhouse once more 
 to see "Macbeth" is amusing. || 21st December 1667, 
 — " The King and Court there ; and we sat just under 
 them, and my Lady Castlemain, and close to a woman 
 that comes into the pit, a kind of a loose gossip, that 
 pretends to be like her, and is so, something. And iny 
 wife by my troth appeared, I think, as pretty as any of 
 
 * Diary, Vol. II., p. 395. J Vol. III., p. 372. 
 
 + Vol. III., p. 367. § 16th October 1667. 
 
 II Vol. v., p. 70. 
 
MACBETH. 299 
 
 them, I never thought so much before." " The King 
 and the Duke of York minded me, and smiled upon me, 
 at the handsome woman near me ; but it vexed me to 
 see Moll Davies, in the box over the Kicg's and my Lady 
 Castlemain's, look down upon the King and he up to 
 her ; and so did my Lady Castlemain once, to see who 
 it was ; but when she saw MoU Davies she looked like 
 fire, which troubled me." 
 
 Langbaine, who formed one of the audience, when 
 "Macbeth" was reproduced at the Duke's Theatre after 
 D'avenant's death, mentions that " at the acting of this 
 tragedy, on th§ stage, I saw a real one acted in the pit ; 
 I mean the death of Mr Scroop, who received his death's 
 wound from the late Sir Thomas Armstrong, and died 
 presently after he was removed to a house opposite the 
 Theatre in Dorset Garden." 
 
 Downes writes thus of "Macbeth," when acted at the 
 Theatre in Dorset Garden : — " The tragedy of Macbeth, 
 altered by Sir William D'avenant, being drest in all its 
 finery, as new cloaths, new scenes, machines, as flyings 
 for the witches, with all the singing and dancing in it 
 (the first composed by Mr Lock, the other by Mr 
 Channel and Mr Joseph Priest), it being all excellently 
 performed, being in the nature of an opera, it recom- 
 penced double the expence; it proves still a lasting 
 play." Jtoscius Anglieaaus, p. 33. 
 
 " Macbeth " found its way to Edinburgh, probably 
 brought there by Thomas St. Serfe, or Sydserf, a son of 
 the Bishop of Orkney, — the only Bishop of the Scotch 
 Episcopalians, who after the restoration, was restored to 
 his original position. Sydserf was the author of a 
 Comedy taken from the Spanish, called "Tarugo's Wiles," 
 which was acted for three nights in the Theatre at 
 Lincoln's Inn. As it did not meet with the encourage- 
 ment the author expected, he returned to Scotland, and 
 became the manager of a Theatre in the Canongate, 
 which from its vicinity to the Palace of Holyrood, was 
 very convenient for those living at what was then the 
 court-end of the city of Edinburgh. 
 
 Sir John Foulis of Kavelston, Bart., was a gentleman 
 of good family and estate, and moved in the best society, 
 at a period when the Metropolis of Scotland could boast 
 
300 Macbeth; 
 
 of having a resident nobility and a society of highly 
 cultivated gentlemen not excelled in any other capital. 
 
 Sir John, after the good old fashion of his times, kept 
 a regular note of his expenditure, and his representative, 
 the late excellent Sir James Foulis of Woodhall, Bart., 
 found, in searching through some old boxes of papers, a 
 series of small MS. volumes, neatly written and minute 
 in their entries, so much so that they afforded a curious 
 and interesting picture of the mode of living, amuse- 
 ments, and expenditure of the higher class of gentry 
 towards the latter portion of the seventeenth century. 
 
 Among the many entries of the prices paid for visiting 
 the Theatre in which tbe name of the play is generally 
 withheld, this occurs, March 6, 1682: — 
 
 For a box of Anderson's pills, . . £1 13 6 
 
 Paid for myself, my wife and Christian, 
 to see Macbeth acted, and for sweatmeats 
 to Lady Collingtoune, Lady Margaret 
 M'Kenzie, and others, . . . . £6 2 
 
 The Lady Collington was Barbara Ainsley, wife of 
 Sir James Foulis of Collington, Baronet, the head of 
 the family.* Lady Margaret M'Kenzie was eldest 
 daughter of Kenneth, third Earl of Seaforth. She sub- 
 sequently became the wife of James, second Lord Duffus. 
 The prices paid are in Scots, not sterling money. 
 
 The only other dramatic piece of which the name is 
 given in his note books, is under the date of the 21st 
 December 1682. 
 
 To see Sir Solomon acted, £1, 9s. 
 
 This comedy — the second title of whicb is "The 
 Cautious Coxcomb," was printed in London, small 4to, 
 1671, and was the production of John Caryl of West 
 Grimstead, Sussex, a Roman Catholic gentleman, subse- 
 quently secretary to Mary of Modena, the second wife 
 of James II., whose fortunes he followed, and from 
 whom he received the honour of Knighthood. He was 
 one of the St Germains' noblemen, having been created 
 by the exiled monarch, Earl Caryl and Baron Dartford. 
 After the death of his royal master he returned to this 
 
 * He was a Lord of Session in 1661, and Lord Justice-Clerk 
 in 1684. 
 
MACBETH. 301 
 
 country, where his honours were not recognised. Pope 
 dedicated to him his beautiful poem of "The Rape of 
 the Lock." He was alive in 1717. * 
 
 Sir John Foulis was the heir of George Bannatyne, 
 the compiler of that venerable volume of early Scotish 
 poetry, which gave the name to the Club, which has 
 done so much and so well for the early literature of the 
 north. Until the year 18:28, nothing was known farther 
 about Bannatyne, than that a person of that name was 
 the compiler of the precious miscellany of ancient verses 
 which was called after him. AVhen Sir James Foulis 
 was going through the family papers he found a volume 
 in MS. which he was desirous that the writer of 
 these observations should see, as he could not compre- 
 hend what connection there could be between the family 
 of Foulis and that of Bannatyne. Upon examining the 
 MS., the mystery was unravelled. It removed all 
 question as to who the compiler of the far-famed 
 volume was, and established that his only surviving 
 offspring Janet had been married to George Foulis of 
 Ravelston, who thus came to inherit the considerable 
 property of George Bannatyne, as well as his papers and 
 family documents. By the permission of Sir James, to 
 whom the papers and family portraits had come, but 
 not the family estates — the editor had the pleasure of 
 communicating the discovery to the office-bearers of the 
 Bannatyne Club, and a volume was compiled and circu- 
 lated among the members, under the title of "Memorials 
 of George Bannatyne, mdxlv. mdcviii." Edinburgh 1829. 
 Malone •(• fixes the date of the first production of the 
 revived play in 1663, but gives no authority for this : — 
 " D'avenant's alteration of Macbeth was preferred to 
 our author's Tragedy, from its first exhibition in 1663, 
 for near eighty years." 
 
 The death of D'avenant, and the cessation of the diary 
 of Pepys so soon thereafter, prevent any satisfactory 
 account being obtained of the subsequent representations 
 of "Macbeth," but there can be little doubt they- were 
 not unfrequent, from the fact, that in 1674, the musical 
 
 * Biographia Dramatioa, Vol. I., p. 91. 
 + Historical Account of the English Stage. 
 
302 MACBETH. 
 
 portion of this drama— what Pepys calls the " divertisse- 
 ment," induced Thomas Duffet, who is represented by 
 the author of the Biographia Dramatica, as exercising 
 the calling of a " milliner in the new Exchange," to ridi- 
 cule "Macbeth" in that year, and the "Tempest"in 1675. 
 
 Elkanah Settle had written a tragedy called " the Em- 
 peror of Morocco," which had become popular, and ex- 
 cited the envy of the dramatic milliner, who vented his 
 spleen by the production of " the Empress of Morocco. 
 A Far6e, acted by his Majesties servants. London : 
 Printed for Simon Neale, at the Sign of the Three 
 Pidgeons in Bedford Street in Covent-Garden, 1674." 
 There is a portrait of her black Majesty prefixed, and 
 the " scene opens with Morena the apple- woman, Em- 
 press of Morocco, discovered sleeping. Thunder and 
 lightning," &c. The females are represented by males, 
 Morena is allotted to Harris, Laula, the Queen Mother, 
 to GrifSn, and Mariamne to Goodman. The piece is 
 very coarse and absurd, and is followed by this epilogue. 
 
 "Anew fancy, after the old and most surprising way of 
 Macbeth, perform'd with new and costly Machines, which 
 were invented and managed by the most ingenious operator, 
 Mr Henry Wright, P. G. Q." Heccate and Three witches, 
 "according to the famous mode of Macbeth, commence the 
 most renowned and melodious Song of John Dory, being heard 
 as it were in the Air, sung in parts by Spirits, to raise the ex- 
 pectation, and charm the audience with thoughts sublime, and 
 worthy of that Heroiok Scene which follows. Then the scene 
 opens — "Thunder and lightning is discovered, not behind 
 painted Tiffany to blind and amuse the senses, but openly, by 
 the most excellent way of Mustard-bowl and Salt-Peter." 
 Three Witches fly over the pit, riding upon besoms. Then 
 Heccate descends over the stage " in a glorious Charriott 
 adom'd with pictures of Hell and Devils, and made of a large 
 Wicker Basket." 
 
 A strange colloquy ensues, wherein the witches inform 
 their mistress of the mischief they have done, and re- 
 ceive appropriate rewards. Then — 
 
 " Enter Two Spirits with brandy burning, which they drink, 
 whilst Heccate and the Witches sing- 
 To the tune of A Boat, a Boat, &c. 
 Hec. A health, a health, to Mother C[reswell], 
 From Moor-flelds.fled to Mill-bank Castle ; 
 She puts off a rotten new-rigg'd Vessel," 
 
MACBETH. 303 
 
 and so on, the remaining verses being of a similar de- 
 scription, relating to several ladies who followed the pro- 
 fession of Mrs Creswell, of whom a portrait is given in 
 Tempest's " Cryes of London." 
 Heccate thus addresses the audience — 
 
 " Bank-side Maulkin thrice has mew'd ! No matter ; 
 If puss of t'other house will scratch — have at her ! 
 T'appease your spirits, and keep our farce from harm, 
 Of strong ingredients we have powerful charm. 
 
 Hail ! hail ! hail ! you less than wits and greater ; 
 Hail fop in corner, and the rest now met here, 
 Though you'l ne'er be wits, from your loins shall spread 
 Diseases that shall reign when you are dead. 
 
 Deed is done ! 
 
 War's begun, 
 Great Morocco's lost and won." 
 
 She then gives an enumeration of charms for the 
 critics, not precisely adapted for republication. A voice 
 below exclaims, "Huff! no more!" a "hellish noise" 
 being heard within. 
 
 When Heccate is called, thunder and lightning follow. 
 While the witches are flying up she sings — 
 
 " The goose and the gander went over the green, 
 They flew in the corn that they could not be seen. 
 C/un-as — They flew, " &c. 
 
 A trio by the three witches concludes this strange 
 show. 
 
 1. 
 " Rosemary's green, Rosemary's green I 
 
 Derry, derry down. 
 When I am King thou shalt be Queen, 
 
 Derry, derry down. 
 
 2. 
 " If I have gold thou shalt have part, 
 
 Derry, derry down. 
 Tf I have none thou hast my heart, 
 
 Derry, derry down.'' 
 
 The whole ends with verses also called an epilogue, 
 worse in every respect than those just quoted. It may 
 be noticed that Powel, the actor and dramatic author, 
 performed the part of Heccate, and that Harris threw off 
 his regal attire and became the first witch. 
 
304 MACBETH. 
 
 The "tune" of "A boat, a boat," is evidently the popular 
 catch yet occasionally sung. This farce is the earliest in- 
 stance of a travesty of Shakespeare— a species of drama 
 peculiarly suited to the taste of the present times. 
 None of the Shakespeare travesties have much fun about 
 them; Macbeth travesty, and it has three different ver- 
 sions, is really abominable ; Rummio and Judy, 1841, has 
 a dash of odd wit in it ; HamUt travesty, by John Poole, 
 1812, is perhaps the best of the lot. The Rehearsal by 
 the Duke of Buckingham, and The Critic by Sheridan, 
 are full of wit and point, but are intended to turn into 
 ridicule certain classes of writers, and not to ridicule 
 any particular play. As mock dramas, the " What 
 d'ye call it" of Gay, the Tom Thumb of Fielding, 
 The Tailors, attributed to Foote, the Chrononhoton- 
 thologos and Dragon of Wantley of Carey, the Court of 
 Alexander the Great, and Diitress upon Distress of his 
 son, J. Saville Carey, and the Bombastes Furioso of 
 Rhodes, have never been surpassed by any modem pro- 
 ductions of the kind. 
 
 Uuifet's travesty of the "Tempest" is still more 
 wretched than his Macbeth. The only thing tolerable is 
 the parody upon Ariel's song of "Where the bee sucks," 
 with which most musical persons have become familiar 
 by means of Dr Ame's charming air. 
 
 ** Where good ale is, there suck I, 
 In a cobbler's stall I lie, 
 While the watch are passing by. 
 Then abont the streets I fly, 
 After Cullies merrily. 
 And I merrily, merrily take off my close 
 Under the watch and the constable's nose." 
 
 Geneste says, this is by far the best thing in the 
 piece,* and he is probably right ; if so, " bad's the best." 
 Tlie lines of Langbaine are appropriate enough. 
 
 '* The dullest scribblers, some admirers found. 
 And the mock Tempest was a while renown'd. 
 But this low stuff, the town at last despis'd, 
 And sGorn'd the folly that they once had priz'd. " 
 
 Acting, in all probability upon Dr Johnson's opinion, 
 
 * Vol. i. p. 160. 
 
MACBETH. 305 
 
 that puppets " were so capable of representing even the 
 plays of Shakespeare, that Macbeth might be performed 
 by them as well as lay living actors," a person named 
 Harry Rowe, master of a puppet-show, did for a num- 
 ber of years towards the end of the last century, cause 
 his wooden actors tb go through the action of that play, 
 while he repeated the dialogue. He published his own 
 edition of Macbeth at York in 1797, 8vo, " with new 
 notes and various emendations,'' and adorned it with his 
 own portrait. Rowe was born at York in 1726, whither 
 he retired, after the rebellion of 1745, and, until the 
 day of his death in 1800, was known by the appellation 
 of " the York Trumpeter," said to have been conferred 
 upon him in consequence of his having " blown a battle 
 blast" at CuUoden, but more likely from the circum- 
 stance of his attending with the Sheriff and announcing 
 the entry of the judges into York, twice a-year, by 
 sound of trumpet. 
 
 At his decease, the following lines written upon him 
 appeared for the first time in print in Mr Payne 
 Collier's interesting notice of " The origin and progress 
 of Puppet Plays in England," prefixed to " Punch and 
 Judy," published in 8vo, 1828, with illustrations, drawn 
 and engraved by the inimitable Geo. Cruikshank. 
 
 " When the great angel blows the judgment trump. 
 He also must give Harry Rowe a thump : 
 If not, poor Harry never will awake, 
 But think it's his own trumpet, by mistake. 
 He blew it all his life, with greatest skiU, 
 And but for want of breath had blown it still." 
 
 A notice of the death of Harry Rowe occurs in the 
 monthly obituary of the European Magazine for October 
 1800. 
 
 " In the poor-house at York, Harry Rowe. This well- 
 known character was born at York in 1726. At the 
 battle of 'CuUoden in 1746, he was a trumpeter in the 
 Duke of Kingston's Light Horse ; and attended the 
 High Sheriffs of Yorkshire as trumpeter at the assizes 
 upwards of forty-five years. He was also the master of 
 a puppet-show, which he for many years exhibited in 
 different parts of the kingdom. There was lately pub- 
 lished, under the name of Harry Rowe, the play of Mac- 
 
 V. U 
 
306 MACBETfi. 
 
 beth, with annotations, which went through two edi- 
 tions. If we mistake not, however, this was m reality 
 the work of an eminent Physician of York." 
 
 Prior to Lord Lytton's bill to regulate theatres, 
 which was passed into an act some thirty years 
 ago, the Theatres Eoyal in London — Drury Lane, 
 Covent Garden, and the Haymarket — had the right 
 secured to them by Letters Patent, of a monopoly of 
 what was called " the Legitimate Drama," i.e., the power 
 to perform tragedy, comedy, and such other pieces as 
 were regarded as in the higher class of dramatic art, 
 while the performances in the minor theatres, originally 
 confined to Ballets d'Action, embracing music, dancing, 
 and dumb show, gradually expanded into melo-drama and 
 broad farce. So long as tliis monopoly lasted, it was the 
 great ambition of an actor to attain the dignity of being 
 enrolled as a permanent member in one of the royal 
 theatres, the highest of these being Drury Lane. In 
 those days, there was thus brought together, three 
 standing companies of the best actors in the kingdom, 
 capable of performing the best plays, in a style complete 
 in every part; but since free trade in theatricals has 
 been legalised, where we find one or, at most, two 
 good actors at a theatre, the residue of the company are 
 of a class which formerly would not have been tolerated 
 in a barn, and "incapable of nothing else but dumb show 
 and noise." 
 
 Mr Elliston, who was, for many years, the presiding 
 genius at the Royal Circus, in St George's Fields, was, 
 in consequence of his theatre being a minor one, 
 debarred from playing the higher characters in the 
 drama, which was his ambition. In order to secure him 
 an opportunity of exhibiting his talents in this direction, 
 Mr J. C. Cross, the author of numerous dramatic pieces, 
 written for the Royal Circus, turned Shakespeare's 
 "Macbeth" into a Ballet d'Action, retaining the music and 
 the witches, with several portions of the text, for 
 Macbeth to speak. There are several new scenes intro- 
 duced, one being a bed-chamber in which Duncan is 
 murdered, while asleep, by Macbeth. The same scene is 
 again shown, after the alarm has been given, — all the 
 principal characters come on, Macbeth stabs the " sleepy 
 
MACBETH. 307 
 
 grooms," and a picture of horror and surprise is formed 
 to end the first act. It was titled " the History, 
 Murders, Life, and Death of Macbeth. A Ballet of 
 music and action, as performed, with enthusiastic 
 applause, to overflowing houses, a number of nights, at 
 the Royal Circus, St George's Fields, London." 
 The cast of the characters was as follows : — 
 Scotch. — Macbeth, Mr EUiston ; Duncan, King of 
 Scotland, Mr James ; Malcolm (his heir) and Donalbaine, 
 his sons, Mr Taylor and Master Hatton; Macduff, Mr 
 Gomery ; Banquo, Mr Makeen ; Fleance, his son. Miss 
 C. Giroux ; Kosse, . Mr Cooke ; Seyton, Mr Rivolta ; 
 Lenox, Mr Jefferies ; Physician, Mr Ellar ; OiRcer, Mr 
 Isaacs ; Chamberlains, Messrs H. EUiston and Mezzia ; 
 Gentlemen, Messrs Day, Thomson, &c. Lady Macbeth, 
 Mrs Hatton ; Lady Macduff, Mrs Makeen ; Gentlewoman, 
 Miss Evans ; Ladies, Mesdames Slader, James, Wilmot, 
 Stacey, Stc. 
 
 English. — Edward the Confessor (King of England), 
 Mr Payne ; Siward (a general), Mr James ; Young 
 Siward, Mr Girovfx. 
 
 Witches, &c. — Weird Sisters, Messrs Johannot, 
 Slader, and J. Taylor ; Hecate, Mr S. Slader; Choral 
 Witches, Messrs Williamson, J. Williams, Dickinson, 
 Greenard, Burden, Macartey, Tett, Tett, junior, Giroux, 
 &c. ; Mesdames Sarrat, Parkinson, May ; Misses Stubb, 
 Green, Goodchild, Taylor, Two Girouxs, &c. Appari- 
 tions raised by the Weird sisters, Mr E. James, Master 
 Hatton, and Miss C. Giroux. Sprights, Misses Aducine, 
 Moseley, Hart, O'Brian, and Mortram. 
 
 An occasional address, spoken by Mr EUiston, pre- 
 faced the piece, — the concluding lines of which are : — 
 " Faithful to nature and the Drama's law, 
 From this great source our promised scenes we draw : 
 Macbeth, the regicide Macbeth pourtray— 
 His ruthless consort and her direful sway. 
 Though not indulg'd with fullest powers of speech 
 The poet's object we aspire to reach ; 
 The emphatic gesture, eloquence of eye, 
 Scenes, music, everjP energy we try, 
 To make your hearts for murdered Banquo melt, 
 And feel for Duncan as brave Malcolm felt ; 
 To prove we keep our duties full in view. 
 And what we must not say, resolve to do ; 
 
308 MACBETH. 
 
 Convino'd that you will deem our zeal sincere,^ 
 Sioce more by deeds than words it will appear. 
 
 " Every department under the direction and inspec-' 
 tion of Mr ElUston. 
 
 " Reduced to a Ballet by Mr Cross ; the music princi'- 
 pally the composition of the late Matthew Locke ; the 
 overture by Dr Busby, as well as other introductory 
 music, and performed with the assistance, and under the 
 direction of Mr Sanderson, leader of the band. 
 
 " The scenery by Messrs Greenwood, Marshbank, 
 Mortram, Williams, &c. 
 
 •' The banquet prepared by Mr A; Johnson. 
 
 " The dresses executed and designed by Mrs Brett, 
 Mrs Williams, Misses Smith, &c. 
 
 " Property-man, Mr C. Sutton, and property-woman, 
 Mrs Freelove. 
 
 " The dances by Mr Giroux. 
 
 " Scene, principally in Scotland, with the exception 
 of — scenes which are in England. Time, sixteen years 
 at least,and by some historians, twenty-one years. 
 
 " The play originally written by the immortal Shake- 
 speare, in 1606, and performed in the reign of James I., 
 founded on the records of Buchanan and Boethius, 
 Scottish Historians. 
 
 " The Ballet in three acts." 
 
 The frontispieces to the several plays in Pope's 
 Edition of Shakespeare, 10 vols, 12mo, 1728, were 
 executed partly by Lewis du Guernier, while the others 
 are merely reduced copies, by Fourdinier, of those 
 plates, designed and executed, by Edward Kirkall, for 
 Eowe's Edition, 1709, which was the first attempt at 
 illustrating the works of the Bard of Avon. 
 
 The absurdity of employing Guernier, a Frenchman, 
 to decorate plays, written in a language which he under- 
 stood but imperfectly, is amusing enough. In his frontis- 
 piece to " The Merry Wives of Windsor," Falstaff figures 
 as a moderate-sized young man, in coat, waistcoat, and 
 flowing peruke of the period, 1728; and one of the 
 phantom kings in Macbeth, in place of a mirror, holds a 
 common wine-glass in his hand, Shakespeare's lines 
 having been taken by the artist in a Kteral sense : — 
 
MACBETH. 309 
 
 " And lo ! the eighth appears, 
 Who bears a glass that shows me many more." 
 
 It is not credible that D'avenant would condescend to 
 prefix what is called the "Argument" to the present 
 operatic and injudicious perversion of " Macbeth." No 
 edition, so far as can be traced, was printed until after the 
 demise of its reputed interpolator. There was no occasion 
 for it, as the tragedy told its own tale, and required no 
 elucidation. From the beginning to the end it is a 
 tissue of mis-statements. It is singular that no attempt 
 has ever been made to rescue the character of Macbeth 
 from the obloquy that has been so perpetually attached 
 to his name. Sir Arthur Wardour, in the" Antiquary," 
 takes exception to Jonathan Oldbuck's distrust of the 
 imaginative historians of Scotland, and his refuting 
 Hector Boece by some old parchment proving the 
 venerable chronicler to be a romancer. 
 
 Modern investigation has done much to sweep away 
 the accumulation of rubbish by which the early history 
 of Scotland has been obscured, and the publications of 
 the literary clubs have materially contributed to this. 
 These associations originated with private noblemen and 
 gentlemen, through whose exertions, and at whose ex- 
 pense, the invaluable chartularies and authentic muni- 
 ments of the north were made accessible to the historical 
 student ; and amongst the very many benefits conferred 
 on his native country by Sir Walter Scott, not the least 
 was the great interest he took in the formation of the 
 Bannatyne Club, of which he was President until his 
 death. Other clubs followed of a similar description, 
 and of nearly equal benefit to general literature. But 
 the Bannatyne was the first, and we venture to think 
 the most important, from its having been the means of 
 putting beyond the chance of loss nearly all the invalu- 
 able chartularies of Scotland. 
 
 Wyntoun, in his "Chronicle of Scotland," asserts with 
 truth that the name of Macbeth's wife was Gruoch, and 
 this is put beyond all doubt by an entry in the " Kegis- 
 trum Sancti Andree," one of the most important of the 
 monkish records,* of a gift to the Culdees of Lochleven of 
 
 * Edinburgh, 1841. The contribution of 0. Tyndall Bruce, 
 Esq., of Falkland. 
 
310 MACBETH. 
 
 KyrkneB, by MACHnET, the son of Finlach— and Gruoch, 
 the daughter of Bodhe, Rex et Kegina 8cotorum. 
 
 Boedhe, according to the Irish chronicles, was a son 
 of Kenneth, King of Scotland, and his daughter Gruoch 
 was his heiress, and the rightful heir of the crown.* 
 Thus her marriage with Macbeth, according to the 
 courtesy of Scotland, vested her claims in her husband. 
 
 Malcolm the Second died upon the 25th November 
 1034, when he was succeeded by his grandson Duncan, 
 the son of Beitoc or Beatrice, by Crinan, Abbot of Dull. 
 Two years before the death of Malcolm — that is to say, 
 in 1032, — Gillacomgan, son of Maelbrigde, Marmor of 
 Moray, was burnt in his own castle, with fifty of his 
 men. He was a married man, and had at least one son, 
 called Lulach, who reigned after the death of Macbeth, 
 as his lawful successor, from August 1057 to 17th March 
 1057-8. Who was the wife of Gillacomgan? Gruoch, 
 we venture to think — and he was destroyed for the 
 purpose of uniting her to Duncan, by which act her 
 right of succession to the crown would merge in him. 
 To support this supposition Wyntoun may be ap- 
 pealed to. He was keeper of the " Archivum seu Ar- 
 marium publicum," of the priory and cathedral church of 
 St Andrew ; and as Prior of St Servanus, in the Isle of 
 Lochleven, produced judicially in a certain law-suit, upon 
 the 22d day of December 1413, the veritable register of 
 the charters of St Andrew above referred to. 
 
 The Prior of St Serf tells his readers, in his invaluable 
 chronicle, that Macbeth took as his wife "Dame Grwok," 
 the relict of Duncan — 
 
 " And held hyr bathe hys wyff and qweyne, 
 As befor than seho had beyne, 
 Tyll hys eme qweue lyvand, 
 Quhen he was Kyng wyth crowne ryngnand ; 
 For lytyll in honowre than had he 
 The greys off affynyte. 
 All thus quhen his eme wes dede 
 He succedyt in his stede." ■(• 
 
 Accordingly, Macbeth, despising the degrees of affiuity, 
 took Gruock, the queen of his "eme" Duncan, as his 
 
 * See Preface, by W. F. Skene, Esq., to " The Chronicles of 
 the Plots and Scots." Edin., 1867, p. cxlvii. 
 t B. \l., c. xviii. 
 
MACBETH. 311 
 
 ■wife, and they, as has been proved by the St Andrews' 
 register, reigned together as King and Queen of Scotland* 
 Thus the " Lady " Macbeth of the tragedy had no 
 reality, but was a myth, the creation of the poet. 
 Until the death of Duncan, his widow Gruoch could not 
 have become the wife of his successor. 
 
 Neither was Duncan murdered in Macbeth's castle at 
 Inverness, whilst on a friendly visit to his relative, ac- 
 companied by a train of courtiers. On the contrary, 
 whilst invading the dominions of which Macbeth was 
 Marmor or Sub-king, he was grievously wounded in an 
 encounter with his kinsman, at a place called Bother- 
 gouenan,* was carried to Elgin, which appears to have 
 been the seat of government of his victor, and died there. 
 His body was removed to lona, and deposited in the 
 royal sepulchre. This event occurred in the year 1040. 
 The elevation of Macbeth to the royal dignity, whether 
 as next lawful heir, or in right of his wife, does not 
 seem to have been disputed until the year 104.5, when 
 we learn from the annals of Ulster that Duncan's father, 
 Crinan,t the husband of the Princess Beatrice or Beitoc, 
 raised a rebellion against him, but was defeated in battle 
 and slain. 
 
 Five years afterwards, that is to say, in 1050, the 
 King of Scotland, taking example by Canute, King of 
 England, visited Rome, where, according to Marianus 
 Scotus, a cotemporary, " Rex Scottise Macbethad, Rom% 
 argentum pauperibus seminandb distribuit." 
 
 It could hardly be expected that after the death of the 
 defeated monarch his memory should be treated with 
 any respect by his successor, especially if his own title 
 to the throne was more than questionable. Boethius, 
 although carefully recording all sorts of fables calculated 
 to darken the character of Macbeth, is silent on one point 
 on which Andro of Wyntoun dilates at considerable 
 length. He asserts with every appearance of truth, 
 that Malcolm Canmore was the natural son of Duncan. 
 The Prior of St Serf has the reputation of not drawing 
 upon his imagination for his facts, and he never asserts 
 anything as true that he believes to be false. As an 
 instance of this, he mentions the tradition that Mao- 
 * Chronicles of the Scots, 302. t P- 369. 
 
312 MACBETH. 
 
 beth was of Satanic origin, but does not give it as his own 
 opinion that such was the case. With him the witches 
 make their appearance in a dream. He mentions the trial 
 of Macduff's faith, and the conversation between him and 
 Malcolm, no doubt as he had found it amongst the docu- 
 ments in the " Armorium," or " Awmry," of which he 
 was the custodier. But when referring to Malcolm Can- 
 more, he asserts positively that he was begotten by 
 Duncan, when a youth, upon the daughter of the miller 
 of Forteviot, with whom he had formed an acquaintance 
 whilst hunting in the vicinity of that place. 
 
 Nor does the historian stop here, for he says Dun- 
 can was so fond of her that there was no saying to what 
 height she might not have risen, but for his death. 
 
 " Thus, this Kyng Dunkane dede, 
 Hys lemman will wes off gad red ; 
 But sohb a batward efftyr that 
 Till hyr spowsyd husband gat, 
 And off land in heritage 
 A peys till hyr and hyr lynage : 
 Efftyre that mony day 
 The Batwardy's * Land that oallyd thai." 
 
 After reigning seventeen years, his dominions were 
 invaded by an English army, raised by Siward, Earl of 
 Northumberland, and Macbeth was defeated and slain 
 in battle in the year 1059. His remains were deposited 
 beside those of his predecessor in lona. His step-son, 
 Lulach, was proclaimed his successor, but unable to re- 
 sist the English army, increased as it would be by the 
 accession of the Scottish malcontents, he after a short 
 resistance was also defeated and slain, and Malcolm 
 Canmore was recognised as King of all Scotland. 
 
 The claim of Gruoch to the kingdom has already been 
 shown, but that of Macbeth is by no means clear. It 
 may be conjectured that his connection arose from his 
 mother having been a younger sister of the Princess 
 Beitoe or Beatrice — a connection which, if correct, would 
 make him cousin-german of Duncan. He could hardly be 
 a nephew of Duncan, as htf has been called, as this would 
 have made him a direct descendant of Grinan, who it 
 
 * Boatman, or keeper of a boat. See Jamieson, who quotes 
 this passage. Wyntoun, B. VI., c. xv. 
 
MACBETH. 313 
 
 cannot be supposed would have taken up arms against 
 his own grandson. But whether this theory be sound, 
 or the reverse, — if we may believe Wyntoun — and his 
 general accuracy has never been questioned — 
 
 " All hys tyme wes gret plente 
 Abowndand bath in land and se ; 
 He was in justice ryoht lawchfuU, 
 And till hys legis all awf nil 
 Quen Leo the Tend wes Pape of Borne, 
 As pylgryne to the Curt he come, 
 And in hys almus he sew sylver 
 Till all pure folk that had myster, 
 And all tyme oysyd he to wyrk 
 Profytably for Haly Kyrke." 
 
 A monarch who couldreignf or seventeen years over the 
 Scottish kingdom, during which time it abounded with 
 plenty, both by land and sea ; who was a just ruler, and 
 could leave his kingdom so quiet and contented as to beable 
 to visit Rome as a pilgrim, is a very different monarch 
 from the one painted in the drama. 
 
 Having disposed of Malcolm's mother to the boatman, 
 Wyntoun observes that the Empress Malde* was de- 
 scended of the Millar " in the fird degree,'' and the 
 catalogue of Malcolm's descendants thus concludes — 
 
 " Swa Pape and Kyngis oummyn ware. 
 As yhe have herd off this Mylnare." 
 
 Whatever truth there is in all this, it is plain that 
 Wyntoun fully believed in the bastardy of Malcolm. It 
 is certainly strange that after Malcolm had got safely on 
 the throne, Donalbain and his younger brother fled 
 from Scotland, one to the Hebrides, and the other to 
 Norway. The former returned to Scotland only to claim 
 the crown after Malcolm's death, which he enjoyed not 
 very long, having been ultimately deposed by his 
 nephew, who, to extinguish his claim, deprived him of 
 his eye-sight, and confined him in a monastery. The fate 
 of the latter is uncertain. 
 
 * The Empress Maude was granddaughter of Malcolm Can- 
 more, his daughter Maheda having been the Queen of Henry I. 
 
THE PERSONS' NAMES. 
 
 King of Scotland 
 
 Malcolm, his Son, Prince of 
 Cumberland 
 
 donalbain 
 
 Lenox 
 
 Ross . 
 
 Angus . 
 
 Macbeth 
 
 Banquo 
 
 Macduff, 
 
 monteith 
 
 Cathness 
 
 Seymok and His Son 
 
 Seyton 
 
 Doctor 
 
 Flean, Son to Banqtio 
 
 Porter, Old Man, Two Mur- 
 derers 
 
 Macbeth's Wife 
 
 Macduff's Wife 
 
 Her Son 
 
 Waiting Gentlewomen 
 
 Ghost of Banquo 
 
 Hecate 
 
 Three Witches . 
 
 Servants and Attendants 
 
 Mr Lee. 
 
 I Mr Norris. 
 
 Mr Cademan. 
 Mr Medbourn. 
 
 Mr Betterton. 
 Mr Smith. 
 Mr Harris. 
 
 Mrs Betterton. 
 Mrs Long. 
 
 Mr Sandford. 
 
THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Duncan, King of the Scots, had two principal 
 men, whom he employed in all matters of import- 
 ance, Macbeth and Banquo. These two, travelling 
 together through a forest, were met by three fayry 
 Witches (Weirds the Scots call them), whereof the 
 first, making obeysance unto Macbeth, saluted him 
 Thane (a title unto which that of Earl afterwards 
 succeeded) of Glamis; the second. Thane of 
 Cawdok; and the third, King of Scotland. 
 " This is unequal dealing," saith Banquo, " to give 
 my friend all the honours and none unto me." 
 To which one of the Weirds made answer, that he 
 indeed should not be a king, but out of his loins 
 should come a race of kings that should for ever 
 rule the Scots ; and having thus said, they all 
 suddenly vanished. Upon their arrival to the 
 Court., Macbeth was immediately created Thane of 
 Glamis ; and, not long after, some new service of 
 his requiring new recompence, he was honoured 
 with the title of Thane of Cawdor. Seeing, then, 
 how happily the prediction of the three Weirds fell 
 out in the former, he resolved not to be wanting 
 to himself in fulfilling the third ; and, therefore, 
 first he killed the King, and after, by reason of his 
 command among the soldiers and common people, 
 he succeeded in his throne. Being scarce warm 
 in his seat, he called to mind the prediction given 
 to his companion, Banquo, whom, hereupon sup- 
 posing as his supplanter, he caused to be killed, 
 together with his posterity ; Flean, one of his sons, 
 escaped only with no small difficulty into Wales. 
 Freed, as he thought, from all fear of Banquo and 
 
316 MACBETH. 
 
 his issue, he huilfc Dunsinan Castle, and made it 
 his ordinary seat ; and afterwards, on some new 
 fears, consulted with certain of his wizards about 
 his future estate, was told by one of them that he 
 should never be overcome till Birnam Wood (being 
 some miles distant) came to Dunsinan Castle ; and 
 by another, that he should never be slain by any 
 man which was born of a woman. Secure, then, 
 as he thought, from all future dangers, he omitted 
 no kind of libidinous cruelty for the space of 
 eighteen years, for so long he tyrannised over Scot- 
 land. But having then made up the measure of 
 his iniquities, Macduff, the Governor of Fife, asso- 
 ciating to himself some few patriots, and being 
 assisted with ten thousand English, equally hated 
 by the tyrant, and abhorring the tyranny, met in 
 Birnam Wood, and taking every one of them a 
 bough in his hand, the better to keep them from 
 discovery ; marching early in the morning towards 
 Dunsinan Castle, which they took by scalado. 
 Macbeth escaping, was pursued by Macduff, who, 
 having overtaken him, urged him to the combat, 
 to whom the tyrant half in scorn returned this 
 answer : " That he did in vain attempt to kill him, 
 it being his destiny never to be slain by any that 
 was born of woman." " Now then," said Macduif, 
 " is thy fatal end drawing fast upon thee, for I 
 was never born of woman, but violently cut out of 
 my mother's belly ; " which words so daunted the 
 cruel tyrant, though otherwise a valiant man and 
 of great performances, that he was very easily 
 slain, and Malcolm Conmer, the true heir, seated 
 in his throne. 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 Thunder and lAghtning. 
 
 Enter Three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again ? 
 In thunder, lightning, and in rain ? 
 
 2 Witch. When the hurly-burly's done, 
 When the battle's lost and won. 
 
 3 Witch. And that will be ere set of sun. 
 
 1 Witch. Where's the place ? 
 
 2 Witch. Upon the heath. 
 
 3 Witch. There we resolve to meet Macbeth. 
 
 \A shriek like an owl. 
 1 Witch. I come, Gray Malkin. 
 All. Paddock calls ! 
 To' us fair weather's foul, and foul is fair. 
 Come hover through the foggy, filthy air. 
 
 [Ex. flying. 
 
 Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, and Lenox, 
 with Attendants, meeting Seyton wounded. 
 
 King. What aged man is that 1 if we may guess 
 His message by his looks, he can relate the 
 Issue of the battle. 
 
 Mal. That is the valiant Seyton ; 
 Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 
 To save my liberty ; hail, worthy friend ! 
 
318 MACBETH. 
 
 Inform the king in what condition you 
 Did leave the battle. 
 
 Sey. It was doubtful. 
 As two spent swimmers, who together cling, 
 And choak their art ; the merciless Macdonald, — 
 Worthy to be a rebel, to which end 
 The multiplying villanies of nature 
 Swarm'd thick upon him — from the western isles 
 With kernes and gallow-glasses was supply'd, 
 Whom fortune with her smiles obliged a while ; 
 But brave Macbeth, who well deserves that name. 
 Did with his frowns put all her smiles to flight ; 
 And cut his passage to the rebel's person ; 
 Then, having conquer'd him with single force, 
 He fixt his head upon our battlements. 
 
 Ktng. valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 
 Sey. But then this day-break of our victory 
 Serv'd but to light us into other dangers, 
 That spring from whence our hopes did seem to 
 
 rise ; 
 Produc'd our hazard : for no sooner had 
 The justice of your cause, sir, arm'd with valour, 
 Compell'd these nimble kernes to trust their heels, 
 But the Norweyan Lord, having expected 
 This opportunity, with new supplies, 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 
 King. Dismayd not this our Generals, Macbeth 
 
 and Banquo ? 
 Sey. Yes, as sparrows eagles; or as hares do 
 lions ; 
 As flames are heighten'd by access of fuel, 
 So did their valours gather strength, by having 
 Fresh foes on whom to exercise their swords ; 
 Whose thunder still did drown the dying groans 
 Of those they slew, which else had been so great, 
 They'd frighted all the rest into retreat. 
 My spirits faint ; I would relate the wounds 
 
MACBETH. 319 
 
 Which their swords made, but my own silence me. 
 King. So well thy wounds become thee as thy 
 words, 
 They're full of honour both. Go, get him surgeons ! 
 [Ex. Sey. and Attendants. 
 Enter Macduff. 
 But who comes there ? 
 Mal. Noble Macduff! 
 Len. What haste looks through his eyes ! 
 DonAL. So should he look, who comes to speak 
 
 things strange. 
 Macd. Long live the king ! 
 King. Whence com'st thou, worthy Thane 1 
 Macd. From Fife, great King, where the 
 Norweyan banners 
 Dark'ned the air, and fann'd our people cold. 
 Norway himself, with infinite supplies, — 
 Assisted by that most disloyal Thane 
 Of Cawdor, — long maintained a dismal conflict. 
 Till brave Macbeth oppos'd his bloody rage 
 And check'd his haughty spirits, after which 
 His army fled : Thus shallow streams may flow 
 Forward with violence a while, but when 
 They are oppos'd, as fast run back again. 
 In brief, the victory was ours. 
 King. Great happiness ! 
 
 Macd. And now the Norway King craves com- 
 position. 
 "We would not grant the burial of his men. 
 Until at Golems Inch* he had disbursed 
 Great heaps of treasure to our General's use. 
 King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall 
 deceive 
 Our confidence : Pronounce his present death. 
 And, with his former title, greet Macbeth. 
 He has deserv'd it. 
 
 * The Island of Inchoolme. 
 
320 MACBETH. 
 
 Macd. Sir ! I'll see it done. 
 King. "What he hath lost, noble Macbeth has 
 won. , [Exeunt. 
 
 Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Enter Three Witckes flying. 
 
 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister ? 
 
 2 Witch. Killing swine. 
 
 3 Witch. Sister, where thou 1 
 
 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her 
 lap, 
 
 And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht ; give 
 
 me, quoth I. 
 Aroint * thee, witch, the rump-fed Ronyon cried. 
 Her husband's to the Baltic gone, master o' th' 
 
 Tiger : 
 But in a sieve I'll thither sail. 
 And like a rat without a tail, 
 I'll do, I'll do, and I will do. 
 
 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
 1 Witch. Thou art kind. 
 
 3 Witch. And I another. 
 
 1 Witch. I myself have all the other, 
 And then from everj' port they blow. 
 From all the points that seamen know. 
 
 I will drain him dry as hay ; 
 Sleep shall neither night nor day 
 Hang upon his pent-house lid ; 
 My charms shall his repose forbid ; 
 Weary-se'nights, nine times nine. 
 Shall he dwindle, waste, and pine. 
 Though his bark cannot be lost, 
 Yet shall be tempest-tost. 
 Look what I have ! 
 
 2 Witch. Shew me ! shew me ! 
 
 * The text has " anoint.'' 
 
MACBETH. 321 
 
 1 Witch. Here, I have a pilot's thumb, 
 Wrackt as homeward he did come. [Drum within. 
 
 3 Witch. A drum, a drum ! 
 Macbeth does come ! 
 
 1 Witch. The weyward sisters, hand in hand, 
 Posters of the sea and land, 
 
 Thus to go about, about. 
 Thrice to thine, 
 
 2 Witch. And thrice to mine, 
 
 3 Witch. And thrice again to make up nine. 
 2 Witch. Peace ! the charm's wound up. 
 
 Bnter Macbeth and Banquo, with Attendants 
 
 Macb. Command, they make a halt upon the 
 heath ! 
 So fair and foul a day I have not seen. 
 
 Ban. How far is't now to Forres 1 What are 
 
 these 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire. 
 That look not like th' earth's inhabitants, 
 And yet are on't ? Live you, or are you things 
 Crept hither from the lower world to fright 
 Th' inhabitants of this 1 You seem to know me 
 By laying all at once your choppy fingers 
 Upon your skinny lips. You should be women. 
 And yet your looks forbid me to interpret 
 So well of you. 
 
 Macb. Speak, if you can ! What are you ? 
 
 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, Thane 
 
 of Glamis ! 
 
 2 Witch. All hail Macbeth ! hail to thee. Thane 
 
 of Cawdor ! 
 
 3 Witch. All hail Macbeth ! who shall be King 
 hereafter. 
 
 Ban. Good sir, what makes you start, and seem 
 to dread 
 
 V. X 
 
3-22 MACBETH. 
 
 Events which sound so fair? P th' name of truth, 
 Are j'ou fantastical, or that indeed [To the Witches. 
 Which outwardly you show ? My noble partner. 
 You greet with present grace, and strange prediction 
 Of noble fortune and of royal hope. 
 With which he seems surprized ; to me you speak 
 
 not. 
 If you can look into the seeds of time, 
 And tell which grain will grow, and which will not, 
 Speak then to me, who neither beg your favour, 
 Nor fear your hate. 
 
 1 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 2 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 3 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 
 
 3 Witch. Thou shalt get Kings, thou shalt ne'er 
 be one ; 
 
 So, all hail ! Macbeth and Banquo. 
 
 1 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail ! 
 Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me 
 more ; 
 By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis ; 
 But how of Cawdor, whilst that Thane yet lives 1 
 And, for your promise that I shall be King, 
 'Tis not within the prospect of belief, 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence 
 You have this strange intelligence 1 or why. 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting ? Speak, I charge 
 you ! [Witches vanish. 
 
 Ha! gone? 
 
 Ban. The earth has bubbles, like the water ; 
 And these are some of them : how soon they are 
 vanish'd ! 
 Macb. Th' are turn'd to air : what seem'd cor- 
 poreal 
 
MAOBKTH. 323 
 
 Is melted into nothing. Would they had stay'd ! 
 
 Ban. Were such things here as we discours'd 
 of now 1 
 Or have we tasted some infectious herb 
 That captivates our reason ? 
 
 Macb. Your children shall be Kings. 
 
 Ban. You shall be King. 
 
 Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too ; went it not 
 sol 
 
 Ban. Just to that very tune ; who's here 1 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 
 Macd. Macbeth ! the King has happily receiv'd 
 The news of your success ; and when he reads 
 Your pers'nal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonder and his praises then contend 
 Which shall exceed : when he reviews your 
 
 worth, 
 He finds you in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
 Not starting at the images of death 
 Made by yourself : each messenger which came, 
 Being loaden with the praises of your valour, 
 Seem'd proud to speak your glories to the King ; 
 Who for an earnest of a greater honour, 
 Bade me, from him, to call you Thane of Cawdor ; 
 In which addition, hail, most noble Thane ! 
 
 Ban. What ! can the Devil speak true 1 
 
 Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives ! 
 Why do you dress me in his borrowed robes ] 
 
 Macd. 'Tis true, sir ; He who was the Thane 
 lives yet, 
 But under heavy judgment bears that life. 
 Which he in justice is condemned to lose. 
 Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway, 
 Or did assist the rebel privately ; 
 Or whether he concurred with both, to cause 
 His country's danger, sir, I cannot tell ; 
 
324 MACBETH. 
 
 But, treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, 
 Ha^e overthrown him. 
 
 Macb. Glarais, and Thane of Cawdor ! 
 The greatest is behind. My noble partner. 
 Do you not hope your children shall be Kings, 
 When those who gave to me the Thane of Cawdor 
 Promis'd no less to them 1 
 
 Ban. If all be true, 
 You have a title to a crown as well 
 As to the Thane of Cawdor. It seems strange : 
 But many times to win us to our harm, 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths. 
 And tempt us with low trifles, that they may 
 Betray us in the things of high concern. 
 
 Macb. [Aside.] Th' have told me truth as to the 
 name of Cawdor : 
 That may be prologue to the name of King. 
 Less titles should the greater still forerun. 
 The morning star doth usher in the sun. 
 This strange prediction in as strange a manner 
 Deliver'd neither can be good or ill ; 
 If ill, 'twould give no earnest of success, 
 Beginning in a truth : I'm Thane of Cawdor ; 
 If good, why am I then perplext with doubt 1 
 My future bliss causes my present fears. 
 Fortune, methinks, which rains down honours on 
 
 me, 
 Seems to rain blood too : Duncan does appear 
 Clouded by my increasing glories, but 
 These are but dreams. 
 
 Ban. Look how my partner's rapt. 
 
 Macb. If chance will have me King chance may 
 bestow [Aside. 
 
 A crown without my stir. 
 
 Ban. His honours are surprizes, and resemble 
 New garments, which but seldom fit men well 
 TJnIess by help of use. 
 
MACBETH. 325 
 
 Macb. Come what come may, 
 Patience and time run thro' the roughest day. 
 
 Ban. Worthy Macbeth ! we wait upon your 
 leisure. 
 
 Macb. I was reflecting upon past transactions. 
 Worthy Macduff, your pains are registred 
 Where every day I turn the leaf to read them. 
 Let's hasten to the King I we'll think upon 
 
 [To Banqmi. 
 These accidents at more convenient time. 
 When w' have maturely weigh'd them, we'll impart 
 Our mutual judgments to each other's breasts. 
 
 Ban. Let it be so, 
 
 Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends ! 
 
 \Eoxuat. 
 
 Enter King, Lenox, Malcolm, Donalbai.v, 
 Attendants. 
 
 KiNfi. Is execution done on Cawdor yet ? 
 Or are they not returned who were employed 
 In doing it ? 
 
 Mal. They are not yet come back ; 
 But I have spoke with one who saw him die, 
 And did report that very frankly he 
 Confess'd his treasons, and implor'd your pardon, 
 With signs of a sincere and deep repentance. 
 He told me nothing in <his life became him 
 So well as did his leaving it. He died 
 As one who had been studied in his death. 
 Quitting the dearest thing he ever had, 
 As 'twere a worthless trifle. 
 
 King. There's no art 
 To find the mind's construction in the face. 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 An absolute trust. 
 
326 MACBETH. 
 
 Enter Macbeth, Banquo, and Macduff. 
 
 worthi'st cousin ! 
 
 The sin of my ingratitude even now 
 
 Seem'd heavy on me. Thou art so far before, 
 
 That all the wings of recompense are slow 
 
 To overtake thee. Would thou had'st less deserv'd, 
 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 
 Might have been mine : I've only left to say. 
 
 That thou deserv'st more than I have to pay. 
 
 Maob. The service and the loyalty I owe you 
 Is a sufficient payment for itself 
 Your Royal part is to receive our duties ; 
 Which duties are, sir, to your throne and State, 
 Children and servants ; and when we expose 
 Our dearest lives to save your interest, 
 We do but what we ought. 
 
 King. Y'are welcome hither : 
 
 1 have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
 
 iStill to advance thy growth. And noble Banquo, 
 Who hast no less deserv'd, nor must partake 
 Less of our favour, let me here enfold thee. 
 And hold thee to my heart. 
 
 Ban. There if I grow, 
 The harvest is your own. 
 
 King. My joys are now 
 Wanton in fullness, and would hide themselves 
 In drops of sorrow. Kinsmen, sons, and Thanes, 
 And you, whose places are the nearest, know 
 AVe will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter 
 The Prince of Cumberland : nor must he wear 
 His honours unaccompanied by others. 
 But marks of nobleness, like stars shall shine 
 On all deservers. Now, we'll hasten hence 
 To Inverness ; we'll be your guest, Macbeth, 
 
MACBETH. 327 
 
 And there contract a greater debt than that 
 Which I already owe you. 
 
 Macb. That honour, sir, 
 Outspeaks the best expression of my thanks. 
 I'll be myself the harbinger, and bless 
 My wife with the glad news of your approach. 
 I humbly take my leave. 
 
 King. My worthy Cawdor ! 
 
 [Macbeth going out, stops and speaks, whilst the 
 King talks with Banquo, &c. 
 
 Macb. The Prince of Cumberland ! that is a step 
 On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, 
 For in my way it lies. Stars ! hide your fires. 
 Let no light see my black and deep desires. 
 The strange idea of a bloody act 
 Does into doubt all my resolves distract. 
 My eye shall at my hand connive, the sun 
 Himself shall wink when such a deed is done. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 KiNft. True, noble Banquo, he is full of worth. 
 And with his commendations I am fed ; 
 It is a feast to me. Let's after him, 
 Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
 He is a matchless kinsman. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth and Lady Macduff ; 
 Lady Macbeth having a letter in lier haiul. 
 
 La. Macb. Madam, I have observ'd, since you 
 came hither, 
 You have been still disconsolate. Pray, tell me, 
 Are you in perfect health 1 
 
 La. Macd. Alas ! how can 1 1 
 My Lord, when honour call'd him to the war, 
 Took with him half of my divided soul. 
 Which, lodging in his bosom, liked so well 
 The place, that 'tis not yet return'd. 
 
 La. Macb. Methinks 
 
328 MACBETH. 
 
 That should not disorder you ; for, no doubt, 
 The brave Macduff left half his soul behind him, 
 To make up the defect of yours. 
 
 La. Macd. Alas ! 
 the part transplanted from his breast to mine, 
 As 'twere by sympathy, still bore a share 
 In all the hazards which the other half 
 Incurr'd, and fiU'd my bosom up with fears. 
 
 La. Macb. Those fears, methinks, should cease 
 
 now he is safe. 
 La. Macd. Ah ! madam, dangers which have 
 long prevailed 
 Upon the fancy ; even when they are dead 
 Live in the memory awhile. 
 
 La. Macb. Although his safety has not power 
 enough to put 
 Your doubts to flight, yet the bright glories which 
 He gained in battle might dispel these clouds. 
 La. Macd. The world mistakes the glories gained 
 in war, 
 Thinking their lustre true ; alas ! they are 
 But comets, vapours ! By some men exhal'd 
 From others' blood, and kindled in the region 
 Of popular applause, in which they live 
 Awhile, then vanish : and, the very breath 
 "Which first inflam'd them, blows them out agen. 
 
 La. Macb. I willingly would read this letter ; but 
 Her presence hinders me; I must divert her. 
 If you are ill repose may do you good ; 
 Y' had best retire ; and try if you can sleep. 
 La. Macd. My doubtful thoughts too long have 
 kept me waking. 
 Madam ! I'll take your counsel. \_Ex. La. Macd. 
 La. Macb. Now I have leisure to peruse this 
 letter. 
 His last brought some imperfect news of things 
 Which, in the shape of womeUj greeted him 
 
MACBETH. 32'9 
 
 In a strange manner. This perhaps may give 
 More full intelligence. 
 
 Reads: — They met me in the day of success; and 
 I have been told they have more in them than 
 mortal knowledge. When I desired to question 
 them further, they made themselves air. Whilst 
 I entertained myself with the wonder of it, came 
 missives from the King, who call'd me Thane of 
 Cawdor, by which title these weyward sisters had 
 saluted me before, and referr'd me to the coming 
 on of time, with Hail King that shalt be. This 
 have I imparted to thee, my dearest partner of 
 greatness, that thou might'st not lose thy right of 
 rejoicing by being ignorant of what is promis'd. 
 Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. 
 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be 
 'W'^hat thou art promis'd. Yet I fear thy nature 
 Has too much of the milk of human kindness, 
 To take the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, 
 Thou dost not want ambition, but the ill 
 Which should attend it. What thou highly covet'st 
 Thou covet'st holily ; alas, thou art 
 Loth to play false and yet wouldst wrongly win. 
 Oh ! how irregular are thy desires ! 
 Thou willingly, great Glamis, wouldst enjoy 
 The end without the means. Oh ! haste thee hither 
 That I may pour my spirits in thy ear, 
 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 Thy too effeminate desires of that 
 Which supernatural assistance seems 
 To crown thee with. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 What may be your news 1 
 Macb. See. The King comes hither to-night. 
 La. Macb. Thou'rt mad to say it. 
 
330 MACBETH. 
 
 Is not thy master with him ? Were this true, 
 He would give notice for the preparation. 
 
 Macb. Sek. So please you, it is true: our 
 
 Thane is coming ! 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him ; 
 Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 
 La. Macb. See him well look'd to : he brings 
 
 welcome news. 
 There would be music in a raven's voice, 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Which should but croak the entrance of the King 
 Under my battlements. Come, all you spirits 
 That wait on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, 
 Empty my nature of humanity, 
 And fill it up with cruelty; make thick 
 My blood, and stop all passage to remorse. 
 That no relapses into mercy may 
 Shake my design, nor make it fall before 
 'Tis ripened to effect. You murth'ring spirits, — 
 Where'er in your sightless substances you wait 
 On Nature's mischief — come, and fill my breasts 
 With gall instead of milk : make haste, dark night, 
 And hide me in a smoke as black as hell. 
 That my keen steel see not the wound it makes. 
 Nor heav'n peep through the curtains of the dark. 
 To cry, hold, hold ! 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 
 Greater than both, by the all hail hereafter ; 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 My present posture, I already feel 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macb. Dearest love, 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady. When goes he hence 1 
 
MACBETH. 331 
 
 Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. 
 
 Lady. never 
 Never may any sun that morrow see. 
 Your face, my Thane, is as a book, where men 
 May read strange matters to beguile the time. 
 Be cheerful, sir, bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent 
 
 flower, 
 But be the serpent under't. He that's coming. 
 Must be provided for ; and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch. 
 Which shall to all our future nights and days 
 Give sovereign command : we will withdraw 
 And talk on't further. Let your looks be clear : 
 Your change of count'nance does betoken fear. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, 
 Lenox, Macduff, Attendants. 
 
 King. This castle has a very pleasant seat ; 
 The air does sweetly recommend itself 
 To our delighted senses. 
 
 Ban. The guest of summer, and 
 The temple haunting martin by his choice 
 Of this place for his mansion, seems to tell us 
 That here heaven's breath smells pleasantly. No 
 
 window. 
 Buttress nor place of vantage but this bird 
 Has made his pendant bed and cradle where 
 He breeds and haunts. I have observ'd the air, 
 'Tis delicate. 
 
 Enter Lady ]\Iacbeth. 
 
 King. See, see our honoured hostess ! 
 By loving us some persons cause our trouble, 
 \A'hich still we thank as love ; herein I teach 
 
332 MACBETH. 
 
 You how you should bid us welcome for your pains, 
 And thank you for your trouble. 
 
 La. Macb. All our services, 
 In every point twice done, would prove but poor 
 And single gratitude if weigh'd with these 
 Obliging honours which 
 Your Majesty confers upon our house. 
 For dignities of old and later date, 
 Being too poor to pay, we must be still 
 Your humble debtors. 
 
 Macd. Madam, we are all jointly to-night 
 your trouble. 
 But I am your trespasser upon another score ; 
 My wife, I understand, has in my absence 
 Eetir'd to you. 
 
 La. Macb. I must thank her : for whilst she 
 came to me 
 Seeking a cure for her own solitude, 
 She brought a remedy to mine. Her fears 
 For you have somewhat indisposed her, sir. 
 She's now withdrawn to try if she can sleep ; 
 When she shall wake, I doubt not but your 
 
 presence 
 Will perfectly restore her health. 
 
 King. Where's the Thane of Cawdor ? 
 We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 To be his purveyor ! but he rides well, 
 And his great love, sharp as his spur, has brought 
 
 him 
 Hither before us. Fair and noble lady, 
 We are your guests to-night. 
 
 La. Macb. Your servants 
 Should make their audit at your pleasure, sir, 
 And still return it as their debt. 
 
 King. Give me your hand ! 
 Conduct me to Macbeth : we love him highly. 
 And shall continue our affection to him. f Exeunt. 
 
MACBETH. 333 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. If it were well when done, then it were 
 well 
 It were done quickly ; if his death might be 
 Without the death of nature in myself, 
 And killing my own rest, it would suffice. 
 But deeds of this complexion still return 
 To plague the doer, and destroy his peace ; 
 Yet, let me think ! he's here in double trust. 
 First, as I am his kinsman, and his subject, 
 Strong both against the deed ; then as his host 
 Who should against this murderer shut the door, 
 Not bare the sword myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Has borne his faculties so meek, and been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues. 
 Like angels, plead against so black a deed : 
 Vaulting ambition ! thou o'er-leap'st thyself 
 To faU upon another. Now, what news 1 
 
 Enter L. Macbeth. 
 
 La. Macb. H' has almost supp'd ! Why have 
 you left the chamber ? 
 
 Macb. Has he inquired for me ? 
 
 La. Macb. You know he has ! 
 
 Macb. We will proceed no farther in this 
 business : 
 H' has honoured me of late, and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
 Which should be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 La. Macb. Was the hope drunk 
 Wherein you dressed yourself? has it slept since ? 
 And wakes it now to look so pale and fearful 
 At what it wisht so freely ? Can you fear 
 To be the same in your own act and valour, 
 As in desire you are 1 Would you enjoy 
 
334 MACBETH. 
 
 What you repute the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in your own esteem ? 
 Fou dare not venture on the thing you wish, 
 But still would be in tame expectance of it. 
 
 Macb. I prithee, peace ! I dare do all that may 
 Become a man, he vi^ho dares more is none. 
 
 La. Macb. What beast then made you break this 
 enterprize 
 To me 1 when you did that you were a man : 
 Nay, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place 
 Did then adhere, and yet you wish'd for both ; 
 And now th' have made themselves how you 
 
 betray 
 Your cowardice ! I've given suck, and know 
 How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me ; 
 I would, whilst it was smiling in my face, 
 Have pluckt my nipple from his boneless gums, 
 And dasht the brains out, had I so resolved 
 As you have done for this. 
 Macb. If we should fail :— 
 La. Macb. How fail ?— 
 Bring but your courage to the fatal place. 
 And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
 To which the pains of this day's journey will 
 Soundly invite him, his two chamberlains 
 I will with wine and wassel so convince. 
 That memory, the sentry of the brain, 
 ShaU be a fume ; and the receipt of reason, 
 A limbeck only. When, in swinish sleep, 
 Their natures shall lie drench'd, as in their death. 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 His spongy ofBcers 1 we'll make them bear 
 The guilt of our black deed. 
 
 Macb. Bring forth men-children only ! 
 For thy undaunted temper should produce 
 Nothing but males. But yet when we have mark'd 
 
MACBETH. 335 
 
 Those of his chamber, whilst they are asleep, 
 With Duncan's blood, and us'd their very daggers ; 
 I fear it will not be, with ease, believ'd 
 That they have done't. 
 
 La. Macb. Who dares believe it otherwise, 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamours loud 
 After his death 1 
 
 Macb. I'm settled, and will stretch up 
 Each fainting sinew to this bloody act. 
 Come, let's delude the time with fairest show, 
 Feign'd looks must hide what the false heart does 
 know. 
 
 Act II. Scene I. 
 Enter Banquo and Flean. 
 
 Banquo. How goes the night, boy 1 
 
 Flean. I have not heard the clock. 
 But the moon is down. 
 
 Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
 
 Flean. I take't 'tis late, sir. [Ex. Flean. 
 
 Ban. An heavy summons lies like lead upon me ; 
 Nature would have me sleep, and yet I fain would 
 
 wake. 
 Merciful powers restrain me in these cursed 
 
 thoughts 
 That thus disturb my rest. 
 
 Enter Macbeth, and Servant. . 
 
 Who's there ? 
 
 Macb. A friend! 
 
 Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest ? The King's 
 abed ! 
 He has been to-night in an unusual pleasure. 
 
336 MACBETH. 
 
 He to your servants has been bountiful, 
 And with this diamond he greets your wife 
 By the obliging name of most kind hostess. 
 
 'Macb. The King, taking us unprepar'd, restrain'd 
 our power 
 Of serving him, which else should have wrought 
 more free. 
 
 Ban. All's well ! 
 I dream'd last night of the three weyward sisters. 
 To you they have shewn some truth. 
 
 Macb. I think not of them ; 
 Yet when we can intreat an hour or two. 
 We'll spend it in some wood upon that business. 
 
 Ban. At your kindest leisure. 
 
 Macb. If, when the prophecy begins to look like 
 truth. 
 You will adhere to me, it shall make honour for 
 you. 
 
 Ban. So I lose none in seeking to augment it, 
 but still 
 Keeping my bosom free, and my allegiances dear, 
 I shall be counsell'd. 
 
 Macb. Good repose the while ! 
 
 Ban. The like to your, sir ! [Ex. Ban. 
 
 Macb. Go, bid your mistress, when she is 
 undrest, 
 To strike the closet bell, and I'll go to bed. 
 Is this a dagger which 1 see before me ? 
 The hilt draws towards my hand ; come, let me 
 
 grasp thee ! 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still ; 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight 'i Or, art thou but 
 A dagger of the mind, a false creation 
 Proceeding from the brain, opprest with heat t 
 My eyes are made the fools of th' other senses ; 
 Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still, 
 
MACBETH. 337 
 
 And on thy blade are stains of reeking blood. 
 
 It is the bloody business that thus 
 
 Informs my eye-sight ; now, to half the world 
 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams infect 
 
 The health of sleep : now witchcraft celebrates 
 
 Pale Hecate's offerings : now murder is 
 
 All arm'd by his night's centinel, the wolf. 
 
 Whose howling seems the watchword to the dead. 
 
 But whilst I talk he lives ; hark, I am summon'd ! 
 
 Duncan, hear it not ! for 'tis a bell 
 
 That rings my coronation, and thy knell. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 La. Macb. That which made them drunk has 
 
 made me bold ; 
 What has quenched them hath given new fire to 
 
 me. 
 Hark ! oh, it was the owl that shriek'd ; 
 The fatal bellman that oft bids good night 
 To dying men. He is about it ; the doors are open ! 
 And, whilst the surfeited grooms neglect their 
 
 charges for sleep. 
 Nature and death are now contending in them. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. Who's there ? 
 
 La. Macb. Alas ! I am afraid they are awak'd, 
 And 'tis not done ! The attempt without the deed 
 Would ruin us. I laid the daggers ready ; 
 He could not miss them ; and had he not resembl'd 
 My father, as he slept, I would have done't. 
 My husband 1 
 
 Macb. I have done the deed ! did'st thou not 
 hear a noise 1 
 
 La. Macb. I heard the owl's scream, and the 
 cricket's cry. 
 Did not you speak i 
 
 V. Y 
 
338 MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. "V^'Tien? 
 
 La. Macb. Now. 
 
 Macb. Who lies i' th' anti-chamber ? 
 
 La. Macb. Donalbain. 
 
 Macb. This is a dismal sight ! 
 
 La. Macb. A foolish thought to say a dismal 
 
 sight. 
 Macb. There is one did laugh as he securely- 
 slept, 
 And one cried murder, that they wak'd each other. 
 I stood and heard them ; but they said their 
 
 prayers 
 And then addrest themselves to sleep again. 
 La. Macb. There are two lodg'd together. 
 Macb. One cried, heaven bless us ! the other said, 
 Amen ! 
 As they had seen me with these hangman's hands ; 
 Silenc'd with fear, I could not say Amen ! 
 When they did say, heaven bless us ! 
 La. Macb. Consider it not so deeply. 
 Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce 
 Amen? 
 I had most need of blessing, and Amen 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 La. Macb. These deeds should be forgot as soon 
 as done. 
 Lest they distract the doer. 
 
 Macb. Methoughts I heard a noise cry, sleep no 
 more; 
 Macbeth has murder" d sleep, the innocent sleep ; 
 Sleep, that locks up the senses from their care ; 
 The death of each day's life, tir'd labours bath. 
 Balm of hurt minds, gTeat nature's second course; 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast. 
 La. Macb. What do you mean ? 
 Macb. Still it cried, sleep no more, to all the 
 house. 
 
MACBETH. 339 
 
 Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more ; Macbeth shall sleep no more ! 
 
 La. Macb. Why do you dream thus? go, get 
 some water 
 And cleanse this filthy witness from your hands ! 
 Why did you bring the daggers from the place ? 
 They must be there ! go, carry them ! and stain 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macb. I'll go no more ; 
 I am afraid to think what I have done. 
 What then with looking on it shall I do ? 
 
 La. Macb. Give me the daggers ! the sleeping 
 and the dead 
 Are but as pictures ; 'tis the eye of childhood 
 That fears a painted devil. With his blood 
 rU stain the faces of the grooms ; by that 
 It will appear their guilt. [Ex. La. Macbeth. 
 
 [Knock within. 
 
 Macb. What knocking's that ? 
 How is't with me when every noise affrights 
 
 me? 
 What hands are here ! Can the sea afford 
 Water enough to wash away the stains 1 
 No, they would sooner add a tincture to 
 The sea, and turn the green into a red. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 La. Macb. My hands are of your colour, but 
 
 I scorn 
 To wear a heart so white. Heark ! [Knock. 
 
 I hear a knocking at the gate. To your chamber ! 
 A little water clears us of this deed. 
 Your fear has left you unmann'd ; heark, more 
 
 knocking ! 
 Get on your gown, lest occasions call us 
 And shew us to be watchers ; be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. [Exit. 
 
340 MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. Disguis'd in blood, I scarce can find my 
 way. 
 Wake Duncan with this knocking ! wou d thou 
 could'st. [-^arii. 
 
 Unter Lenox, and Macbeth' s Servant. 
 Len. You sleep soundly that so much knocking 
 Could not wake you. 
 
 Serv. Labour by day causes rest by night. 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 
 Len. See, the noble Macduff ! 
 Good morrow, my lord ! have you observ'd 
 How great a mist does now possess the air ? 
 It makes me doubt whether't be day or night. 
 Macd. Eising this morning early, I went to look 
 
 out of my 
 Window, and I cou'd scarce see farther than my 
 
 breath ; 
 The darkness of the night brought but few objects 
 To our eyes, but many to our ears. 
 Strange claps, and creekings of the doors were 
 
 heard ; 
 The skriech-owl with his screams seem'd to foretel 
 Some deed more black than night. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macd. Is the King stirring ? 
 
 Macb. Not yet. 
 
 Macd. He did command me to attend him early : 
 I have almost slip'd the hour. 
 
 Macb. I'll bring you to him. 
 
 Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you. 
 
 Macb. The labour we delight in gives [no pain.] 
 That door will bring you to him. 
 
 Macd. I'll make bold to call, for 'tis my limited 
 service. [Exit. 
 
MACBETH. 341 
 
 Len. Goes the King hence to-day 1 
 
 Macb. So he designs. 
 
 Len. The night has been unruly ; 
 Where we lay, our chimneys were blown down ; 
 And, as they say, terrible groanings were heard i' 
 
 th' air. 
 Strange screams of death, which seem'd to prophecy 
 More strange events, fill'd divers, 
 Some say the earth shook. 
 
 Macb. 'Twas a rough night ! 
 
 Len. My young remembrance cannot recollect 
 its fellow. 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 
 Macd. Oh horror ! horror ! horror ! 
 Which no heart can conceive nor tongue can utter. 
 
 Len ^" } ^^^'^'^ tlie matter ? 
 
 Macd. Horror has done its worst : 
 Most sacrilegious murder has broke open 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
 The Ufe o' th' building. 
 
 Macb. What is't you say ? The life? 
 
 Len. Meaning his Majesty. 
 
 Macd. Approach the chamber, and behold the 
 sight. 
 Enough to turn spectators into stone. 
 I cannot speak ! see, and then speak yourselves. 
 Eing the alarum-bell ! awake, awake ! 
 
 [Ex. Macb. and Len. 
 Murther, treason ! Banquo, Malcolm, and Donal- 
 
 bain, 
 Shake off your downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
 And look on death itself; up, up, and see ! 
 As from your graves rise up, and walk like spirits 
 To countenance this horror. Eing the bell ! 
 
 \Bell rings. 
 
342 MACBETH. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 La. Macb. "What's the husiness, that at this 
 dead of night 
 You alarm us from our rest ? 
 
 Macd. Madam ! 
 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak ; 
 The repetition in a woman's ear 
 Would do another murther. 
 
 Enter Banquo. 
 
 Oh Banquo, Banquo, our royal master's murther'd ! 
 
 La. Macb. Ah me ! In our house 1 
 
 Banq. The deed's too cruel anywhere, Macduff; 
 Oh that you could biit contradict yourself, 
 And say it is not true. 
 
 Enter Macbeth and Lenox. 
 
 Macb. Had I but died an hour before this 
 chance, 
 I had liv'd a blessed time ; for, from this instant, 
 There's nothing in't worth a good man's care. 
 All is but toys, renown and grace are dead. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 
 
 DoNAL. What is amiss ? 
 
 Macb. You are, and do not know't ; 
 The spring, the head, -the fountain of your blood 
 Is stopped ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
 
 Macd. Your royal father's murther'd. 
 
 Malc. Murthered ! by whom ? 
 
 Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd had 
 don't ; 
 Their hands and faces were all stain'd with blood : 
 So were their daggers, which we found unwip'd, 
 Upon their pillows. Why was the life of one, 
 So much above the best of men, intrusted 
 
MACBETH. 343 
 
 To the hands of two, so much below 
 The worst of beasts 1 
 
 Macb. Then I repent me I so rashly kill'd 'em. 
 Macd. Why did you so 1 
 Macb. Who can be prudent and amaz'd together i 
 Loyal and neutral in a moment ? No man. 
 Th' expedition of my violent love 
 Outran my pausing reason ; I saw Duncan 
 Whose gaping wounds look'd like a breach in 
 
 nature, 
 Where ruin enter' d there. I saw the murtherers 
 Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers, 
 Being yet unwip'd, seem'd to own the deed, 
 And call for vengeance ; who could then refrain. 
 That had a heart to love ; and in that heart 
 Courage to manifest his affection ? 
 La. Macb. Oh, Oh, Oh ! [Faints. 
 
 Macd. Look to the lady. 
 
 Malc. Why are we silent now, that have so large 
 An argument for sorrow 'i 
 
 Don. What should be spoken here, where our 
 fate may rush 
 Suddenly upon us, and as if it lay 
 Hid in some corner ; make our death succeed 
 The ruin of our father ere we are aware 1 
 Macd. I find this place too public for true 
 sorrow ; 
 Let us retire and mourn ; but first 
 Guarded by virtue, I am resolv'd to find 
 The utmost of this business. 
 Banq. And I. 
 Macb. And all. 
 Let all of us take manly resolution ; 
 And two hours hence meet together in the hall. 
 To question this most bloody fact. 
 Banq. We shall be ready, sir. 
 
 [Ex. all but Male, and Donal. 
 
344 MACBETH. 
 
 Malc. What will you do 1 
 Let's not consort with them : 
 To shew an unfelt sorrow is an office 
 AVhich false men do with ease. 
 I'll to England. 
 
 DoNAL. To Ireland I'm resolv'd to steer my 
 course ; 
 Our separated fortune may protect our persons. 
 Where we are daggers lie hid under men's smiles, 
 And the nearer some men are allied to our blood, 
 The more I fear they seek to shed it. 
 
 Malc. This murtherous shaft that's shot 
 Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
 Is to avoid the aim ; then let's to horse, 
 And use no ceremony in taking leave of any. 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Lenox and Seyton. 
 
 Seyton. I can remember well 
 Within the compass of which time I've seen 
 Hours dreadful and things strange, but this one night 
 Has made that knowledge void. 
 
 Len. Thou see'st the heavens, as troubled with 
 man's act 
 Threatn'd this bloody day ; by th' hour 'tis day. 
 And yet dark night does cover all the sky, 
 As if it had quite blotted out the sun. 
 Its night's predominance, or the day's shame 
 Makes darkness thus usurp the place of Kght. 
 
 Sey. 'Tis strange and unnatural, 
 Even like the deed that's done ; on Tuesday last, 
 A falcon tow'ring in her height of pride 
 Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kiU'd. 
 
 Len. And Duncan's horses which before were 
 tame. 
 
MACBETH. 345 
 
 Did, on a sudden, change their gentle natures 
 And became wild ; they broke out of their stables, 
 As if they would make war with mankind. 
 
 Sey. 'Tis said they eat each other. 
 
 Len. They did so, 
 To th' amazement of those eyes that saw it. 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 
 Here comes the good Macduff. 
 How goes the world, sir, now ? 
 
 Len. Is't known who did this more than bloody 
 deed ? 
 
 Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain are most 
 suspected. 
 
 Len. Alas, what good could they pretend ? 
 
 Macd. It is suppos'd they were suborn'd. 
 Malcolm and Donalbain, the King's two sons, 
 Are stol'n away from court. 
 Which puts upon them suspicion of the deed. 
 ■ Len. Unnatural still ! 
 Could their ambition prompt them to destroy 
 The means of their own life ? 
 
 Macd. You are free to judge 
 Of their deportment as you please ; but most 
 Men think 'em guilty. 
 
 Len. Then 'tis most like the sovereignty will fall 
 Upon Macbeth. 
 
 Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone 
 To be invested. 
 
 Len. Where's Duncan's body ? 
 
 Macd. Carried to ColmehUl,* 
 The sacred storehouse of his predece"fesors. 
 
 Len. Will you to Scone ? 
 
 Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife ! 
 My wife and children frighted at the alarm 
 * I-colmkill, otherwise lona. 
 
346 MACBETH. 
 
 Of this sad news have hither led the way, 
 
 And I'll follow them : may the King you go 
 
 To see invested, prove as great and good 
 
 As Duncan was ; but I'm in doubt of it, 
 
 New robes ne'er as the old so easy fit. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene, an Heath. 
 
 Enter Lady Macduff, Maid, and Servant. 
 
 La. Macd. Art sure this is the place my lord 
 appointed 
 Us to meet him ? 
 
 Serv. This is the entrance o' th' heath ; and here 
 He order'd me to attend him with the chariot. 
 
 La. Macd. How fondly did my lord conceive 
 that we 
 Should shun the place of danger by our flight 
 From Everness 1 * The darkness of the day 
 Makes the heath seem the gloomy walks of death. 
 We are in danger still ; they, who dare here 
 Trust Providence, may trust it anywhere. 
 
 Maid. But this place, madam, is more free from 
 terror : 
 Last night, methoughts, I heard a dismal noise 
 Of shrieks and groanings in the air. 
 
 La. Macb. 'Tis true this is a place of greater 
 silence ; 
 Not so much troubled with the groans of those 
 That die, nor with the outcries of the living. 
 
 Maid. Yes. I have heard stories, how some men 
 Have in such lonely places been affrighted 
 With dreadful shapes and noises. [Macduff hollows. 
 
 La. Macd. But hark, my lord sure hollows ; 
 'Tis he, answer him quickly. 
 
 Serv. Illo, Ho, Ho, Ho ! 
 
 * Inverness. 
 
MACBETH. 347 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 
 La. Macd. Now I begin to see him. Are you 
 a-foot 
 My Lord ? 
 
 Maod. Knowing the way to be both short and 
 easy, 
 And that the chariot did attend me here, 
 I have adventur'd. Where are our children? 
 La. Macd. They are securely sleeping in the 
 chariot. 
 
 First Song by the Witches* 
 
 1 Witch. Speak, sister, speak ! is the deed done ? 
 
 2 Witch. Long ago, long ago ; 
 Above twelve glasses since have run. 
 
 3 Witch. Ill deeds are seldom slow : 
 Nor single ; following crimes on former wait, 
 The worst of creatures fastest propagate. 
 Many more murders must this one ensue. 
 
 As if in death were propagation too. 
 
 2 Witch. He will. 
 1 Witch. He shall. 
 
 3 Witch. He must spill much more blood : 
 And become worse to make his title good. 
 
 1 Witch. Now, let's dance. 
 
 2 Witch. Agreed. 
 
 3 Witch. Agreed. 
 
 4 Witch. Agreed ! 
 
 Chwus. 
 
 We should rejoice when good kings bleed, 
 
 When cattle die about we go. 
 
 What then when monarchs perish should we do ? 
 
 Macd. What can this be ? 
 * It is presumed that this concerted piece is performed without. : 
 
348 MACBETH. 
 
 La. Macd. This is most strange ! but why seem 
 you afraid ? 
 Can you be capable of fears, who have 
 So often caus'd it in your enemies ? 
 
 Macd. It was an hellish song ! I cannot dread 
 Aught that is mortal ; but this is something more. 
 Second Song* 
 Let's have a dance upon the heath, 
 We gain more life by Duncan's death. 
 Sometimes Uke brinded cats we show 
 Having no music but our mew, 
 Sometimes we dance in some old mill, 
 Upon the hopper, stones, and wheel, 
 To some old saw, or bardish rhyme 
 Where still the miU clack does keep time. 
 Sometimes about an hoUow tree. 
 Around, around, around, dance we. 
 Thither the chirping cricket comes, 
 And beetle singing drowsy hums. 
 Sometimes we dance o'er fens and furs. 
 To howls of wolves, and barks of curs. 
 And when with none of these we meet, 
 We dance to the echoes of our feet. 
 At the night raven's dismal voice. 
 Whilst others tremble, we rejoice ; 
 And nimbly, nimbly dance we still 
 To th' echoes from an hollow hill. 
 Macd. I am glad you are not afraid. 
 La. Macd. I would not willingly to fear submit; 
 None can fear iU but those that merit it. 
 
 Macd. Am I made bold by her ? How strong 
 a guard 
 Is innocence ! If any one would be 
 Reputed valiant, let him learn of you ; 
 Virtue both courage is, and safety too. 
 
 \A dance of Witches. 
 * Also without. 
 
MACBETH. 349 
 
 Enter Two Witches. 
 
 Macd. These seem foul spirits ; I'll speak to 'em. 
 If you can anything by more than nature know, 
 You may in these prodigious times foretell 
 Some ill we may avoid. 
 
 1 Witch. Saving thy blood will cause it to be 
 shed 
 
 2 Witch. He'll bleed by thee, by whom thou 
 first hast bled. 
 
 3 Witch. Thy wife shall, shunning danger, 
 dangers find, 
 
 And fatal be to whom she most is kind. [Ex. Witches. 
 La. Macd. Why are you alter'd, sir? be not 
 thoughtful ; 
 The messengers of darkness never spake 
 To men but to deceive them. 
 
 Macd. Their words seem to foretell some dire 
 
 predictions. 
 La. Macd. He that believes Ul news from such 
 as these 
 Deserves to find it true. Their words are like 
 Their shape ; nothing but fiction. 
 Let's hasten to our journey! 
 
 Macd. I'll take your counsel, for to permit 
 Such thoughts upon our memories to dwell, 
 Will make our minds the registers of hell. 
 
 [Exeunt Omnes. 
 
 Act III. Scene I. 
 Enter Banquo. 
 
 Ban. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, 
 all. 
 As the three sisters promis'd ; but I fear 
 Thou play'dst most foully for't ; yet it was said 
 
350 MACBETH. 
 
 It should not stand in thy posterity : 
 
 But that myself should be the root and father 
 
 Of many Kings ; they told the truth. 
 
 Why, since their promise was made good to thee, 
 
 May they not be my oracles as well ? 
 
 Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Here's our chief guest. If he had been 
 forgotten. 
 It had been want of music to our feast. 
 To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir. 
 And all request your presence. 
 
 Ban. Your Majesty lays your command on me, 
 To which my duty is to obey. 
 
 Macb. Eide you this afternoon 1 
 
 Ban. Yes, Royal sir. 
 
 Macb. We should have else desired your good 
 advice. 
 Which still hath been both grave and prosperous, 
 In this day's council ; but we'll take to-morrow. 
 Is't far you ride ? 
 
 Ban. As far, great sir, as will take up the time ; 
 Go not my horse the better, 
 I must become a borrower of the night, 
 For a dark hour or two. 
 
 Macb. Fail not our feast ! 
 
 Ban. My Lord, I shall not. 
 
 Macb. We hear our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
 In England and in Ireland ; not confessing 
 Their cruel parricide ; filling their hearers 
 With strange invention. But of that to-morrow. 
 Goes your son with you 1 
 
 Macd. He does, and our time now calls upon us. 
 
 Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot. 
 Farewell. [Ex. Banguo. 
 
 Let every man be master of his time. 
 Till seven at night ; to make society 
 
MACBETH. 351 
 
 The more welcome, we will ourselves withdraw, 
 
 And be alone till supper. \_Ex. Lords. 
 
 Macduff departed frowningly ; perhaps, 
 
 He is grown jealous ; he and Banquo must 
 
 Embrace the same fate. 
 
 Do those men attend our pleasure ] 
 
 Len. They do, and wait without. 
 
 Macb. Bring them before us ! [Ex. Servant. 
 
 I am no King till I am safely so : 
 My fears stick deep in Banquo's successors ; 
 And in his Royalty of nature reigns that 
 Which would be fear'd. He dares do much ; 
 And to that dauntless temper of his mind. 
 He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
 To act in safety. Under him 
 My genius is rebuked ; he chid the sisters 
 When first they put the name of King upon me. 
 And bade them speak to him. Then prophet-like 
 They hail'd him father to a line of Kings. 
 Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown. 
 And put a barren sceptre in my hand, 
 Thence to be wrested by another's race ; 
 No son of mine succeeding : if t be so, 
 For Banquo's issue I have stain'd my soul 
 For them : the gracious Duncan, I have murder'd ; 
 Eather than so I will attempt yet farther, 
 And blot out by their blood, whate'er 
 Is written of them in the book of fate. 
 
 Enter Servant and Two Murtherers. 
 
 Wait you without, and stay there till we call ! 
 
 [Ex. Servant. 
 Was it not yesterday we .spoke together ? 
 1 MURTH. It was, so please your Highness. 
 Macb. And have you since consider'd what I 
 told you, 
 How it was Banquo, who in former times 
 
352 MACBETH. 
 
 Held you so much in slavery ; 
 Whilst you were guided to suspect my innocence 1 
 This I made good to you in your last conference ; 
 How you were borne * in hand, how crost, 
 The instruments, who wrought with them — 
 
 2 MUK. You made it known to us. 
 
 Macb. I did so; and now let me reason with you ; 
 Do you find your patience so predominant 
 In your nature 
 
 As tamely to remit those injuries ? 
 Are you so gospell'd to pray for this good man. 
 And for his issue, whose heavy hand 
 Hath bow'd to the grave and beggar'd 
 Yours for ever % 
 
 1 MUR. We are men, my liege. 
 
 Macb. Ay, in the catalogue, you go for men ; 
 As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, 
 Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi- wolves, are all 
 Call'd by the name of dogs ; the list of which 
 Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle. 
 The housekeeper, the hunter, every one 
 According to the gift which bounteous nature 
 Hath bestow'd on him ; and so of men. 
 Now, if you have a station in the list. 
 The' in th' worst rank of manhood, say't. 
 And I will put that business in your bosoms 
 Which, if perform'd, will rid you of your enemy. 
 And will endear you to the love of us. 
 
 2 MuR. I am one, my liege, 
 
 Whom the vile blows and malice of the age 
 Hath so incens'd that I care not what I do 
 To spite the world. 
 
 1 MuR. And I another. 
 So weary with disasters and so inflicted by fortune 
 That I would set my life on any chance 
 To mend it or to lose it. 
 
 • Burnt. 
 
MACBETH. 353 
 
 Macb. Both of you know Ban quo was your ene- 
 my. 
 
 2 MuK. True, my lord. 
 
 Macb. So is he mine ; and though I could 
 With open power take him from my sight, 
 And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not ; 
 For certain friends that are both his and mine, 
 Whose loves I may not hazard, would iU 
 Resent a public process, and thence it is 
 That I do your assistance crave, to mask 
 The business from the common eye. 
 
 2 MuK. We shall, my lord, perform what you 
 command us. 
 
 1 MUR. Though our lives 
 
 Macb. Your spirits shine through you. 
 Within this hour at most 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves ; 
 For it must be done to-night ; 
 And something from the palace ; always remem- 
 
 ber'd 
 That you keep secrecy with the prescribed father. 
 Flean, his son, too, keeps him company ; 
 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 Than that of Banquo's : he, too, must embrace the 
 
 fate 
 Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart ! 
 
 Both Mur. We are resolv'd, my liege. 
 
 Macb. Ill call upon you straight. [Ex. Mur. 
 Now, Banquo, if thy soul can in her flight 
 Find heaven, thy happiness begins to-night. [Ezit. 
 
 Enter Macduff and Lady Macduff. 
 
 Macd. It must be so. Great Duncan's bloody 
 
 death 
 Can have no other author but Macbeth. 
 His dagger now is to a sceptre grown ; 
 From Duncan's grave he has deriv'd his throne. 
 
 V. z 
 
354 MACBETH. 
 
 La. Macd. Ambition urged him to that bloody 
 deed : 
 May you be never by ambition led ; 
 Forbid it heav'n, that in revenge you should 
 Follow a copy that is writ in blood. 
 
 Macd. From Duncan's grave methinks I hear a 
 groan 
 That calls aloud for justice. 
 
 La. Macd. If the throne 
 Was by Macbeth ill gain'd, Heaven may, 
 Without your sword, sufficient vengeance pay. 
 Usurpers' lives have but a short extent ; 
 Nothing lives long in a strange element. 
 
 Macd. My country's dangers call for my de- 
 fence 
 Against the bloody tyrant's violence. 
 
 La. Macd. I am afraid you have some other end 
 Than merely Scotland's freedom to defend. 
 You'd raise yourself whilst you would him dethrone. 
 And shake his greatness to confirm your own. 
 That purpose will appear, when rightly scann'd. 
 But usurpation at the second hand. 
 Good sir, recall your thoughts ! 
 
 Macd. What if I should 
 f~ Assume the sceptre for my country's good ? 
 ' Is that an usurpation ? Can it be 
 Ambition to procure the liberty 
 Of this sad realm, which does by treason bleed ; 
 That which provokes will justify the deed. 
 
 La. Macd. If the design should prosper, the 
 event 
 May make us safe, but not you innocent ; 
 For whilst, to set our fellow-subjects free 
 From present death or future slavery. 
 You wear a crown not by your title due. 
 Defence in them is an offence in you : 
 That deed's unlawful though it cost no blood, 
 
MACBETH. 355 
 
 In which you'll be at best unjustly good, 
 You, by your pity, which for us you plead, 
 Weave but ambition of a finer thread. 
 
 MaCD. Ambition does the height of power affect, 
 My aim is not to govern but protect ; 
 And he is not ambitious that declares 
 He nothing seeks of sceptres but their cares. 
 
 La. Macd. Can you so patiently yourself molest, 
 And lose your own to give your country rest 1 
 In plagues what sound physician would endure 
 To be infected for another's cure. 
 
 Macd. If by my troubles I could your's release, 
 My love wou'd turn those torments to my ease : 
 I should at once be sick and healthy too. 
 Though sickly in myself yet well in you. 
 
 La. Macd. But then reflect upon the danger, sir. 
 Which you by your aspiring would incur. 
 From fortune's pinnacle you will too late 
 Look down when you are giddy with your height ; 
 Whilst you with fortune play to win a crown. 
 The people's stakes are greater than your own. 
 
 Macd. In hopes to have the common ills redrest. 
 Who wou'd not venture single interest. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Ser. My lord, a gentleman just now arriv'd 
 From court has brought a message from the K.ing. 
 Macd, One sent from him can no good tidings 
 
 bring. 
 La. Macd. What would the tyrant have 1 
 Macd. Go ! I will hear 
 The news, though it a dismal accent bear ; 
 Those who expect and do not fear their doom. 
 May hear a message though from hell it come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Macbeth's Lady and Servant. 
 La Macb. Is Banquo gone from court 1 
 
356 MACBETH. 
 
 Ser. Yes, madam, but returns again to-night. 
 
 La. Macb. Say to the King I would attend his 
 leisure 
 For a few words. [Exit Ser. 
 
 Where our desire is got without content, 
 Alas, it is not gain but punishment. 
 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, 
 Than by destruction live in doubtful'joy. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. ' 
 
 How now, my lord, why do you keep alone ? 
 Making the worst of fancies your companions ; 
 Conversing with those thoughts that should ha' 
 
 died 
 With those they think on ; things without redress 
 Should be without regard ; what's done is done. 
 
 Macb. Alas, we have but scotch'd the snake, 
 not kUled it ; 
 She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice 
 Eemains in danger of her former sting. 
 But let the frame of all things be disjoint 
 Ere we will eat our bread in fear, and sleep 
 In the affliction of those horrid dreams 
 That shake us mightily ! Better be with him 
 Whom we, to gain the crown, have sent to peace. 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 In restless agony. Duncan is dead ! 
 He after life's short fever now sleeps well. 
 Treason has done its worst ; nor steel nor poison 
 Nor foreign force, nor yet domestic malice 
 Can touch him farther. 
 
 La. Macb. Come on ! smooth your rough brow, 
 Be free and merry with your guests to-night. 
 
 Macb. I shall, and so I pray be you, but still 
 Eemember to apply yourself to Banquo : 
 Present him kindness with your eye and tongue. 
 In how unsafe a posture are our honours, 
 
MACBETH. 357 
 
 That we must have recourse to flattery, 
 And make our faces vizors to our hearts. 
 La. Macb. You must leave this. 
 Macb. How full of scorpions is my mind, dear 
 wife, 
 Thou knowest that Banquo and his Flean live. 
 La. Macb. But they are not immortal; there's 
 
 comfort yet in that. 
 Macb. Be merry then ! for ere the bat has flown 
 His cloister' d* flight : ere to black Heccate's 
 
 summons 
 The sharp brow'd beetle with his drowsy hums, 
 Has rung night's second peal, 
 There shall be done a deed of dreadful note. 
 La. Macb. What is't 1 
 Macb. Be innocent of knowing it, my dear, 
 Till thou applaud the deed. Come, dismal night ! 
 Close up the eye of the quick-sighted day 
 With thy invisible and bloody hand. 
 The crow makes wing to the thick shady grove. 
 Good things of day grow dark and overcast, 
 Whilst night's black agents to their preys make 
 
 haste. 
 Thou wonder'st at my language, wonder still ! 
 Things ill begun strengthen themselves by ill. 
 
 [Eaxunt. 
 
 Enter Three Murthereks. 
 
 1 Mur. The time is almost come. 
 
 The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day, 
 Now the benighted traveller spurs on 
 To gain the timely inn. 
 
 2 Mur. Hark, I hear horses, and saw somebody 
 alight 
 
 At the park gate. 
 
 3 Mur. Then 'tis he ; the rest 
 
 That are expected, are i'th' court already. 
 
358 MACBETH. 
 
 1 Mxm. His horses go about almost a mile, 
 And men from hence to th' palace make it their 
 nsual walk. [-^^■ 
 
 Enter Banquo and Flean. 
 
 Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
 
 Flean. We must make haste. 
 
 Ban. Our haste concerns us more than being 
 wet. 
 He expects me at his feast to-night, 
 To which he did invite me with a kindness, 
 Greater than he was wont to express. [Exeunt. 
 
 Be-enter Murtherers with drawn Swords. 
 
 1 MuR. Banquo, thou little think'st what bloody- 
 feast 
 
 Is now preparing for thee. 
 
 2 MuR. Nor to what shades the darkness of this' 
 night 
 
 Shall lead thy wandering spirit. 
 
 [JExeunt after Banquo. 
 
 Clashing of Swords is heard from within. Be-enter 
 Flean pursued by one of the Murtherers. 
 
 Flean. Murther ! help, help, my father's kill'd ! 
 
 [Ex. running. 
 
 Scene Opens. A Banquet Prepared. 
 
 Enter MACBETH, Lady Macbeth, Seyton, Lenox, 
 Lords, Attendants. 
 
 Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down ! 
 
 Seyt. Thanks to your Majesty. 
 
 Macb. Ourself will keep you company, 
 And play the humble host to entertain you, 
 Our lady keeps her State, but you shall have her 
 welcome too. 
 
MACBETH. 359 
 
 La. Macb. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our 
 friends. 
 
 Enter First Murtheeee. 
 
 Maob. Both sides are even ; be free in mirth ! 
 anon 
 We'll drink a measure round, about the table. 
 There's blood upon thy face. 
 
 MuE. 'Tis Banquo's, then. 
 
 Macb. Is he dispatch'd? 
 
 MUR. My lord, his throat is cut ! that I did for 
 him. 
 
 Macb. Thou art the best of cut-throats ; 
 Yet he is good that did the like for Flean. 
 
 MuR. Most royal sir he 'scap'd. 
 
 Macb. Then comes my fit again. I had else been 
 perfect. 
 Firm as a pillar founded on a rock, 
 As unconfin'd as the free spreading air ; 
 But now I'm check'd with saucy doubts and fears. 
 But Banquo's safe 1 
 
 MuE. Safe in a ditch he lies. 
 With twenty gaping wounds about his head. 
 The least of which was mortal. 
 
 Macb. There the ground serpent lies ; the worm 
 that's fled 
 Hath nature that in time will venom breed 
 Though at present it wants a sting. To-morrow, 
 To-morrow you shall hear further. \Ex. Mur. 
 
 La. Macb. My royal lord you spoil the feast, 
 The sauce to meat is chearfulness. 
 
 Enter Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeth's place. 
 
 Macb. Let good digestion wait on appetite. 
 And health on both I 
 
 Len. May it please your highness to sit 1 
 Macb. Had we but here our country's honour ; 
 
360 MACBETH. 
 
 Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present 
 Whom we may justly challenge for unkindness— 
 
 Seyt. His absence, sir, 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please your Highness 
 To grace us with your company 1 
 
 Macb. Yes, I'll sit down. The table's full ! 
 
 Len. Here is a place reserv'd, sir. 
 
 Macb. Where, sir? 
 
 Len. Here! What is't that moves your highness! 
 
 Macb. Which of you have done this ? 
 
 Lords. Done what ! 
 
 Macb. Thou canst not say I did it? Never shake 
 Thy goary locks at me. 
 
 Seyt. Gentlemen, rise! his Highness is not well. 
 
 La. Macb. Sit, worthy friends, my lord is often 
 thus. 
 And hath been from his youth; pray keep your 
 
 seats, 
 The fit is ever sudden. If you take notice of it 
 You shall offend him and provoke his passion ; 
 In a moment he'll be well again. 
 Are you a man ? 
 
 Macb. Ay, and a bold one that dare look on that 
 Which would distract the devil. 
 
 La. Macb. O proper stuff ! 
 This is the very painting of your fear, 
 This is the air-drawn dagger which you said 
 Led you to Duncan. O these fits and starts, 
 Impostors to true fear, would well become 
 A woman's story, authorized by her grandam. 
 Why do you stare thus ? When all's done 
 You look but on a chair. 
 
 Macb. Prithee, see there ! how say you now ? 
 Why, what care 1 1 if thou canst nod speak too. 
 If charnel houses and our graves must send 
 Those that we bury back, our monuments 
 Shall be the maws of kites. 
 
MACBETH. 3G1 
 
 La. Macb. What ! quite unmann'd in folly 1 
 
 [The Ghost descends. 
 
 Macb. If I stand here I saw it. 
 
 La. Macb. Fye ! — For shame ! 
 
 Macb. 'Tisnot the first of murders: blood was shed 
 Ere human law decreed it for a sin ; 
 Ay and since, murthers too have been committed 
 Too terrible for the ear. The time has been 
 That when the brains were out the man would die 
 And then lie still ; but now they rise again 
 And thrust us from our seats. 
 
 La. Macb. Sir, your noble friends do lack you. 
 
 Macb. Wonder not at me, most worthy friends, 
 I have a strange infirmity ; 'tis nothing 
 To those who know me. Give me some wine ! 
 Here's to the general joy of all the table, 
 And to our dear friend Banquo whom we miss : 
 Wou'd he were here ; to him and all we drink. 
 
 LoEDS. Our duties are to pledge it. 
 
 \T1ie Ghost of Banquo rises at his feet. 
 
 Macb. Let the earth hide thee ! thy blood is cold, 
 Thou hast no use now of thy glaring eyes. 
 
 La. Macb. Think of this, good my lords, but as 
 a thing 
 Of custom ; 'tis no other, 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 
 Macb. What man can dare, I dare ; 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear. 
 The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hircanian tiger. 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble ; or revive a while 
 And dare me to the desart with thy sword ! 
 If any sinew shrink, proclaim me then 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 
 [Ex. Ghost. 
 So now I am a man again. Pray you sit still. 
 
 La. Macb. You have disturb'd the mirth, 
 
362 MACBETH. 
 
 Broke the glad meeting with your wild disorder. 
 Macb. Can such things be without astonish- 
 ment? 
 You make me strange 
 Ev'n to the disposition that I owe, 
 When now I think you can behold such sights 
 And keep the natural colour of your cheeks, 
 Whilst mine grow pale with fear. 
 Seyt. What sights 1 
 
 La. Macb. I pray you speak not, he'll grow 
 worse and worse, 
 Questions enrage him. At once good-night : 
 Stand not upon the order of your going. 
 Len. Grood-night ! and better health attend his 
 
 Majesty. 
 La. Macb. A kind good-night to all. 
 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 Macb. It will have blood they say. Blood will 
 have blood. 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to 
 
 speak, 
 Augures, well read in languages of birds, 
 By magpies, rooks, and daws, have reveal'd 
 The secret murther. How goes the night ? 
 
 La. Macb. Almost at odds with morning, which 
 
 is which ] 
 Macb. Why did Macduff after a solemn invita- 
 tion 
 Deny his presence at our feast 1 
 
 La. Macb. Did you send to him, sir 1 
 Macb. I did; but I'll send again ! 
 There's not one great Thane in all Scotland 
 But in his house I keep a servant, 
 He and Banquo must embrace the same fate. 
 I will to-morrow to the weyward sisters, 
 They shall tell me more, for now I am bent to 
 know 
 
MACBETH. 363 
 
 By the worst means the worst that can befall me ; 
 All causes shall give way ; I am in blood 
 Stept in so far, that should I wade no more, 
 Eeturning were as bad as to go o'er. 
 La. Macb. You lack the season of all natures, 
 
 Macb. Well, I'U in 
 And rest : if sleeping I repose can have 
 When the dead rise and want it in their grave. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Macduff and Lady Macduff. 
 
 La. Macd. Are you resolv'd then to begone I 
 
 Macd. I am. 
 I know my answer cannot but inflame 
 The tyrant's fury to pronounce my death, 
 My life will soon be blasted by his breath. 
 
 La. Macd. But why so far as England must 
 you fly 1 
 
 Macd. The farthest part of Scotland is too nigh. 
 
 La. Macd. Can you leave me, your daughter 
 and young son. 
 To perish by that tempest which you shun ? 
 When birds of stronger wing are fled away, 
 The ravenous kite does on the weaker prey. 
 
 Macd. He will not injure you, he cannot be 
 Possessed with such unmanly cruelty : 
 You will your safety to your weakness owe, 
 As grass escapes the scythe by being low. 
 Together we shall be too slow to fly. 
 Single we may outride the enemy. 
 I'll from the Jinglish King such succors crave, 
 As shall revenge the dead, and living save. 
 My greatest misery is to remove 
 With all the wings of haste from what I love. 
 
 La. Macd. If to be gone seems misery to you, 
 Good sir, let us be miserable too. 
 
364 MACBETH. 
 
 Macd. Your sex which here is your security, 
 Will by the toils of flight your danger be. 
 
 Enter Messenger. 
 What fatal news does bring thee out of breath ? 
 Mess. Sir ! Banquo's kill'd. 
 Macd. Then I am warn'd of death. 
 Farewell ! our safety us a while must sever. 
 La. Macd. Fly, fly, or we may bid farewell for 
 
 ever. 
 Macd. Flying from death I am to life unkind, 
 For leaving you I leave my life behind. [Exit. 
 
 La. Macd. my dear lord, I find now thou art 
 gone, 
 I am more valiant when unsafe alone. 
 My heart feels manhood, it does death despise, 
 Yet I am still a woman in my eyes. 
 And of my tears thy absence is the cause, 
 So falls the dew when the bright sun withdraws. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Lenox and Seyton. 
 
 Len. My former speeches have but hit your 
 thoughts 
 Which can interpret further ; only I say 
 Things have been strangely carried. 
 Duncan was pitied, but he first was dead. 
 And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late ; 
 Men must not walk so late ; who can want sense 
 To know how monstrous it was in nature 
 For Malcolm and Donalbain to kill 
 Their royal father ; horrid fact ! how did 
 It grieve Macbeth 1 did he not straight 
 In pious rage the two delinquents kill 
 That were the slaves of drunkenness and sleep ? 
 Was not that nobly done ? 
 
 Seyt. Ay, and wisely too, 
 
MACBETH. 365 
 
 For 'twould have angered any loyal heart 
 To hear the men deny it. 
 
 Len. So that I say he has borne all things well, 
 And I do think that had he Duncan's sons 
 Under his power, as may please Heaven he shall 
 
 not, 
 They shou'd find what it were to kill a father, 
 So should Flean : hut peace I I fear Macduff 
 Denied his presence at the feast ; for which 
 He lives in disgrace. Sir, can you teU 
 Where he bestows himself 1 
 
 Seyt. I hear that Malcolm lives i' th' English 
 court, 
 And is received of the most pious Edward 
 With such grace, that the malevolence of fortune 
 Takes nothing from his high respect ; thither 
 Macduff is gone to beg the holy King's 
 Kind aid, to wake Northumberland 
 And warlike Siward, and by the help of these 
 To finish what they have so well begun. 
 This report does so exasperate the King, that he 
 Prepares for some attempt of war. 
 
 Len. Sent he to Macduff? 
 
 Seyt. He did, his absolute command. 
 
 Len. Some angel fly to th' English court, and 
 tell 
 His message ere he come ; that some quick bless- 
 ing, 
 To this afflicted country, may arrive 
 Whilst those that merit it are yet alive. [Exetmt. 
 
 Thunder. Enter Three Witches meeting Heccate. 
 
 1 Witch. How, Heccate ? you look angerly. 
 
 Hecat. Have I not reason, beldams ? 
 Why did you all traffic with Macbeth 
 'Bout riddles and affairs of death. 
 And call'd not me ; all you have done 
 
366 MACBETH. 
 
 Hath been but for a weyward son : 
 
 Make some amends now : get you gone ; 
 
 And at the pit of Acheron 
 
 Meet me i' th' morning. Thither he 
 
 Will come to know his destiny. 
 
 Dire business will be' wrought ere noon, 
 
 For on a corner of the moon, 
 
 A drop my spectacles have found, 
 
 I'll catch it ere it come to ground. 
 
 And that distill'd shall yet ere night, 
 
 Raise from the centre such a spright, 
 
 As by the strength of his illusion, 
 
 Shall draw Macbeth to his confusion. 
 
 Music and Song. 
 
 Heceate, Heccate, Heccate ! come away ; 
 Hark, I am call'd, my little spirit see. 
 Sits in a foggy cloud and stays for me. 
 
 [Machine descends. 
 
 Song within. 
 
 Come away Heccate, Heccate, oh come away ! 
 
 Hec. I come, I come with all the speed I may, 
 With all the speed I may. 
 Where's Stradling? 
 
 2 Wit. Here. 
 
 Hec. Where's Puckle ? 
 
 3 Wit. Here ! and Hopper too, and Helway too. 
 1 Wit. We want but you, we want but you : 
 
 Come away, make up the count. 
 
 Hec. I will but 'noint and then I mount, 
 I will, but, &c. 
 
 1 Wit. Here comes down one to fetch his due, 
 a kiss, 
 A cull, a sip of blood. 
 And why thou stay'st so long, I muse, 
 Since th' air's so sweet and good. 
 
MACBETH. 367 
 
 2 Wit. art thou come 1 what news ? 
 All goes fair for our delight, 
 
 Either come or else refuse. 
 Now I am furnish'd for the flight, 
 Now I go and now I fly, 
 Malking my sweet spirit and I. 
 
 3 Wit. what a dainty pleasure's this ! 
 To sail i' th' air, 
 
 While the moon shines fair ; 
 
 To sing, to toy, to dance and kiss ; 
 
 Over woods, high rocks and mountains. 
 
 Over hills and misty fountains ; 
 
 Over steeples, towers, and turrets : 
 
 We fly by night 'mongst troops of spirits. 
 
 No ring of bells to our ears sounds. 
 
 No howls of wolves nor yelps of hounds ; 
 
 No, nor the noise of waters breach. 
 
 Nor cannon's throats our heights can reach. 
 
 1 Wit. Gome, let's make haste, she'll soon be 
 
 back again. 
 
 2 Wit. But, whilst she moves through the foggy 
 
 air. 
 Let's to the cave and our dire charms prepare. 
 
 Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2 Wit. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 
 Shutting his eyes against the wind. 
 
 3 Wit. Harper cries 'tis time, 'tis time ! 
 
 1 Wit. Then round about the cauldron go, 
 And poison'd entrails throw ! 
 This toad which, under mossy stone, 
 Has days and nights lain thirty-one ; 
 
368 MACBETH. 
 
 And swelt'rd venom sleeping got, 
 We'll boil in the enchanted pot. 
 
 All. Double, double, toil and trouble ; 
 Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 
 
 2 Wit. The fillet of a fenny snake. 
 Of skuttlefish the vomit black. 
 
 The eye of newt and toe of frog, 
 The wool of bat and tongue of dog. 
 An adder's fork and blind worm's sting, 
 A lizzard's leg and howlet's wing, 
 Shall like a hell broth boil and bubble. 
 All. Double, double, ^c. 
 
 3 Wit. The scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, 
 A -witch's mummy; maw, and gulf 
 
 Of cormorant and the sea shark. 
 The root of hemlock dig'd i' th' dark, 
 The liver of blaspheming Jew, 
 With gall of goats and slips of yew, 
 Pluckt when the moon was in eclipse. 
 With a Turk's nose and Tartar's lips ; 
 The finger of a strangl'd babe. 
 Born of a ditch deliver'd drab. 
 Shall make the gruel thick and slab. 
 Adding thereto a fat Dutchman's chawdron. 
 For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
 
 All. Double, double, &c. 
 
 2 Wit. I'll cool it with the baboon's blood, 
 And so the charm is firm and good. 
 
 Enter Heccate and the other three Witches. 
 
 Hec. Oh, well done ! I commend your 
 pains. 
 And every one shall share the gains. 
 And now about the cauldron sing, 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring. 
 
 \Mmic and Song. 
 
MACBETH. 369 
 
 Hec. Black spirits and white, 
 Eed spirits and grey ; 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 You that mingle may. 
 1 Wit. With tiffin, tiffin, keep it stiff in, 
 Firedrake, Puckey, make it lucky ; 
 Liar Robin you must bob in. 
 
 Chok. Around, around, about, about. 
 All ill come running in, all good keep out. 
 
 1 Wit. Here's the blood of a bat. 
 Hec. put in that, put in that. 
 
 2 Wit. Here's lizard's brain. 
 Hec. Put in a grain. 
 
 1 Wit. Here's juice of toad ; here's oil of adder, 
 That will make the charm grow madder. 
 
 2 Wit. Put in all these, 'twill raise the stench. 
 Hec. Nay, here's three ounces of a red hair'd 
 
 wench. 
 
 Chor. Around, around, &c. 
 
 2 Wit. I, by the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Know something wicked this way comes, 
 Open locks whoever knocks. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. How now you secret, black, and mid- 
 night hags. 
 What are you doing ? 
 
 All. a deed without a name. 
 Macb. I conjure you by that which you profess, 
 Howe'er you come to know it, answer me. 
 Though you let loose the raging winds to shake 
 
 whole towns, 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd and trees blown 
 
 down, 
 Though castles tumble on their warders' heads. 
 Though palaces and tow'ring pyramids 
 Are swaUow'd up in earthquakes, answer me ! 
 V. 2 a 
 
.•570 MACBETH. 
 
 1 Wit. Speak ! 
 
 2 Wit. Pronounce ! 
 
 3 Wit. Demand ! 
 
 4 Wit. I'll answer thee. 
 
 Macb. What destiny's appointed for my fate 1 
 
 Hec. Thou double Thane and King ; beware 
 Macduff, 
 Avoiding him, Macbeth is safe enough. 
 
 Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy kind caution 
 thanks. 
 
 Hec. Be bold and bloody, and man's hatred 
 scorn, 
 Thou shalt be harm'd by none of woman born. 
 
 Macb. Then live, Macduff, what need I fear thy 
 power. 
 But none can be too sure. Thou shalt not live, 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. 
 
 Hec. Be confident, be proud, and take no care 
 Who wages war, or where conspirers are. 
 Macbeth shall like a lucky monarch reign. 
 Till Birnam wood shall come to Dunsenain. 
 
 Macb. Can forests move? The prophecy is 
 good. 
 If I shall never fall till the great wood 
 Of Birnam rise, thou ma^st presume Macbeth 
 To live out nature's lease, and pay thy breath 
 To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart 
 Longs for more knowledge : Tell me, if your art 
 Extends so far ; shall Banquo's issue o'er 
 This Kingdom reign ? 
 
 All. Enquire no more. 
 
 Macb. I will not be denied. Ha ! 
 
 [Cauldron sinks. 
 An eternal curse fall on you ! let me know 
 Why sinks this cauldron and what noise is this 1 
 
 1 Wit. Appear ! 2. Appear ! 3. Appear ! 
 
MACBETH. 371 
 
 Wound through his eyes his hard'nd heart, 
 Like shadows come and straight depart. 
 
 [A shadow of eight kings, and Banquos 
 ghost after them, pass by. 
 
 Macb. Thy crown offends my sight; a second, 
 too, like the first ; 
 A third resembles him ; a fourth too like the former : 
 Ye filthy hags will they succeed 
 Each other still till doomsday ? 
 Another yet, a seventh 1 I'll see no more ; 
 And yet the eighth appears. 
 Ha ! the bloody Ban quo smiles upon me. 
 And by his smiling on me seems to say 
 That they are all successors of his race. 
 
 Hec. Ay, sir, all this is so ; but why 
 Macbeth stand thou amazedly ? 
 Come, sisters, let us cheer his heart, 
 And shew the pleasures of our art : 
 Til charm the air to give a sound. 
 While you perform your antic round. 
 
 [Music. The Witches dance and 
 vanish. Tlie cave sinks. 
 
 Macb. Where are they ? gone 1 
 Let this pernicious hour stand 
 Accurs'd to all eternity. Without there ! 
 
 Enter Seyton. 
 
 Seyt. What's your Grace's will 1 
 
 Macb. Saw you the weyward sisters 1 
 
 Seyt. No, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Came they not by you t 
 
 Seyt. By me, sir ? 
 
 Macb. Infected be the earth in which they sunk, 
 And damn'd all those that trust 'em. Just now 
 I heard the galloping of horse ; who wast came by ? 
 
 Seyt. A messenger from the English Court, who 
 Brings word MacduiF is fled to England. 
 
372 MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. Fled to England 1 
 
 Seyt. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st all my designs ; 
 Our purposes seldom succeed, unless 
 Our deeds go with them. 
 My thoughts shall henceforth in action rise, 
 The witches made me cruel but not wise. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Macduff's "Wife and Lennox. 
 
 La. Macd. I then was frighted with the sad 
 alarm 
 Of Banquo's death, when I did counsel him 
 To fly, but now, alas ! I must repent it. 
 What had he done to leave the land % Macbeth 
 Did know him innocent. 
 
 Len. Tou must have patience, madam. 
 
 La. Macd. He had none. 
 His flight was madness : when our actions do not, 
 Our fears oft make us traitors. 
 
 Len. You know not whether it was his wisdom 
 or his fear. 
 
 La. Macd. Wisdom to leave his wife and children 
 in a place 
 From whence himself did fly ; he loves us not ; 
 He wants the natural touch, for the poor wren, 
 The most diminutive of birds, will, with 
 The ravenous owl, fight stoutly for her young 
 ones. 
 
 Len. Your husband, madam, 
 Is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
 The fits o' th' season, I dare not speak much 
 
 farther; 
 But cruel are the times when we are traitors, 
 And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour 
 From what we fear, yet know not what we fear ; 
 But float upon a wild and violent sea. 
 And each way .move. I take my leave of you. 
 
MACBETH. 373 
 
 'T shall not be long but I'll be here again. 
 Things at the worst will cease, or else climb up- 
 wards 
 To what they were before. Heaven protect you ! 
 La. Macd. Farewell, sir ! 
 
 Enter A Woman. 
 WoM. Madam, a gentleman in haste desires to 
 
 speak with you. 
 La. Macd. A gentleman 1 admit him ! 
 
 Enter Seyton. 
 
 Seyton. Though I have not the honour to be 
 
 known 
 To you, yet I was well acquainted with 
 The Lord Macduff which brings me here to tell 
 
 you 
 There's danger near you, be not found here, 
 Fly with your little ones ! Heaven preserve you, 
 I dare stay no longer. [Exit Seyton. 
 
 La. Macd. Where shall I go, and whither shall 
 
 I fly? 
 
 I've done no harm ; but I remember now, 
 I'm in a vicious world, where to do harm 
 Is often prosperous, and to do good 
 Accounted dangerous folly. Why do I then 
 Make use of this so womanly defence ? 
 I'll boldly in, and dare this new alarm, 
 What need they fear whom innocence doth arm 1 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 
 The Scene — Birnam Wood. 
 
 Macd. In these close shades of Birnam Wood 
 let us 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty. 
 
 Mal. You'll think my fortune's desperate, 
 That I dare meet you here upon your summons. 
 
374 MACBETH. 
 
 Macd. You should now 
 Take arms to serve your country. Each new day,. 
 New widows mourn, new orphans cry, and still 
 Changes of sorrow reach attentive heaven. 
 
 Mal. This tyrant, whose foul name blisters our 
 tongues. 
 Was once thought honest. You have loved him 
 
 well, 
 He has not toucht you yet. 
 
 Macd. I am not treacherous. 
 
 Malc. But Macbeth is, 
 And yet, Macduff may be what I did always think 
 
 him — 
 Just and good. 
 
 Macd. I've lost my hopes. 
 
 Malc. Perhaps even there where I did find my 
 doubts; 
 But let not jealousies be your dishonours 
 But my own safeties. 
 
 Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country. 
 Great tyranny, lay thy foundation sure, 
 Villains are safe when good men are suspected. 
 I'll say no more, fare thee well, young Prince, 
 I would not be that traitor which thou thinkst me 
 For twice Macbeth's reward of treachery. 
 
 Malc. Be not offended : 
 I speak not as in absolute fear of you ; 
 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke, 
 It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash 
 Is added to her wounds. I think withal 
 That many hands would in my cause be active, 
 And here from gracious England have I offer 
 Of goodly thousands. But for all this. 
 When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet, my poor country 
 Will suffer under greater tyranny 
 Than what it suffers now. 
 
MACBETH. 375 
 
 Macd. It cannot be. 
 
 Malc. Alas, I find my nature so inclined 
 To vice, that foul Macbeth when I shall rule 
 Will seem as white as snow. 
 
 Macd. There cannot in all rankest hell be found 
 A devil equal to Macbeth. 
 
 Malc. I grant him, bloody, false, deceitful, 
 malicious, 
 And participating in some sins too horrid to name, 
 But there's no bottom, no depths, in my ill appetite. 
 If such a one be fit to govern, speak ? 
 
 Macd. Scotland, Scotland, when shalt thou 
 see day again. 
 Since that the truest issue of thy throne. 
 Disclaims his virtue to avoid the crown ? 
 Your royal father 
 Was a most saint-like King : the Queen that bore 
 
 you, 
 Oftener upon her knees than on her feet. 
 Died every day she lived. Fare thee well. 
 These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
 Hath banished me from Scotland. my breast ! 
 Thy hope ends here. 
 
 Malc. Macduff, this noble passion. 
 Child of integrity, hath from my soul. 
 Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts. 
 To thy good birth and honour. Macbeth, 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me 
 From over credulous haste. But now 
 I put myself to thy direction, and 
 Unspeak my own detraction. I abjure 
 The taunts and blames I laid upon myself 
 For strangers to my nature. What I am truly 
 Is thine, and my poor country's to command. 
 The gracious Edward has lent us Siward, 
 And ten thousand men ; why are you silent ? 
 
376 MACBETH. 
 
 Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 
 once, 
 Are subjects for my wonder, not my speech ; 
 My grief and joy contesting in my bosom, 
 I find that I can scarce my tongue command. 
 When two streams meet the water's at a stand. 
 
 Malc. Assistance granted by that pious King 
 Must be successful; he who, by his touch. 
 Can cure our bodies of a foul disease. 
 Can by just force subdue a traitor's mind, 
 Power supernatural is unconfined. 
 
 Macd. If his compassion does on men diseas'd 
 Effect such cures : what wonders will he do. 
 When to compassion he adds justice too 1 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Macbeth and Seyton. 
 
 Macb. Seyton, go bid the army march ! 
 Seyt. The posture of affairs requires your pre- 
 sence. 
 Macb. But the indisposition of my wife detains 
 
 me here. 
 Seat. The enemy is upon our borders, Scotland's 
 
 in danger. 
 Macb. So is my wife, and I am doubly so. 
 I am sick in her, and in my Kingdom too. 
 Seyton ! 
 Seyt. Sire? 
 
 Macb. The spur of my ambition prompts me to 
 go. 
 And make my Kingdom safe, but love which softens 
 
 me 
 To pity her in her distress curbs my resolves. 
 Seyt. He's strangely disorder'd. 
 Macb. Yet why should love confin'd desire 
 To controul ambitions for whose spreading hopes 
 The world's too narrow? it shall not be! great fires 
 
MACBETH. 377 
 
 Put out the less. Seyton, go bid my grooms 
 Make ready, I'll not delay my going. 
 
 Seyt. I go. 
 
 Macb. Stay, Seyton, stay! compassion calls me 
 back. 
 
 Syte. He looks and moves disorderly. 
 
 Enter a Servant who whispers Macbeth. 
 Macb. Is the Queen asleep? 
 Seyt. What makes 'em whisper, and his counte- 
 nance change ? 
 Perhaps some new design has had ill success. 
 Macb. Seyton, go see what posture our affairs 
 
 are in ! 
 Seyt. I shall, and give you notice, sire. 
 
 [Exit Seyt. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. How does my gentle love ? 
 
 La. Macb. Duncan is dead! 
 
 Macb. No words of that. 
 
 La. Macb. And yet to me he lives ; 
 His fatal ghost is now my shadow, and pursues me 
 Where'er I go. 
 
 Macb. It cannot be, my dear, 
 Your fears have misinform'd your eyes. 
 
 La. Macb. See there ! believe your own. 
 Why do you follow me 1 I did not do it. 
 
 Macb. Methinks there's nothing. 
 
 La. Macb. If you have valour, force him hence. 
 Hold ! hold ! he's gone. Now you look strangely. 
 
 Macb. 'Tis the strange error of your eyes. 
 
 La. Macb. But the strange error of my eyes 
 Proceeds from the strange action of your hands. 
 Distraction does by fits possess my head. 
 Because a crown unjustly covers it. 
 I stand so high that I am giddy grown : 
 
378 MACBETH. 
 
 A mist does cover me as clouds the tops 
 Of hills. Let us go down apace ! 
 
 Macb. If by your high ascent you giddy 
 grow, 
 'Tis when you cast your eyes on things below. 
 
 La. Macb. You may in peace resign the ill- 
 gain' d crown. 
 Why should you labour still to be unjust 1 
 There has been too much blood already spilt. 
 Make not the subjects victims to your guilt. 
 
 Macb. Can you think that a crime which you 
 did once 
 Provoke me to commit ? Had not your breath 
 Blown my ambition up into a flame 
 Duncan had yet been living. 
 
 La. Macb. You were a man, 
 And by the charter of your sex you shou'd 
 Have govern'd me : there was more crime in you 
 When you obey'd my councils, than I contracted 
 By my giving it. Resign your Kingdom now, 
 And with your crown put off your guilt. 
 
 Macb. Resign the crown ! and with it both our 
 lives ? 
 I must have better counsellors. 
 
 La. Macb. What, your witches 1 
 Curse on your messengers of hell. Their breath 
 Infected first my breast ; see me no more. 
 As King your crown^siis heavy on your head, 
 ButJheaviCT on mj^'heaxt. I have had too much 
 Of Kings already. See, the ghost again ! 
 
 [Ghost appears. 
 
 Macb. Now she relapses. 
 
 La Macb. Speak to him if thou can'st. 
 Thou look'st on me and show'st thy wounded 
 
 heart. 
 Show it the murderer. 
 
 Macb. Within there. Ho ! 
 
MACBETH. 379 
 
 Enter Women. 
 
 La. Macb. Am I tane prisoner 1 then the battle's 
 lost. [Exit Lady Macbeth led out by Women, 
 Macb. She does from Duncan's death to sick- 
 ness grieve, 
 And shall from Malcolm's death her health receive. 
 When by a viper bitten nothing's good 
 To cure the venom but a viper's blood. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Macduff, Lenox meeting them. 
 
 Macd. See who comes here ! 
 
 Malc. My countryman; but yet I know him 
 not. 
 
 Macd. My ever gentle cousin ! welcome. 
 
 Malc. I know him now ; 
 Kind heaven remove the means that makes us 
 strangers. 
 
 Len. Amen! 
 
 Macd. What looks does Scotland bear ? 
 
 Len. Alas ! poor country ! almost afraid to know 
 itself. 
 It can't be called our mother, but our grave, where 
 
 nothing 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
 Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend 
 
 the air 
 Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems 
 A modern extasy : there bells 
 Are always ringing, and no man asks for whom : 
 There good men's lives expire ere they sicken. 
 
 Macd. Oh, relation ! too nice and yet too true. 
 
 Malc. What's the newest grief? 
 
 Len. That of an hour's age is out of date, 
 Each minute brings a new one. 
 
 Macd. How does my wife ? 
 
 Len. Why, well. 
 
380 MACBETH. 
 
 Macd. And all my children ? 
 
 Len. Well, too. 
 
 Macd. The tyrant has not quarrelled at their 
 
 peace ? 
 Len. No ; they were well at peace when I left 
 
 them. 
 Macd. Be not so sparing of your speech. How 
 
 goes't ? 
 Len. When I came hither to transport the 
 tidings 
 Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
 Of many worthy men that rose into a head, 
 ^Vl^ich was to my belief. Witness the rather, 
 For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot. 
 Now is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland 
 Would create soldiers and make women fight. 
 
 Malc. Be't their comfort. 
 We are coming thither. Gracious England hath 
 Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men. 
 Len. Would I could answer this comfort with 
 the like ; 
 But I have words 
 
 That would be utter'd in the desert air. 
 Where no man's ear could hear them. 
 
 Macd. What concern they 1 the general cause, 
 Or is't a grief due to some single breast ? 
 Len. All honest minds must share it ; 
 But the main part pertains to you. 
 
 Macd. If it be mine, keep it not from me. 
 Len. Let not your ears condemn my tongue for 
 ever, 
 When they shall possess them with the heaviest 
 
 sound 
 That ever yet they heard. 
 
 Macd. At once I guess, yet am afraid to know. 
 Len. Your castle is surpris'd, your wife and 
 children 
 
MACBETH. 381 
 
 Savagely murdered : to relate the manner 
 Were to increase the butchery of them, 
 By adding to their fall the death of you. 
 
 Malc. Merciful heaven ! Noble Macduff, 
 Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak 
 Whispers the o'ercharged heart and bids it break. 
 
 Macd. My children, too 1 
 
 Len. Your wife, and both your children. 
 
 Macd. And I not with them dead ? Both — 
 both my children. 
 Did you say my two ? 
 
 Len. I have said. 
 
 Malc. Be comforted. 
 Let's. make us cordials of our great revenges, 
 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 Macd. He has no children, nor can he feel 
 A father's grief. Did you say all my children ? 
 Oh, hellish, ravenous kite ! all three at one swoop. 
 
 Malc. Dispute it like a man. 
 
 Macd. I shall. 
 But I must first too feel it as a man. 
 I cannot but remember such things were, 
 And were most precious to me. Did heaven look 
 
 on, 
 And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff, 
 They were all struck for thee ; for thee they fell ; 
 Not for their own offences, but for thine. 
 
 Malc. Let us give edges to our swords ; let your 
 tears 
 Become oil to your kindled rage. 
 
 Macd. Oh, I could play the woman with my eyes. 
 And braggart with my tongue. Kind heavens ! 
 
 bring this 
 Dire fiend of Scotland and myself face to face, 
 And set him within the reach of my keen sword, 
 And, if he outlives that hour, may heaven forgive 
 His sins, and punish me for his escape. 
 
382 MACBETH. 
 
 MalC. Let's hasten to the army, since Macbeth 
 Is ripe for fall. 
 
 Macd. Heaven give our quarrel but as good 
 success 
 As it has justice in't. Kind powers above 
 Grant peace to us, whilst we take his away. 
 That night is long that never finds a day. [Exeunt. 
 
 Act V. Scene I. 
 Enter Seyton and a Lady. 
 
 Lady. I've seen her rise from her bed, throw 
 Her night-gown on her, unlock her closet, 
 Take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it. 
 Afterwards seal it, and again return to bed, 
 Yet all this while in a most fast sleep. 
 
 Seyt. 'Tis strange she should receive the benefit 
 Of sleep, and do the effects of waking. 
 In this disorder what at any time have 
 You heard her say ? 
 
 Lady. That, sir, which I will not report of her. 
 
 Seyt. You may to me ; and 'tis most meet you 
 should. 
 
 Lady. Neither to you, nor any one living. 
 Having no witness to confirm my speech. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 See here she comes ! observe her and stand close. 
 Seyt. You see her eyes are open. 
 Lady. Ay, but her sense is shut. 
 Seyt. What is't she does now ? Look how she 
 
 rubs her hands. 
 Lady. It is an accustomed action with her to 
 
 seem 
 
MACBETH. 383 
 
 Thus washing her hands : I have known 
 Her continue in this a quarter of an hour. 
 
 La. Macb. Yet out, out ! here's a spot. 
 
 Seyt. Heark, she speaks. 
 
 La. Macb. Out, out, I say ! one, two ; nay then 
 'Tis time to do't ; fie my lord, fie^ a soldier 
 And afraid 1 What need we fear 1 who knows it 1 
 There's none dares call our power to account ; 
 Yet who would have thought the old man had 
 So much blood in him. 
 
 Seyt. Do you mark that ] 
 
 La. Macb. Macduff had once a wife : where is, 
 she now 1 
 Will these hands ne'er be clean ; fie my lord. 
 You spoil all with this starting ; yet here's 
 A smell of blood : not all the perfumes of Arabia 
 Will sweeten this little hand. Oh ! oh ! ! oh ! ! ! 
 
 [ExeMiit. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Donalbain and Flean, met by Lenox. 
 Len. Is not that Donalbain and young Flean, 
 
 Banquo's son? 
 Don. Who is this, my worthy friend 1 
 Len. I by your presence feel my hopes full 
 blown 
 Which hitherto have been but in the bud. 
 What happy gale has brought you here to see 
 Your fatlier's death reveng'd 1 
 
 Don. Hearing of aid sent by the English King 
 To check the tyrant's insolence, I am come 
 From Ireland. 
 
 Flean. And I from France, we are but newly 
 
 met. 
 Don. Where's my brother 1 
 Len. He and the good Macduff are with the army 
 Behind the wood. 
 
384 MACBETH. 
 
 Don. What does the tyrant now ? 
 
 Len. He strongly fortifies in Dunsinane : 
 Some say he is mad. Others who love him less 
 Call it a valiant fury ; but whate'er 
 The matter is, there is a civil war 
 Within his bosom, and he finds his crown 
 Sit loose about him : his power grows less. 
 His fear grows greater still. 
 
 Don. Let's haste and meet my brother. 
 My interest is grafted into his, 
 And cannot grow without it. 
 
 Len. So may you both outgrow unlucky chance, 
 And may the tyrant's fall that growth advance. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Attendants. 
 Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let 'em fly all ! 
 Till Byrnam Wood remove to Dunsinane, 
 I cannot fear. What's the boy Malcolm, what 
 Are all the English 1 are they not of women 
 Born ? and to all such I am invincible : 
 Then fly false Thanes, 
 By your revolt you have inflam'd my rage, 
 And now have borrow'd English blood to quench it. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Now friend, what means thy change of counte- 
 nance 1 
 Mess. There are ten thousand, sir. 
 Macb. Wliat, ghosts "i 
 Mess. No, armed men. 
 
 Macb. But such as shall be ghosts ere it be 
 night. 
 Art thou turn'd coward too, since I made thet- 
 
 captain ? 
 Go, blush away thy paleness, I am sure 
 
MACBETH. 385 
 
 Thy hands are of another colour : thou hast hands 
 Of blood but looks of milk. 
 
 Mess. The English force, so please you 
 
 Macb. Take thy face hence ! 
 He has infected me with fear. 
 I am sure to die by none of woman born, 
 And yet the English drums beat an alarm 
 As fatal to my life as are the croaks 
 Of ravens when they flutter about the windows 
 Of departing men. 
 
 My hopes are great, and yet methinks I fear ; 
 My subjects cry out curses on my name. 
 Which like a north wind seems to blast my hopes. 
 
 Seyt. That wind is a contagious vapour 
 Exhal'd from blood. 
 
 Enter Second Messenger. 
 
 What news more 1 
 
 2 Mess. All's confirm'd, my liege, that was re- 
 ported. 
 Macb. And my resolves in spite of fate shall be 
 as firmly. 
 Send out more horse, and scour the country roand ! 
 How does my wife ? 
 
 Seyt. Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled 
 With disturbing fancies, that keep her from her 
 rest/ 
 Macb. And I, methinks, am sick of her disease : 
 Seyton, send out ! Captain, the Thanes flee from 
 
 thee. 
 Wou'd she were well, I'd quickly win the field, 
 .Stay, Seyton, stay ! I'll bear you company. 
 The English cannot long maintain the fight. 
 They come not here to kUl, but to be slain ; 
 Send out our scouts ! 
 
 Seyt. Sir, I am gone, [Aside. 
 
 Not to obey your orders, but the call of justice. 
 V. 2 b 
 
386 MACBETH. 
 
 I'll to the English train whose hopes are built 
 Upon their cause, and not on witches' prophecies. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Macb. Poor Thanes, you vainly hope for victory. 
 You'll find Macbeth invincible ; or if 
 He can be o'ercome, it must be then 
 By Birnam oaks and not by Englishmen. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Enter Malcolm, Donalbain, Siward, Macduff, 
 Lenox, Flean, and Soldiers. 
 
 Malc. The sun shall see us drain the tyrant's 
 blood, 
 And dry up Scotland's tears. How much we are 
 Obliged to England, which like a kind neighbour 
 Lifts us up when we are fal'n below 
 Our own recovery. 
 
 Siw. What wood is this before us 1 
 
 Malc. The wood of Birnam. 
 
 Siw. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, 
 And bear't before him ; by that we may 
 Keep the number of our force undiscover'd 
 By the enemy. 
 
 Malc. It shall be done. We learn no more 
 than that 
 The confident tjrrant keeps still in Dunsinane, 
 And will endure a siege. 
 He is of late grown concious of his guilt, 
 Which makes him make that city a place of refuge. 
 
 Macd. He'll find even there but Httle safety, 
 His very subjects will against him rise. 
 So travellers fly them to an aged barn 
 For shelter from the rain ; when the next shock 
 Of wind throws down that roof upon their heads 
 From which they hop'd for succour. 
 
MACBETH. 387 
 
 Len. The wretched kernes which now like 
 boughs are tied 
 To forc'd obedience, will, when our swords 
 Have cut these bonds, start from obedience. 
 
 Malc. May the event make good our guess. 
 
 Macd. It must, unless our resolutions fail. 
 They'll kindle, sir, their just revenge at ours ; 
 Which double flame will singe the wings of aU 
 The tyrant's hopes ; deprived of those supports 
 He'll quickly fall. 
 
 Siw. Let's all retire to our commands; our breath 
 Spent in discourse does but defer his death. 
 And but delays our vengeance. 
 
 Macd. Come, let's go ! 
 The swiftest haste is for revenge too slow. [Exetcid. 
 
 Enter Macbeth and Soldiers. 
 
 Macb. Hang out our banners proudly o'er the 
 wall. 
 The cry is still they come ! our castle's strength 
 Will laugh a siege to scorn. Here let them lie 
 Till famine eat them up. Had Seyton still 
 Been ours, and others who now increase the number 
 Of our enemies, we might have met 'em 
 Face to face. [_Noise within. 
 
 What noise is that ? 
 
 Ser. It seems the cry of women. 
 
 Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears. 
 The time has been that dangers have been my 
 
 familiars. 
 Wherefore was that cry 1 
 
 Ser. Great sir, the Queen is dead ! 
 
 Macb. She should have died hereafter. 
 I brought her here to see my victims, not to die. 
 To-morrow, to-morrow, and to-morrow. 
 Creeps in a stealing pace from day to day. 
 To the last minute of recorded time, 
 
388 MACBETH. 
 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 To their eternal homes : out, out, that candle ! 
 Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. 
 And then is heard no more. It is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 Unter a Messenger. 
 
 Thou comest to use thy tongue? thy story quickly. 
 
 Mess. Let my eyes speak what they have seen, 
 For my tongue cannot. 
 
 Macb. Thy eyes speak terror; let thy tongue 
 expound 
 Their language, or be for ever dumb. 
 
 Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill 
 I look't towards Birnam, and anon methoughts 
 The wood began to move. 
 
 Macb. Liar and slave ! 
 
 Mess. Let me endure your wrath if 't be not so ; 
 Within this three mile you may see it coming, 
 I say a moving grove. 
 
 Macb. If thou speak false I'll send thy soul 
 To th' other world to meet with moving woods 
 And walking forests. 
 
 There to possess what it but dreamt of here. 
 If thy speech be true, I care not if thou doest 
 The same for me. I now begin 
 To doubt the equivocation of the iiend ; 
 They bid me not to fear till Birnam wood 
 Should come to Dunsinane ; and now a wood 
 Is on it's march this way. Arm, arm ! 
 Since thus a wood does in a march appear, 
 There is no flying hence nor tarrying here : 
 Methinks I now grow weary of the sun, 
 And wish the world's great glass of life were run. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
MACBETH. 389 
 
 Scene VI. 
 
 Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, Lenox, 
 Flean, Seyton, Donalbain, and their 
 Army, with loughs. 
 
 Malc. Here we are near enough ; throw down 
 Your leafy skreens. 
 
 And shew like those you are. You, worthy uncle, 
 Shall with my brother and the noble Lenox 
 March in the van, whilst valiant Siward 
 And myself make up the gross of the army. 
 And follow you with speed. 
 
 Siw. Fare thee well ! 
 The monster has forsook his hold and comes. 
 To offer battle. 
 
 Macd. Let him come on ! his title now 
 Sits loose about him like a giant's robe j^ ( 
 
 Upon a dwarfish thief jj -^ < J " 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. 'Tis too ignoble and too base to fly. 
 Who's he that is not of a woman born 1 
 For such a one have I to fear or none. 
 
 Enter Lenox. 
 
 Len. Kind heaven, I thank thee ! have I found 
 thee here 1 
 Oh, Scotland, Scotland, may'st thou owe thy just 
 Revenge to this sharp sword, or this blest minute. 
 
 Macb. Retire, fond man ! I would not kill thee. 
 Why should falcons prey on flies ] 
 It is below Macbeth to fight with men. 
 
 Len. But not to murder women. 
 
 Macb. Lenox, I pity thee ! thy arm's too weak. 
 
 Len. This arm has hitherto found good success 
 On your ministers of blood, who murder'd 
 
390 MACBETH. 
 
 Macduff's lady and brave Banquo : 
 Art thou less mortal than they were 1 or more 
 Exempt from punishment because thou most 
 Deserv'st it ■? Have at thy life ! 
 
 Macb. Since thou art in love with death, I will 
 Vouchsafe it thee. [They fight. Lenox falls. 
 
 Though art of woman born, sure. [Exit Macb. 
 
 Len. Oh, my dear country, pardon me that I 
 Do in a cause so great so quickly die. [Dies. 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 Macd. This way the noise is ; tyrant, show thy 
 face ! 
 If thou be'st slain, and by no hand of mine, 
 My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me for't. 
 I cannot strike 
 
 At wretched slaves, who sell their lives for pay ; 
 No, my revenge shall seek a nobler prey ; 
 Through all the paths of death I'll search him out. 
 Let me but find him, Fortune ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter MALCOLM and SiWARD. 
 Siw. This way, great sir! the tyrant's people 
 fight 
 With fear as great as is his guilt. 
 
 Malc. See, who lies here t the noble Lenox slain ! 
 What storm has brought this cloud over 
 Our rising hopes 1 
 
 Siw. Restrain your passion, sir; let's to our 
 men! 
 Those who in noble causes fall deserve 
 Our pity not our sorrow ; 
 I'll bid somebody bear the body further hence. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool and 
 fall 
 
MACBETH. 391 
 
 On my own sword, while I have living foes 
 
 To conquer ? My wounds shew better upon them. 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 
 Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn ! 
 Macb. Of all men else have I avoided thee ; 
 But get thee back, my soul is too much clog'd 
 With blood of thine alreadv. 
 
 Macd. I'll have no words ; thy villainies are 
 worse 
 Than ever yet were punish't with a curse. 
 Macb. Thou may'st as well attempt to wound 
 the air 
 As me ; my destiny's reserved for some immortal 
 
 power. 
 And I must fall by miracle ; I cannot bleed. 
 
 Macd. Have thy black deeds then turn'd thee 
 
 to a devil 1 
 Macb. Thou would'st but share the fate of Lenox. 
 Macd. Is Lenox slain ? and by a hand that 
 would damn all it kills. 
 But that their cause preserves them ? 
 Macb. I have a prophecy secures my life. 
 Macd. I have another which tells me I shall 
 have his blood 
 Who first shed mine. 
 
 Macb. None of woman born can spill my blood. 
 Macd. Then let the devils tell thee, Macduff 
 Was from his mother's womb untimely ript. 
 
 Macb. Curst be the tongue that tells me so ! 
 And double damn'd be they who with a double 
 
 sense 
 Make promises to our ears, and break at last 
 That promise to our sight. I will not fight with 
 thee. 
 Macd. Then yield thyself a prisoner, to be led 
 about 
 
392 MACBETH. 
 
 The world and gazed on as a monster, a monster 
 More deform'd than e'er ambition fram'd, 
 Or tyranny could shape. 
 
 Macb. I scorn to yield. 
 I will, despite enchantment, fight with thee ! 
 Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 And thou art of no woman born, I'll try 
 If by a man it be thy fate to die. 
 
 [They fight. Macbeth falls. Shout within. 
 
 Macd. This for my Royal master, Duncan ; 
 This for my dearest friend, my wife ; 
 This for those pledges of our loves, my children. 
 Hark, I hear a noise ! sure there are more 
 Reserves to conquer. \Sliout within. 
 
 I'll as a trophy bear away his sword 
 To witness my revenge. \_Exit Macchiff. 
 
 Macb. Farewell, vain world, and what's most 
 vain in it, ambition ! [Dies. 
 
 Enter MALCOLM, SlWAKD, DONALBAIN, FlEAN, 
 
 Seyton, and Soldiers. 
 
 Malc. I wish Macduif were safe arrived, I am 
 In doubt for him ; for Lenox I'm in grief. 
 
 Siw. Consider Lenox, sir, is nobly slain ; 
 They who in exalted causes fall 
 Merit not tears but emulous gratulation. 
 Look where the tyrant is ! 
 
 Seyt. The witches, sire, with all the powers of hell 
 Could not preserve him from the hand of heaven. 
 
 Enter Macduff, luith Macbeth's sicord. 
 
 Macd. Long live Malcolm, King of Scotland! 
 So you are, 
 And though I should not boast that one. 
 Whom guilt might easily weigh down, fell 
 By my hand, yet here I present you with 
 The tyrant's sword, to shew that heaven appointed 
 
MACBETH. 393 
 
 Me to take revenge for you, and all 
 That suffered by his power. 
 
 Malc. Macduff, we have more antient records 
 Than this of your successful courage. 
 
 Macd. Now, Scotland, thou shalt see bright day 
 again ; 
 That cloud's removed that did eclipse thy sun, 
 And rain down blood upon thee. As your arms 
 Did all contribute to this victory, 
 So let our voices all concur to give 
 One joyful acclamation, 
 Long live Malcolm, King of Scotland ! 
 
 Malc. We shall not make a large expense of 
 time 
 Before we reckon with your several loves. 
 And make us even with you. Thanes and kinsmen 
 Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
 Saw honoured with that title, and may they 
 Still flourish on your families. 
 Though, like the laurels you have won to-day, 
 They spring from a field of blood. 
 Drag his body hence, and let it hang upon 
 A pinnacle in Dunsinane ! to show 
 To future ages what to those is due 
 Who others' right by lawless power pursue.* 
 
 Macd. So may kind fortune crown your reign 
 with peace. 
 As it has crown'd your armies with success ; 
 And may the people's prayers still wait on you. 
 As all their curses did Macbeth pursue. 
 His vice shall make your virtue shine more bright. 
 As a fair day succeeds a stormy night. 
 
 * The body of Macbeth was transported to the Royal 
 Sepulchre, at I-colme-kill, and deposited beside that of Duncan. 
 — Chronicles of the Picts and Scots, p. 152 ; Bdin. 1867. At the 
 time of his death Macbeth had reigned seventeen years over 
 Scotland. His death by the hand of Macduff is a fiction. 
 
394 MACBETH. 
 
 Additional Note. — The tragedy of Macbeth haB been trans- 
 lated into most of the Continental languages. In May 1848 
 it appeared on the Spanish stage, at Madrid, the chief charac- 
 ters being performed by Mme. Bosio, and MM. Bordas and 
 MoreUi. According to the journals of the day, "her majesty. 
 Queen Isabella, honoured the theatre with her presence the 
 first night, and appeared highly entertained," 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island. A Comedy. 
 As it is now acted at Ms Highness the Duke of York's 
 Theatre. London.^ printed by T. N. for Henry Herring- 
 ham, at the Blew Anchor, in the Lower Walk of the New 
 Exchange, 1674. 
 
If the merits of this interpolated version of the " Tempest" 
 were to be estimated by the success that attended its 
 original representation at the Duke's Theatre, they would 
 give it a high place in the dramatic literature of the 
 period. But we suspect that this was not the result 
 either of the introduction of a duplicate hero and 
 heroine, or by assigning a sister to Caliban, or even by 
 the poetry and verses of Dryden, but exclusively by 
 admiration of the scenical arrangements, over which 
 D'avenant is admitted by his cotemporaries to have had 
 an absolute mastery. Added to this, the vocal portion of 
 the Drama possessed great attraction. It was produced 
 under the management of D'avenant, whose musical en- 
 tertainments had been sanctioned by the Protector, and 
 it is not improbable that he may have been present at 
 some of them incognito. 
 
 Dryden, in his preface to the first edition of the 
 Drama, which was not printed until after the decease of 
 D'avenant, mentions that with the latter " the counter- 
 part to Shakespeare's plot " originated, by bringing on 
 the stage a man who had never seen a woman, and a 
 woman who had never seen a man, " an excellent con- 
 trivance," which, " from the very first moment," so 
 pleased him that he never wrote anything with more 
 delight — an avowal which directly shews that to Dryden 
 was delegated the pleasing duty of depicting Hypolito 
 and Dorinda. " The comical parts of the sailors" were 
 the invention of his partner, and " mostly his writing, 
 as you will easily discover by his style." The affec- 
 tionate manner in which the survivor speaks of his 
 departed friend is very pleasing, and fully justifies 
 Claud Halcro in his praise of " Glorious John."* 
 
 We are indebted to Pepys for the exact date of the 
 first performance of this joint production. Upon the 
 7th Movember 1667, the following entry wiU be found 
 * Pirate, vol. i., p. 217. Edin. 1831. 
 
398 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 in his diary :* — " At noon resolved with Sir W. Pen to 
 go to see ' The Tempest,' an old play of Shakespeare, acted 
 I hear the first day ; and so my wife and girl and W. 
 Hewer by themselves, and Sir William Pen and I after- 
 wards by ourselves : and forced to sit in the side Bal- 
 cone over against the musique-room at the Duke's house, 
 close by^my lady Dorset, and a great many great ones. 
 The house mighty full ; the King and Court there : and 
 the most innocent play that ever I saw : and a curious 
 piece of musick in an echo of half sentences, the echo 
 repeating the former half, while the man goes on to the 
 latter, which is mighty pretty. The play has no great 
 wit, but yet good above ordinary plays." This refer- 
 ence to the echo duet between Ferdinand and Ariel suf- 
 ficiently establishes the fact that the Drama in question 
 was the alteration of the Tempest by Dryden and 
 D'avenant. According to Lord Braybrooke the music 
 was by Banister.f Pepys again witnessed the perform- 
 ance of the same play at the Duke of York's house, upon 
 the 13th of the same month, when he declares it to be 
 very pleasant, and full of "so good variety that I cannot 
 be more pleased almost in a comedy, only the seaman's 
 part a little too tedious." 
 
 The last time the worthy Secretary of the Admiralty 
 makes mention of the " Tempest" is upon the 12th De- 
 cember 1667, when he went to the Duke of York's 
 house and found it very full. " But I could take little 
 pleasure more than the play, from not being able to 
 look about, for fear of being seen." He had one sly 
 peep notwithstanding. " I saw a French lady in the 
 pit with a tunique, just like one of ours, only a hanker- 
 cher about her neck, but this fashion for a woman did 
 
 * Vol. iv., p. 257. London, 1848. Crown 8vo. 
 
 t In 1677, Mr Charles D'avenant wrote a dramatic opera 
 called Circe, which was set to music by John Banister, the 
 King's first violin, and performed under the poet's own direc- 
 tion, at the Duke's Theatre, with considerable applause." — 
 Bough's Anecdotes ofMudc. The following a'dvertisement is in- 
 teresting, and shews that his concerts had become popular : — 
 
 "At Mr John Banister's house in Shandos Street, Covent 
 Garden, called the Musick School, will be a variety of Musick 
 every evening, beginning this present Thursday at six o'clock. 
 
 Nov. 22-25, 1675." 
 
THE TEMPEST. 399 
 
 not look decent." The theatrical taste of Pepys had, it 
 would seem, occasioned observations which anuoyed him 
 not a little, a circumstance that explains the reason he 
 was desirous not to be seen. 
 
 The death of D'avenant, the " ruling Monarch of the 
 Storm," which occurred on the 7th April 166S,,and the 
 transfer of the Duke's Theatre to Dorset Gardens, must 
 have interrupted the performance of the " Tempest" for 
 a time. Unfortunately the inimitable diary of Pepys 
 terminates on the 30th May 1669, and the aid of this 
 minute, amusing, but sad s6andal-monger is, from his 
 increasing defect of vision, brought to a close. 
 
 The following observations upon the dramatic skill of 
 D'avenant, which does not seem to have hitherto been 
 generally appreciated, are not without interest. The 
 Honourable Edward Howard, the fifth son of Thomas 
 Earl of Berkshire, K.G., was the brother of Lady Eliza- 
 beth Howard, the wife of Dryden. He was a dramatic 
 writer, and fignres in the Rehearsal. The chief merit 
 of his plays are their rarity, which was so great that 
 Bishop Percy when passing his projected edition of 
 Buckiugham through the press, was unable to get access 
 to a copy of one of his dramas, entitled Six Days' Adven- 
 tures, or the New Utopia, London, 1671, 4to — no copy 
 being in the extensive library of Garrick ; neither could 
 it be found in the British Museum, and even a reward 
 offered in the public journals failed to produce the book.* 
 In the preface to the "Women's Conquest," a tragi- 
 comedy by Mr Howardf, that gentleman, in speaking 
 of dramatic pieces in rhyme, observes, " Neither do I 
 believe that Sir William D'avenant, who was the first 
 introducer of rhime on the stage, did otherwise intend it, 
 than for vocal representations and operas, in which it 
 may do well, rather than for plays, as was known in his 
 Peru and Siege of Rhodes. And I presmne that my Lord 
 of Orrery, whose ingenuity in verse brought it more in 
 
 * See Nichols' Illustrations, vol. vii., p. 572. London, 1848, 
 
 t London, 1671, 4to. Mrs Inchbald, in her comedy of Every 
 One has his Fault, has borrowed the outlines of Sir Robert 
 Ramble, Miss Woodburn, Placid and his wife, from this piece. 
 See Geneste, vol. i., p. 120. 
 
400 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 fashion in those ornaments he bestowed on the stage in 
 Mustapha, and other of his heroic compositions, would 
 not judge a debasing of their worth, if they were distin- 
 guished by the name of poems instead of plays." 
 
 It is not unlikely that through the connection by the 
 marriage of his sister and Dryden, Howard, if not 
 directly told by D'avenant, had heard his opinion from 
 his brother-in-law^, that rhyme might supersede recita- 
 tive, to which an English ear was at the time unaccus- 
 tomed. He does not himself appear to have had any 
 fancy for it, as we have no rhyming tragedy or comedy 
 from his pen, the only instances in his dramatic writing? 
 being those just mentioned. 
 
 Charles II., upon quitting France, brought with him 
 a great love for plays in rhyme, after the French style, 
 which, though apparently popular with the courtiers, 
 was not much relished by the people. It never took 
 root, and died of inanition, before the end of the century. 
 
 A few years after the death of D'avenant, Shadwell, 
 subsequently the poet laureate of William III., and 
 the political opponent of Dryden, made the "' Tempest " 
 into an opera — or more properly speaking a mock opera 
 — which answered well as a commercial speculation, but 
 did not say much for the taste of the writer, who, how- 
 ever, had the good sense never to print it. 
 
 Downes notices: — "In 1673, The Tempest, or the 
 Inchanted Island, made into an opera by Mr Shadwell, 
 having all new in it, as scenes, machines ; one scene 
 painted with myriads of aerial spirits, and another 
 flying away, with a table furnished out with fruits,, 
 sweetmeats, and aU sorts of viands, just when Duke 
 Trincalo and his company were going to dinner ; all 
 things were performed in it so admirably well, that not 
 any succeeding Opera got more money." * 
 
 In his prefatory observations to the "Tempest," in the 
 third volume of the works of Dryden, 8ir Walter Scott 
 thus expresses himself : — " The alteration of the Tempest 
 was D'avenant's last work, and it seems to havetbeen 
 
 * Eosoius Anglicanus, p. 34. In the collected edition of 
 Shadwell's works in four volumes, this travestie has been 
 omitted. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 401 
 
 undertaken chiefly with a view to give room for scenical 
 decoration. Few readers will think the play much 
 improved by the introduction of the language which 
 D'avenant had acquired during the adventurous period 
 of his life. Nevertheless, the ludicrous contest betwixt 
 the sailors for the Dukedom and Viceroyship of a barren 
 island gave much amusement at the time, and some of 
 the expressions were long after proverbial. Much can- 
 not be said for D'avenant's ingenuity in contrasting 
 the character of a woman who had never seen a man, 
 with that of a man that had never seen a woman, or 
 in inventing a sister monster to Caliban. The majestic 
 simplicity of Shakespeare's plan is injured by thus 
 doubling his characters, and his wild landscape is con- 
 verted into a formal parterre, where each alley has its 
 brother. In sketching characters drawn from fancy, 
 and not from observation, the palm of genius must rest 
 with the first inventor ; others are but copyists, and a 
 copy shows nowhere to such disadvantage as when 
 placed by the original. Besides, although we are 
 delighted with the feminine simplicity of Miranda, 
 it becomes unmanly childishness in Hippolito, and the 
 premature coquetry of Dorinda is disgusting, when con- 
 trasted with the maidenly purity that chastens the 
 simplicity of Shakespeare's heroine. The latter seems to 
 display, as it were by instinct, the innate dignity of her 
 sex, the former to show, even in solitude, the germ of 
 those vices by which, in a voluptuous age, the female 
 character becomes degraded. The wild and savage 
 character of Caliban is also sunk into low and vulgar 
 buffoonery." This critique is perfectly correct. The 
 drama as originally acted is still banished from the 
 stage, to keep company in the library with Milton's 
 Comus and Ben Jonson's Sad Shepherd. 
 
 In 1750 " The Tempest" was produced as an opera, and 
 the authorship assigned to Garrick, whose name is writ- 
 ten in MS. on the title page of a copy which, from the 
 arms stamped on the back of the title, appears to have 
 been sold as a duplicate from the Bridgewater Library. 
 A list of the singers is given, but their respective charac- 
 ters are not mentioned. It may be conjectured that 
 Beard took the part of Prospero, and Signora Curioni 
 V. 2 c 
 
402 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 that of Miranda. Beard was the son-in-law of Rich,^ 
 the proprietor of Oovent Garden Theatre, to the manage-' 
 ment of which he succeeded on the death of his father- 
 in-law. He brought out, with great success, many- 
 musical pieces; but in 1766, finding that a deafness, 
 under which he had suffered some years, could not be 
 removed, he was desirous of retiring from the bustle of 
 a theatre to the quiet of private life. This he accom- 
 plished in 1767. 
 
 In a letter of Mrs Delany, 1743-4, she says,— 
 " Joseph, I believe, will be next Friday, but Handel is 
 mightily out of humour about it, for Sullivan, who is to 
 sing Joseph, is a block with a very fine voice, and 
 Beard has no voice at all." It was performed four 
 times during the Lent of the year 1744.* If Beard lost 
 his voice on this occasion, he must have got it back 
 when he sang as Prospero several songs in this worth- 
 less opera. No wonder the author, whether Garrick or 
 not, was ashamed of his handiwork, and wished to 
 conceal his name. From the position of the Duke of 
 Bridgewater, it might be supposed that he had good 
 means of ascertaining who had the discredit of being 
 the author. 
 
 Whilst the citizens of London were enjoying their 
 operatic travestie of the Tempest, the fashionable in- 
 habitants of Edinburgh took a fancy to have an opera 
 for themselves, concocted out of Dryden and D'avenant. 
 It does not appear to have been printed, and can only 
 be judged of by the songs, one copy of which had been 
 preserved by the late David Constable, Esq., advocate, 
 son of the well-known Archibald Constable, and was 
 purchased at the dispersion of his very curious library, 
 remarkable for the great number of literary curiosities 
 and tracts which it contained. 
 
 The title is as follows,—" The Words of the 8ongs in 
 the New Opera of the Tempest. The Music cbmposert 
 by Mr Smith, as they are sung at the Theatre in Edin- 
 burgh. MDCCLVi. 8vo." The first stage direction is as 
 follows, — "By Prospero's order, his spirit, Miloha, 
 enters, and, waving his wand, raises the Storm by the 
 
 * Autobiography, Vol. I., p. 271. London, 1861. 8vo. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 40H 
 
 following invocation, sung by Mr Sadler in the charac- 
 ter of Milcha, — 
 
 RECITATIVE. 
 
 " Arise, ye subterranean winds, 
 Arise ye deadly blighting fiends, 
 &o. &c. &c. 
 
 It thunders and lightens, and the back scene draws up 
 to music composed for the occasion, discovers the sea, 
 rocks, and a ship in distress. It rains showers of fii-e, 
 and other prodigies appear, raised by magic." 
 
 Aiiel's songs are reduced to two. Those usually 
 assigned to the character are transferred to Milcha, who, 
 in the second act, "transformed into the figure of a 
 daemon, sings to the wicked usurper of MUan, and his 
 two confederates, the following song, — 
 
 " Around, around we pace, about this cursed place, 
 While thus we compass in, these mortals and their sin. 
 Your vile lives you shall discover, 
 
 Truly all your deeds declare. 
 For about you spirits hover, 
 That can tell you what they are. 
 Spirits, take them, spirits, take them hence, 
 Make them grieve for their offence. " 
 
 These lines assuredly are neither by Shakespeare, 
 Dryden, nor D'avenant, and are unworthy even of 
 Garrick. Neither Milcha, nor anyone else, in the 
 English opera, sings anything of the kind, so that the 
 author of the Edinburgh version must be held responsible 
 for it. The music is said on the title page to be by "Mr 
 Smith," who was the composer of the English one. It 
 would be curious to ascertain whether he was author of 
 the music of this production, and of the "music composed 
 for the occasion" oi its "back scene;'' nothing of the 
 kind being to be found in the English contemporary piece. 
 
 Milcha has nine songs ; Ariel, performed by Mrs Love, 
 three; and Caliban, two. The last character was assigned 
 to Mr Stamper, who was, according to tradition, an ex- 
 ceedingly good low comedian, but of the merits of Sadler 
 as a singer there is no record. Mrs Love was, perhaps, 
 the wife of Mr Love, who subsequently became manager 
 of the Edinburgh Theatre. 
 
404 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 In the year 1780 there was printed at London, for W. 
 Thomson, Exeter- Change, a piece in three acts, entitled 
 " The Shipwreck, altered from Shakespeare and Dryden, 
 with the original music by Smith, as performed at the 
 Patagonian Theatre, Exeter-Change. 8vo." Who the 
 performers were is not disclosed, and of the Patagonian 
 Theatre we know nothing beyond the fact that Mac- 
 Nally's "Apotheosis of Punch," intended to ridicule 
 Sheridan's monody on the death of Garrick, was said to 
 have been acted at the same place. The only obhgation 
 to Dryden is the retention of the character of Sycorax. 
 Borrowing the witches of Macbeth from Shakespeare, 
 and spoiling them, is inexcusable. The play opens on 
 " a heath," where several witches enter, and sing as 
 follows, — 
 
 1st Witch. Sisters, sisters, hither come, 
 
 For by the pricking of my thumb, 
 Mischief sure and great confusion 
 Will Prospero work to our delusion. 
 
 2d Witch. Then must we, by magic spell. 
 Engendered in the womb of hell, 
 Blast his prospects, destroy his power. 
 
 A II. Hail this direful midnight hour ! 
 
 1st WitcJi. Like crimson blood the moon doth turn, 
 And Vesuvius Mount doth raging burn ; 
 This the time to work our ruin, 
 When heU its horror is a brewing ; 
 For, sleeping in my mildewed cave. 
 My fiery fiend, my trusty slave. 
 In sulphurous fiame my toe he touched. 
 And his bak'd shoulders angry smutch'd. " 
 
 And so on. Devils are summoned to destroy all on 
 board the ship. The demons rise and proceed to obey 
 the orders given, but before departing have a dance, and 
 are no doubt much delighted with the task imposed 
 upon them. After they have gone the witches close 
 the scene with the following air, — 
 
 " Hark, how the winds rush froto their caves ; 
 Hark, how old ocean frets and raves, 
 From their deep roots the rocks he tears, 
 
 Whole deluges lets fly, 
 
 That dash against the sky, 
 
 And seem to drown the stars, 
 
THE TEMPEST. 403 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Away, nor let us longer stay. 
 Nor let us longer stay, 
 Nor let us longer stay, 
 But hie away." 
 
 Smith is again represented as the composer of the 
 music of this very absurd production. This assertion 
 cannot be believed, for it is hardly credible that he would 
 venture to injure his reputation by setting to music such 
 unmitigated rubbish as the songs and choruses of the 
 shipwreck. 
 
 Boaden says, on the 28th of April (1785), the Tem- 
 pest was acted at Drury Lane " pure and unmixed." 
 " They had not yet embraced the additions of D'avenant 
 and Dryden ; it will therefore be a fit opportunity to 
 take leave of that simple, enchanting production. The 
 exquisite beauty of Miss Phillips was not more charac- 
 teristic of Miranda than her manner of speaking the 
 language. Bensley was the Prospero of the night, and 
 iQ truth the only Prospero. Old Bannister's Caliban 
 contrasted finely with the Ariel of Miss Field. Some 
 prejudice existed against the masque introduced by the 
 immortal author, and it was, therefore, here omitted." * 
 With whom the "prejudice" existed is not explained, 
 but the "Tempest" of Shakespeare can hardly be charac- 
 terised as "perfectly put upon the stage" when this 
 beautiful pageant was discarded. The same wrjter ob- 
 serves that it was introduced by Reynolds in " Twelfth 
 Night" "where it was greatly attractive," but where 
 " it has no business whatever." 
 
 The Tempest, by D'avenant and Dryden, was revived at 
 Drury Lane Theatre on 2d November 1801, but it was 
 not received with favour. It was again performed 
 at Covent Garden on the 31st of October 1812,t the 
 part of Prospero being performed by Young, who, 
 according to the "Theatrical Inquisitor," did not do 
 much for the part. Emery represented Caliban, 
 Mathews, Stephano, and Blanchard, Trincalo ; Hippolito 
 
 * Boaden's " Kemhle," Vol. I. p. 269, London 1825. 8vo. 
 t "Theatrical Inquisitor,' Vol. I. p. 237, London 1812. 
 8vo. 
 
406 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 was assigned to Mrs Henry Johnston, Dorinda* to Miss 
 Booth, and Ariel to Miss Bolton, afterwards Lady Thur- 
 low.t The other characters were equally well cast. 
 
 " This play has been again revived, but without much 
 jjrofit to the theatre or pleasure to the public. Fashion 
 has so long decided in favour of the wretched, garbled 
 alteration by Dryden and D'avenant that there are no 
 hopes of seeing the genuine play upon the stage, and the 
 present shadow of the original can never succeed." It 
 was nevertheless repeated thrice in the month of 
 November, and once in the month of January, in spite 
 of this anathema. 
 
 The critic admits that Emery's performance of Caliban 
 " was of the very first kind ; it is almost impossible to 
 conceive a more perfect delineation of the character." 
 Miss Bolton in Ariel was perfection ; and " her per- 
 formance united the elegance of a dancer with the just 
 action and delivery of the more finished actress." 
 
 John Kemble when performing Prospero, in pro- 
 nouncing the word "aches" made it a polysyllable, 
 ■which being unusual gave offence to the journalists of 
 the day. Young, to please the public, made it a mono- 
 syllable at the sacrifice of the rhythm. Nevertheless 
 Kemble was right, and the public wrong. In verses 
 written during the time of Shakespeare, the rhythm 
 claims it as a polysyllable.^ 
 
 The songs in the Tempest have been set by many 
 eminent composers. D'avenant selected Banister, whose 
 productions pleased Pepys, no mean judge of music.§ At 
 a latter part of the same century, Henry Purcell appears 
 also to have been engaged for the same purpose ; but 
 his version was not published at the time, and the MS. 
 came into the hands of Sir John Hawkins, who, as Sib- 
 bald mentions in his Edinburgh Magazine,\\ obligingly 
 
 * Dorinda was a favourite character of Miss Farren, after- 
 wards Countess of Derby. 
 
 t Mary Catherine, eldest daughter of James Richard Bolton 
 of St Martins-in-the-Pields, gentleman, married Edward, 
 second Lord Thurlow, 13th November 1813. 
 
 X See Boaden's "Life of Kemble," Vol. II., p. 519, London, 
 1825. 8vo. 
 
 S Banister died in 1679. Hawkins, vol. iii. p. 470. 
 
 II Vol. i. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 407 
 
 commuDicated from the original score, " To a Catch Club 
 in Edinburgh," a duet commencing, 
 
 " No stars again shall hurt you from above, 
 But all your days shall pass in peace and love ; " 
 
 and a song, 
 
 " Halcyon days, now wars are ending, 
 You shall find whene'er you sail." 
 
 Neither of these occur in Dryden and D'avenant's play 
 — a fact leading to the inference, that after the death. of 
 the latter, and its subsequent revival, considerable 
 liberties had been taken with the drama as originally 
 represented in the time of Charles II. 
 
 In 1756, the opera of the Tempest, taken from 
 Shakespeare, and embellished with a variety of addi- 
 tional ancient and modern songs, was performed in 
 Garrick's theatre with great success. In Edinburgh, as 
 previously mentioned, a different opera with the same 
 name came before the public. The only portions printed, 
 were the songs, most of which may be found in the 
 D'avenant version, but Milcha relieved Ariel of the 
 greater portion of the singing. In both operas the name 
 of " Mr Smith" is inserted on the title-page as the com- 
 poser. In the English Opera, Beard as Prospero, sings, 
 an accomplishment unknown to Shakespere; whilst in 
 the latter the two spirits relieve him of the task. Thus 
 the two operas required different music. That the English 
 opera was the work of John Christopher Schmidt, a 
 German whose surname had been converted during 
 his long sojourn in England into Smith, is correct, but 
 it may admit of question if he had much, if anything, 
 to do with the Scotish manufacture. 
 
 Smith was the pupil and personal friend of Handel 
 till his decease. The first year of Handel's blindness, 
 during the performance of his Oratorio of Sampson, his 
 former pupil played the organ whilst the teacher sat 
 beside him. Beard, who had recovered the voice which 
 Mrs Delany asserted he had lost, sang with equal power 
 and feeling the lines — 
 
 " Total eclipse, no sun, no moon ; 
 All dark amid the blaze of noon." 
 
 ( 
 
408 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 The major portion of the audience were so forcibly- 
 struck by the singular appropriateness of the poetry and 
 music to the condition of the venerable composer, who 
 was sitting beside the organ before them, that they with 
 difficulty restrained a strong inclination to burst into 
 tears. 
 
 John Beard received his musical education in the 
 Chapel Royal under Bernard Gates. He was one of the 
 vocaUsts in the Duke of Chandos's Chapel at Cannons, 
 where he sang in Handel's Oratorio of Esther. His 
 first appearance on the stage was at Drury Lane, 30th 
 August 1737, as Sir John Loverule in " The Devil to 
 Pay." His voice was a rich tenor, and he became an 
 immense favourite of the town by his style of singing 
 Galliard's hunting song, " With Early Horn," which 
 continued to be popular for many years, and might now 
 be successfully revived. 
 
 In 1773 there was published " ' The Prodigal Son,' an 
 oratorio written by Mr Thomas HuU.* Set to music by 
 Dr Arnold. A new edition. London, printed for John 
 Bell, near Exeter Exchange in the Strand, and C. Ether- 
 ington in York. Small 4to." On the title is a very 
 pretty vignette of the father receiving his repentant 
 son. It is dedicated to John Beard by the author, " as a 
 grateful tribute to that high reputation which you ac- 
 quired and maintained for a succession of years, in this 
 species of entertainment." It is divided into three parts, 
 and partakes more of the opera than the oratorio. It 
 was taken from the original Italian version, entitled " II 
 Figliuol Prodigo Oratorio Rosta in Musica dal Signor 
 Carlo Francesco Cesarini. In Roma nella Stamperia del 
 Bernabo, md.ccvii. Con licenza de Superiori." 
 
 Soon after his successful appearance on the stage, 
 Beard captivated the widowed daughter of James, Earl 
 Waldegrave, who subsequently became his wife. With 
 her he lived happily during fourteen years, and her 
 death he deeply lamented. His second wife was, as 
 previously mentioned, a daughter of Rich. He died 4th 
 
 * This was Thomas Hull, a performer and dramatic writer 
 of considerable talent, who had the merit of originating the 
 Covent Garden fund for decayed actors. He died April 21, 
 1808, in the eighty-first year of his age. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 409 
 
 February 1791, in the seventy-fifth year of his age, 
 deeply regretted ; for all who knew him loved him. 
 
 There will be found in the European Magazine for 
 February 1791* an eulogy of this very estimable man, 
 from which the following extract in reference to his two 
 marriages has been extracted : " Very early in life he 
 married the Eight Hon. Lady Herbert, but though that 
 lady gave him a treasure in herself, she brought him no 
 other treasure ; and his struggles to support her in some- 
 thing like her former state involved him in many diffi- 
 culties ; and her frequent and long illnesses, occasioned 
 principally by grief for having embarrassed the man she 
 loved, increased these difficulties, and she sank and died 
 under them. 
 
 " His present widow had the happiness to repair those 
 ravages of his fortune, and enable him to gratify the first 
 wish of his heart — benejicence. We need not add, that 
 such a man as he lived peculiarly beloved, so he died 
 peculiarly lamented." 
 
 His first wife. Lady Henrietta, born January 2, 1716-17, 
 married the Hon. Edward Herbert in 1734, and became 
 a widow the same year, having a posthumous child, 
 Barbara, by him, who married, 1751, the Earl of Powis. 
 Lady Henrietta had no family by her second espousals, 
 and died May 31, 1753. 
 
 Those " polite" writers, as Lord Hailes used to desig- 
 nate the manufacturers of pedigrees, give an instance of 
 their civility in the Waldegrave Peerage, as the edition 
 of Collins, by Brydges, vol. iv., p. 244, omits all notice of 
 Lady Henrietta Beard. 
 
 That excellent and worthy man George the Third 
 patronised Smith and his oratorios, which for several 
 years were fashionable, and continued to do so, not- 
 withstanding that Italian music was becoming popular. 
 Nevertheless his Majesty stood single in his preference 
 of the great Handel. When the commemoration of his 
 favourite composer was celebrated in Westminster on 
 the 26th May 1784, the King was desirous that Smith 
 should be present, and sent him a pressing invitation, 
 assuring him that he should be admitted to a commo- 
 
 * Vol. xix., p. 160. 
 
410 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 dious seat -without any difiBculty, and should receive 
 every accommodation in his Majesty's power during his 
 residence in London. Fully sensible of the kindness of 
 the King, Smith was compelled to decline the honour, 
 apprehensive that, from his advanced age and the power- 
 ful performance of the well-known works of his deceased 
 friend, the effort would be too much for his feeble frame. 
 
 It cannot be doubted that, whoever the Smith was 
 who composed the music of the " Shipwreck," it could 
 not be John Christopher Smith, born in 1 712, and who 
 in 1782 must have been seventy years of age. It must 
 not be forgotten that to Dr Arne, the admirable com - 
 poser of the music of Artaxerxes and Comus, the world 
 is indebted for the much admired air of " Where the 
 Bee Sucks." 
 
 Upon the 12th of July 1857, the late Charles Kean 
 produced upon the boards of the Princess's Theatre 
 Shakespeare's play of the "Tempest." The text "in- 
 violate," omitting " an occasional passage, or com- 
 pressing a subordinate scene, with manifest advantage to 
 the action of the piece." These omissions and com- 
 pressions, however judicious and necessary for stage 
 effect, are certainly not in consonance with the original 
 text. But the public received the play, as prepared for 
 representation, with approbation, of which there could 
 not be better evidence than that it was welcomed 
 by eighty-seven successive audiences. 
 
 Every exertion was made to propitiate the popular 
 taste. The alterations of Dryden and D'avenant were 
 omitted. Hippolito and Dorinda disappeared from the 
 scene. Sycorax vanished, and Ariel was deprived of 
 Milcha as a companion. The music, composed by J. L. 
 Hatton, with the exception of a few favourite and well- 
 known airs," was executed by an " invisible choir, led 
 by Miss Poole, whose mellow voice sounded with the 
 rich full clearness of a bell in the midst of, and above 
 the accompanying melody." * The eyes of the audience 
 were gratified at the same time, with " a delicate 
 spirit, at one moment descending in a ball of fire, at 
 another rising gently from a tuft of flowers; again 
 
 * Life and Theatrical Times of Charles Kean, Vol. il., p. 220. 
 London, 1869, crown 8vo. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 411 
 
 sailing on the smooth waters on the back of a dolphin ; 
 then ghding noiselessly over the sands as a water-nymph, 
 and ever and anon perched on the summit of a rock, 
 riding, or cleaving mid-air with the velocity of 
 lightning." Then there was the gradual conversion of a 
 long "perspective" of desolation to tropical luxuriance; 
 " trees rise from the earth, fountains and waterfalls gush 
 from the rocks, while naiads, wood nymphs, and satyrs 
 enter, bearing fruit and flowers, with which they form 
 a banquet, and having invited the King and Company 
 to partake, suddenly disappear." * 
 
 That all this must have been exquisitely beautiful, 
 and deserving the great applause it obtained, may 
 without hesitation be conceded, and to borrow the 
 words of Kean's Biographer it must be admitted 
 " the powers of modern stage mechanism are almost 
 as marvellous as the gift ascribed to the magic wand 
 and book of Prospero," still they are not essential to 
 the " pure and undeflled" representation of the ' magni- 
 ficent drama' which Bishop Warburton designates as the 
 noblest effort of "that sublime and amazing imagination 
 peculiar to Shakespere." f 
 
 In his edition of Dryden, Sir Walter Scott assumes 
 in his remarks on the "Tempest," that Dryden had more 
 to do with the alteration of the drama than his partner, 
 which may or may not be true. We are told, however, 
 the reverse by the author of a comparison of the two 
 " Stages," London 1702, 8vo, who, reviewing Dryden's 
 plays says, "His 'Tempest'J is entirely Shakespeare's 
 and Sir William D'avenant's." This assertion is in a 
 great measure confirmed by what Dryden says in his 
 preface. Scott seems to have looked upon D'avcnant 
 more as a mechanist than a poet, yet such was not the 
 case, and we are convinced that had the author of 
 
 * lb. p. 221. 
 
 f See preface to the "Tempest," arranged for representa- 
 tion at the Princess's Theatre, with Historical and Explanatory 
 Notes, by Charles Kean, F.S.A., London 1857, 8vo. It is 
 understood that Mr Kean, in the preparation of this edition, 
 received the assistance of the late Mr Calcraft (J. W. Cole), for 
 many years manager of the Dublin Theatre. 
 
 t P. 64. 
 
412 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 "Marmion'' been acquainted with the beauties of the 
 ' ' Cruel Brother," or the ' ' Just Italian " which were hidden 
 in a thick, unreadable, and ill-edited folio, he would 
 without any hesitation have placed him as a poet beside 
 Webster, Ford, Massinger, and Shirley, and not far 
 below Beaumont, Fletcher, and the admirable Ben 
 Jonson. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The writing of prefaces to plays was probably 
 invented by some very ambitious poet, who never 
 thought he had done enough ; perhaps by some 
 ape of the French eloquence, which uses to make 
 a business of a letter of gallantry, an examen of a 
 farce ; and, in short, a great pomp and ostentation 
 of words on every trifle. This is certainly the 
 talent of that nation, and ought not to be invaded 
 by any other. They do that out of gaiety, which 
 would be an imposition* upon us. 
 
 We may satisfy ourselves with surmounting 
 them in the scene, and safely leave them those 
 trappings of writing, and flourishes of the pen, 
 with which they adorn the borders of their plays, 
 and which are indeed no more than good land- 
 scapes to a very indifferent picture. I must pro- 
 ceed no farther in this argument, lest I run myself 
 beyond my excuse for writing this. Give me 
 leave, therefore, to tell you, reader, that I do not 
 set a value on any thing I have written in this 
 play, but out of gratitude to the memory of Sir 
 William Davenant, who did me the honour to 
 join me with him in the alteration of it. 
 
 It was originally Shakespeare's; a poet for 
 whom he had particularly a high veneration, and 
 whom he first taught me to admire. The play 
 itself had formerly been acted with success in the 
 Black Friars : and our excellent Fletcher had so 
 
 * A task imposed on us. — W.S. 
 
414 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 great a value for it, that lie thought fit to make 
 use of the same design, not much varied, a second 
 time. Those who have seen his "Sea-Voyage," 
 may easily discern that it was a copy of Shake- 
 speare's "Tempest." The storm, the desert 
 island, and the woman who had never seen a man, 
 are all sufficient testimonies of it. But Fletcher 
 was not the only poet who made use of Shake- 
 speare's plot : Sir John Suckling, a professed ad- 
 mirer of our author, has followed his footsteps in 
 his " Goblins ; " 'his Begmdla being an open imita- 
 tion of Shakespeare's Miranda, and his spirits, 
 though counterfeit, yet are copied from Ariel. 
 But Sir William Davenant, as he was a man of 
 quick and piercing imagination, soon found that 
 somewhat might be added to the design of 
 Shakespeare, of which neither Fletcher nor Suck- 
 ling had ever thought : and, therefore, to put the 
 last hand to it, he designed the counter-part to 
 Shakespeare's plot, namely, that of a man who 
 had never seen a woman ; that by this means those 
 two characters of innocence and love might the 
 more illustrate and commend each other. This 
 excellent contrivance he was pleased to com- 
 municate to me, and to desire my assistance in it. 
 I confess, that from the very first moment it so 
 pleased me, that I never writ any thing with more 
 delight. I must likewise do him that justice to 
 acknowledge, that my writing received daily his 
 amendments ; and that is the reason why it is not 
 so faulty, as the rest which I have done, without 
 the help or correction of so judicious a friend. 
 The comical parts of the sailors were also of his 
 invention, and, for the most part, his writing, as 
 you will easily discover by the style. In the time 
 I writ with him, I had the opportunity to observe 
 somewhat more nearly of him, than I had formerly 
 
THE TEMPEST. 415 
 
 done, when I had only a bare acquaintance with 
 him : I found him then of so quick a fancy, that 
 nothing was proposed to him, on which he could 
 not suddenly produce a thought, extremely 
 pleasant and surprising ; and those first thoughts 
 of his, contrary to the old Latin proverb, were not 
 always the least happy. And as his fancy was 
 quick, so likewise were the products of it remote 
 and new. He borrowed not of any other ; and 
 his imaginations were such as could not easily 
 enter into any other man. His corrections were 
 sober and judicious, and he corrected his own 
 writings much more severely than those of another 
 man, bestowing twice the time and labour in 
 polishing, which he used in invention. It had 
 perhaps been easy enough for me to have arro- 
 gated more to myself than was my due, in the 
 writing of this play, and to have passed by his 
 name with silence in the publication of it, with 
 the same ingratitude which others have used to 
 him, whose writings he hath not only corrected, 
 as he hath done this, but has had a greater in- 
 spection over them, and sometimes added whole 
 scenes together, which may as easily be dis- 
 tinguished from the rest, as true gold from counter- 
 feit by the weight. But, besides the unworthiness 
 of the action, which deterred me from it, (there 
 being nothing so base as to rob the dead of his 
 reputation,) I am satisfied I could never have re- 
 ceived so much honour, in being thought the 
 author of any poem, how excellent soever, as I 
 shall from the joining my imperfections with the 
 merit and name of Shakespeare and Sir William 
 Davenant. 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 December 1, 1669. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 As when a tree's cut down, the secret root 
 
 Lives underground, and thence new branches 
 
 shoot ; 
 So, from old Shakespeare's honoured dust, this day 
 Springs up and buds a new-reviving play : 
 Shakespeare, who — taught by none — did first im- 
 part 
 To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art. 
 He monarch-like gave those, his subjects, law ; 
 And is that nature which they paint and draw. 
 Fletcher reached that which on his heights did grow, 
 Whilst Jonson crept, and gathered all below. 
 This did his love, and this his mirth digest ; 
 One imitates him most, the other best. 
 If they have since outwrit all other men, 
 'Tis with the drops which fell from Shakespeare's 
 
 pen. 
 The storm, which vanished on the neighbouring 
 
 shore. 
 Was taught by Shakespeare's Tempest first to roar. 
 That innocence and beauty, which did smile 
 In Fletcher, grew on this enchanted isle. 
 But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be ; 
 Within that circle none durst walk but he. 
 I must confess 'twas' bold, nor would you now 
 That liberty to vulgar wits allow. 
 Which works by magic supernatural things : 
 But Shakespeare's power is sacred as a King's. 
 Those legends from old priesthood were received. 
 And he then writ, as people then believed. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 417 
 
 But if for Shakespeare we your grace implore, 
 
 We for our theatre shall want it more : 
 
 Who, by our dearth of youths, are forced to employ 
 
 One of our women to present a boy ; 
 
 And that's a transformation, you will say, 
 
 Exceeding all the magic in the play. 
 
 Let none expect in the last act to find 
 
 Her sex transformed from man to womankind; 
 
 Whate'er she was before the play began. 
 
 All you shall see of her is perfect man. 
 
 Or if your fancy will be further led 
 
 To find her woman — it must be a-bed. 
 
 V. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Alonzo, Duke of Savoy, and Usurper of the Duke- 
 dom of Mantua. 
 
 Ferdinand, his Son. 
 
 Pkospero, right Duke of Milan. 
 
 Antonio, his Brother, Usurper of the Dukedom. 
 
 G-ONZALO, a Nobleman of Savoy. 
 
 HiPPOLiTO, one that never saw wotv/in, right heir of 
 the Dukedom of Mantua. 
 
 Stephano, Master of the Ship. 
 
 MusTACHO,' his Mate. 
 
 Trincalo, Boatswain. 
 
 Ventoso, a Mariner. 
 
 Several Mariners. 
 
 A Cabin-Boy. 
 
 Miranda, i Daughters to Prospero, that never 
 
 DoRlNDA, I saw man. 
 
 Ariel, an airy Spirit, Attendant on Prospero. 
 
 Several Spirits, Guards to Prospero. 
 
 SYcSlx', Us Sister, ] ^™ ^'"^^^^''^ "/^^^ ^'^'- 
 
^l^ 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Act I. Scene I. 
 
 The front of the stage is opened, and the hand of twenty- 
 four violins, with the harpsicals and thewbos 
 which accompany the voices, are placed between 
 the pit and the stage. While the overture is- play- 
 ing, the curtain rises, and discovers a. new frontis- 
 piece, joined to the great pilasters, on each side of 
 the stage. This frontispiece is a noble arch, sup- 
 ported by large weathed columns of the Corin- 
 thian order ; the wreathing s of the columns are 
 beautified with roses wound round them, and seve- 
 ral Cupids flying about them. On the cornice, just 
 over the capitals, sits on either 'side a figure, with a 
 trumpet in one hand, and a palm in the other, re- 
 presenting Fame. A little farther, on flie same 
 cornice, on each side of a compass-pediment, lie a 
 lion and a unicorn, the supporters of the royal 
 arms of England. In the middle of the arch are 
 several angels, holding the King's arms, as if they 
 were placing them in the midst of that compass- 
 pediment. Behind this ■ is the scene, which re- 
 presents a thick cloudy sky, a very rocky cag^t, 
 and a tempestuous sea in perpetual agitation. 
 This tempest {supposed to be raised by magic) has 
 many dreadful objects in it, as several spirits in 
 hoirid shapes flying down amongst the sailors, then 
 rising and crossing in the air. And when the 
 
420 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 ship is sinking, the whole Jwuse is darkened, and 
 a shower of fire falls upon them. This is accom- 
 panied with lightning and several claps of thun- 
 der, to the end of the storm. 
 
 Elder MUSTACHO and Ventoso. 
 
 Ven. What a sea comes in ! 
 Mus. A foaming sea ! we shall have foul 
 weather. 
 
 Enter Trincalo. 
 
 Trinc. The scud comes against the wind, 'twill 
 blow hard. 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 Steph. Boatswain ! 
 Trin. Here, master! what say you ? 
 Steph. Ill weather ! let's off to sea. 
 Mus. Let's have sea room enough, and then let 
 it blow the devil's head off. 
 Steph. Boy ! Boy ! 
 
 Enter Cabin-Boy. 
 
 Boy. Yaw, yaw! here, master! 
 
 Steph. Give the pilot a dram of the bottle. 
 
 [Exeunt Stephano and Boy. 
 
 Enter Mariners, and pass over the stage. 
 Trin. Bring the cable to the capstorm ! 
 Enter Alonso, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
 
 Alon. Good Boatswain, have a care ; where's 
 the master 1 Play the men. 
 
 Trin. Pray, keep below! 
 
 Ant. Where's the master, boatswain 1 
 
 Trin. Do you not hear him 1 You hinder us : 
 Keep your cabins ! you help the storm. 
 
 GoN. Nay, good friend, be patient. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 421 
 
 Tbin. Ay, when the sea is : Hence ! what care 
 these roarers for the name of Duke 1 To cabin ; 
 silence ; trouble us n»t. 
 
 GoN. Good friend, remember whom thou hast 
 aboard. 
 
 Trin. None that I love more than myself. You 
 are a counsellor ; if you can advise these elements 
 to silence, use your wisdom : if you cannot, make 
 yourself ready in the cabin for the ill hour. 
 Cheerly, good hearts ! Out of our way, sirs. 
 
 [Exeunt Trincalo and Mariners. 
 
 GoN. I have great comfort from this fellow ; 
 methinks his complexion is perfect gallows : stand 
 fast, good fate, to his hanging ; make the rope of 
 his destiny our cable, for our own does little ad- 
 vantage us. If he be not born to be hanged, we 
 shall be drowned. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Trincalo and Stephano. 
 
 Trin. Up aloft, lads! Come, reef both topsails! 
 
 Steph. Make haste, let's weigh, let's weigh, 
 
 and off to sea! [Exit Steph. 
 
 Enter two Mariners, and pass aver the stage. 
 Trin. Hands down ! Man your main cap-storm ! 
 Enter Mustacho and Ventoso at the other door. 
 
 Mus. Up aloft ! and man your seere cap-storm ! 
 Yen. My lads, my hearts of gold, get in your 
 capstorm-bar! Hoa up, hoa up ! &c. 
 
 [Exeunt Mustacho amd Ventoso. 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 Steph. Hold on well ! hold on well ! Nip well 
 there ; quarter-master, get's more nippers. 
 
 [Exit Steph. 
 
422 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Enter two Mariners, and pass over again. 
 Trin. Turn out, turn out all hands to capstorm ! 
 You dogs, is this a time to sleep? Lubbord. 
 Heave together, lads ! [Trincalo whistles. 
 
 [Exeunt Mustacho and Ventoso. 
 Mus. \{vithin.] Our vial's broke. 
 Ven. [within.] 'Tis but our vial-block has given 
 way. Come, heave, lads ! we are fixed again. 
 Heave together, bullies. 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 Steph. Cut down the hammocks ! cut down the 
 hammocks ! come, my lads ; Come, bullies, cheer 
 up ! heave lustily. The anchor's apeak. 
 
 Trin. Is the anchor apeak ? 
 
 Steph. Is a-weigh ! is a-weigh. 
 
 Triij . Up aloft, my lads, upon the forecastle ! 
 cut the anchor, cut him ! 
 
 All [within]. Haul catt, haul catt, haul catt, 
 haul : Haul catt, haul. Below. 
 
 Step. Aft, aft, and loose the mizen ! 
 
 Trin. Get the mizen-tack aboard. Haul aft 
 mizen-sheet. 
 
 Enter MusTACHO. 
 
 Mus. Loose the main-top sail ! 
 
 Step. Let him alone, there's too much wind. 
 
 Trin. Loose fore-sail ! haul aft both sheets ! 
 trim her right afore the wind. Aft ! aft ! lads, 
 and hale up the mizen here. 
 
 Mus. A mackrel-gale, master. 
 
 Steph. [within.'] Port hard, port ! the wind 
 veers forward, bring the tack aboard-port is. 
 Starboard, starboard, a little steady ; now steady, 
 keep her thus, no nearer you cannot come, till the 
 sails are loose. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 423 
 
 Enter Ventoso. 
 
 Ven. Some hands down : The guns are loose. 
 
 {Exit. Mils. 
 Trin. Try the pump, try the pump. 
 
 [Exit Feat. 
 
 ; , Enter MusTACHO at the other dom: 
 
 Mus. master ! six foot water in hold. 
 
 Steph. Clap the helm hard aweather ! flat, flat, 
 flat-in the fore-sheet there. 
 
 Trin. Over-haul your fore-bowling. 
 
 Steph. Brace in the larboard. [Exit. 
 
 Trin. A curse upon this howling ! [A great cry 
 within.'] They are louder than the weather. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Gonzalo. 
 
 Yet again, what do you here ? Shall we give o'er, 
 and drown 1 Ha' you a mind to sink ? 
 
 GoN. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blas- 
 phemous, uncharitable dog. 
 
 Trin. Work you then, and be poxed. 
 
 Ant. Hang, cur, hang, you whorson insolent 
 noise-maker ! We are less afraid to be drowned 
 than thou art. 
 
 Trin. Ease the fore-brace a little. [Exit. 
 
 GoN. I'll warrant him for drowning, though thy 
 ship were no stronger than a nut-sheU, and as leak 
 as an unstaunched wench. 
 
 Enter Alonzo and Ferdinand. 
 
 Fer. For myself I care not, but your loss brings 
 a thousand deaths to me. 
 
 Alon. name not me, I am grown old, my son ; 
 I now am tedious to the world, and that. 
 By use, is so to me : But, Ferdinand, 
 I grieve my subjects' loss in thee : Alas ! 
 
424 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 I suffer justly for my crimes, but why 
 
 Thou should'st heaven ! [A Cfi-y within. 
 
 Hark ! farewell, my son, a long farewell ! 
 
 Enter Trincalo, Mustacho, and Ventoso. 
 
 Tein. What, must our mouths be cold then 1 
 
 Ven. All's lost ! To prayers, to prayers. 
 
 GON. The Duke and Prince are gone within to 
 prayers. Let's assist them. 
 
 Mus. Nay, we may e'en pray too, our 
 Case is now alike. 
 
 Ant. Mercy upon us ! we split, we split ! 
 
 GoN. Let's all sink with the Duke, and the 
 young Prince. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Stephano and Trincalo. 
 
 Trin. The ship is sinking. [A new ory within. 
 
 Step. Eun her ashore ! 
 
 Trin. Luff ! luff ! or we ai'e all lost ! there's & 
 rock upon the starboard-bow. 
 
 Steph. She strikes, she strikes ! All shift for 
 themselves. 
 
 Scene IL 
 
 hi the midst of the shower of fire, the scene changes. 
 The cloudy sky, rocks, and sea vanish ; and, when 
 the lights return, discover that beautiful part of 
 tlie island, which was the habitation of Prospero : 
 'Tis composed of three walks of cypress-trees ; each 
 side-walk leads to a cave, in one of which Pros- 
 pero keeps his daughter, in the other Hippolito : 
 The middle-walk is of great depth, and leads to 
 an open part of the island. 
 
 Enter Prospero and Miranda. 
 Pro. Miranda, where's your sister ? 
 
THE TEMPEST. 425 
 
 MiE. I left her looking from the pointed rock, 
 At the walk's end, on the huge beat of waters. 
 
 Pegs. It is a dreadful object. 
 
 MiE. If by your art, 
 My dearest father, you have put them in 
 This roar, allay them quickly. 
 
 Pegs. I have so ordered, 
 That not one creature in the ship is lost : 
 I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
 My daughter, and thy pretty sister : 
 You both are ignorant of what you are. 
 Not knowing whence I am, nor that I'm more 
 Than Prospero, master of a narrow cell. 
 And thy unhappy father. 
 
 MiE. I ne'er endeavoured 
 To know more than you were pleased to tell me. 
 
 Pegs. I should inform thee farther. 
 
 MiE. You often, sir, began to tell me what I am, 
 But then you stopt. 
 
 Pegs. The hour's now come ; 
 Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
 A time, before we came into this cell t 
 I do not think thou canst, for then thou wert not 
 Full three years old. 
 
 MiE. Certainly I can, sir. 
 
 Pegs. Tell me the image then of anything, 
 Which thou dost keep in thy remembrance still. 
 
 MiE. Sir, had I not four or five women once, 
 that tended me ? 
 
 Pegs. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda : What 
 seest thou else. 
 In the dark back-ward, and abyss of time ? 
 If thou rememberest aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
 Then how thou cam'st thou mayest remember 
 too. 
 
 MiE. Sir, that I do not. 
 
 Pegs. Fifteen years since, Miranda, 
 
426 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and 
 A Prince of power. 
 
 Mm. Sir, are not you my father 1 
 
 Pros. Thy mother was all virtue, and she said 
 Thou wast my daughter, and thy sister too. 
 
 MiE. heavens ! what foul play had we, that 
 We hither came t or was't a blessing that we did 't 
 
 Pro. Both, both, my girl. 
 
 Mir. But, sir, I pray, proceed. 
 
 Pros. My brother, and thy uncle, called An- 
 tonio, 
 To whom I trusted then the manage of my state, 
 While I was wrapped with secret studies,- -that 
 
 false uncle, 
 Having attained the craft of granting suits, 
 And of denying them ; whom to advance, 
 Or lop, for over-topping, — soon was grown 
 The ivy, which did hide my Princely trunk. 
 And sucked my verdure out. Thou attend'st not. 
 
 Mir. good sir, I do. 
 
 Pros. I thus neglecting worldly ends, and bent 
 To closeness, and the bettering of my mind. 
 Waked in my false brother an evil nature : He 
 
 did believe 
 He was indeed the Duke, because he then 
 Did execute the outward face of sovereignty — 
 Dost thou still mark me ? 
 
 Mir. Your story would cure deafness. 
 
 Pros. This false Duke 
 Needs would be absolute Milan, and confederate 
 With Savoy's Duke, to give him tribute, and 
 To do him homage. 
 
 Mir. False man ! 
 
 Pros. This duke of Savoy, being an enemy 
 To me inveterate, strait grants my brother's suit ; 
 And, on a night, mated to his design, 
 Antonio opened the gates of Mil^n, and 
 
THE TEMPEST. 427 
 
 In the dead of darkness hurried me thence, 
 With thy young sister, and thy crying self. 
 
 Mir. But wherefore did they not that hour de- 
 stroy us 1 
 
 Pros. They durst not, girl, in Milan, for the 
 love 
 My people bore me ; in short they hurried us 
 Away to Savoy, and thence aboard a bark at 
 
 Nissa's port. 
 Bore us some leagues to sea, when they prepared 
 A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigged. 
 No tackle, sail or mast ; the very rats 
 Instinctively had quit it. 
 
 Mir. Alack ! what trouble 
 Was I then to you ? 
 
 Pros. Thou and thy sister were 
 Two Cherubins, which did preserve me : You both 
 Did smile, infused with fortitude from Heaven. 
 
 Mir. How came we ashore 1 
 
 Pros. By providence divine. 
 Some food we had, and some fresh water, which 
 A nobleman of Savoy, called Gonzalo, 
 Appointed master of that black design. 
 Gave us; with rich garments and all necessaries. 
 Which since have steaded much : and of his gentle- 
 ness- 
 Knowing I loved my books — he filrnished me. 
 From mine own library, with volumes, which 
 I prize above my Dukedom. 
 
 Mir. Would I might see that man ! 
 
 Pros. Here in this island we arrived, and here 
 Have I your tutor been. But by my skill 
 I find, that my mid-heaven doth depend 
 On a most happy star, whose influence 
 If I now court not, but omit, my fortunes 
 Will ever after droop: Here cease more questions; 
 Thou art inclined to sleep : 'Tis a good dulness. 
 
428 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 And give it way ; I know thou can'st not chuse. 
 
 [She falls asleep. 
 Come away, my spirit : I am ready now ; approach, 
 My Ariel, come ! 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ariel. All hail, great master. 
 Grave sir, hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure. 
 Be it to fly, to swim, to shoot into the fire. 
 To ride into the curled clouds ; to thy strong 
 
 bidding 
 Task Ariel and all his qualities. 
 
 Pros. Hast thou, spirit, performed to point 
 The tempest, that I bade thee 1 
 
 Ariel. To every article. 
 I boarded the Duke's ship ; now on the beak, 
 Now in the waste, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flamed amazement ; and sometimes I seemed 
 To burn in many places ; on the top-mast, 
 The yards, and bow-sprit, I did flame distinctly ; 
 Nay, once I rained a shower of fire upon them. 
 
 Pros. My brave spirit ! — 
 Wlio was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
 Did not infect his reason 1 
 
 Ariel. Not a soul 
 But felt a fever of the mind, and played 
 Some tricks of desperation ; all, 
 But mariners, plunged in the foaming brine. 
 And quit the vessel. The Duke's son, Ferdinand, 
 With hair upstaring, — more like reeds than hair — 
 Was the first man that leaped ; cried, Hell is 
 
 empty ! 
 And all the devils are here ! 
 
 Pros. Why, that's my spirit ! — 
 But, was not this nigh shore 1 
 
 Ariel. Close by, my master. 
 
 Pros. But, Ariel, are they safe 'i 
 
THE TEMPEST. 429 
 
 . Ariel. Not a hair perished. 
 In troops I have dispersed them round this isle : 
 The Duke's son I have landed by himself, 
 Whom I have left warming the air with sighs 
 In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting : 
 His arms enfolded in this sad knot. 
 
 Pros. Say how thou hast disposed the mariners 
 Of the Duke's ship, and all the rest o' the fleet ? 
 
 Ariel. Safely in harbour 
 Is the Duke's ship; in th^ deep nook, where 
 
 once 
 Thou called'st me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the still vexed Bermoothes, there she's hid ; 
 The mariners all under hatches stowed; 
 Whom, with a charm, joined to their suffered 
 
 labour, 
 I have left asleep : And for the rest o' the fleet, 
 Which I dispersed, they all have met again. 
 And are upon the Mediterranean float, 
 Bound sadly home from Italy ; 
 Supposing that they saw the Duke's ship wrecked. 
 And his great person perish. 
 
 Pros. Ariel, thy charge 
 Exactly is performed: But there's more work. — 
 What is the time o' the day ? 
 Ariel. Past the mid season. 
 Pros. At least two glasses. 
 The time 'twixt six and now must by us both 
 Be spent most preciously. 
 
 Ariel. Is there more toil ? 
 Since thou dost give me pains, let me remember 
 Thee what thou hast promised, which is not yet 
 Performed me. 
 
 Pros. How now l moody 1 
 What is't thou can'st demand t 
 Ariel. My liberty. 
 Pros. Before the time be out 1 — no more ! 
 
430 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Ariel. I pr'ythee, 
 Remember I have done thee faithful service ; 
 Told thee no lies ; made thee no mistakings ; 
 Served without or grudge or grumblings ; 
 Thou didst promise to bate me a full year. 
 
 Pros. Dost thou forget 
 From Avhat a torment I did free thee ? 
 
 Ariel. No. 
 
 Pros. Thou dost ; and think'st it much to 
 tread the ooze 
 Of the salt deep ; 
 
 To run against the sharp wind of the north ; 
 To do my business in the veins of the earth, 
 When it is baked with frost. 
 ' Ariel. I do not, sir. 
 
 Pros. Thou liest, malignant thing 1 — Hast thou 
 forgot 
 The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age, and envy, 
 Was grown into a hoop ? Hast thou forgot her 1 
 
 Ariel. No, sir. 
 
 Pros. Thou hast ! Where was she born ? Speak, 
 tell me. 
 
 Ariel. Sir, in Argier. 
 
 Pros. Oh, was she so 1 — I must. 
 Once every month, recount what thou hast been, 
 Which thou forgettest. This damned witch 
 
 Sycorax, 
 For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries 
 Too terrible to enter human hearing, 
 From Argier, thou know'st, was banish'd : 
 But, for one thing she did, 
 They would not take her life. — Is not this true 1 
 
 Ariel. Ay, sir. 
 
 Pros. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought 
 with child, 
 And here was left by the sailors : Thou, my slave, 
 As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant ; 
 
THE TEMPEST. 431 
 
 And, 'cause thou wast a spirit too delicate 
 To act her earthly and abhorred commands, 
 Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, 
 By help of her more potent ministers, 
 (In her unmitigable rage) into a cloven pine ; 
 Within whose rift imprisoned, thou didst painfully 
 Remain a dozen years, within which space she died, 
 And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy 
 
 groans. 
 As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this isle — 
 Save for two brats, which she did litter here. 
 The brutish Caliban, and his twin-sister. 
 Two freckled hag-born whelps — not honoured with 
 A human shape. 
 
 Ariel. Yes ; Caliban her son, and Sycorax his 
 sister. 
 
 Pros. Dull thing ! — I say so. — He, 
 That Caliban, and she, that Sycorax 
 Whom I now keep in service. Thou best know'st 
 What torment I did find thee in ; thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever-angry bears ; it was a torment 
 To lay upon the damned, which Sycorax 
 Could ne'er again undo : It was my art. 
 When I arrived and heard thee, that made the 
 
 pine 
 To gape, and let thee out. 
 
 Ariel. I thank thee, master. 
 
 Pros. If thou more murmurest, I will rend an 
 oak. 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till thou 
 Hast howled away twelve winters more. 
 
 Ariel. Pardon, master! 
 I will be correspondent to command. 
 And be a gentle spirit. 
 
 Pros. Do so ; and after two days I'll discharge 
 thee. 
 
432 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Ariel. Thanks, my great master ! But I have 
 
 yet one request. 
 Pros. "What's that, my spirit ? 
 Artel. I know that this day's business is im- 
 portant, 
 Requiring too much toil for one alone. 
 I have a gentle spirit for my love, 
 Who twice seven years has waited for my freedom ; 
 Let it appear, it will assist me much, 
 And we with mutual joy shall entertain 
 Each other. This, I beseech you, grant me ! 
 Pros. You shall have your desire. 
 Ariel. That's my noble master. — Milcha ! 
 
 [Milcha flies dovm to his assistance. 
 Mil. I am here, my love. 
 Ariel. Thou art free ! Welcome, my dear ! — 
 What shall we do ? Say, say, what shall we do ? 
 Pros. Be subject to no sight but mine ; in- 
 visible 
 To every eye-ball else. Hence, with diligence ; 
 Anon thou shalt know more. 
 
 \They loth fly up, and cross in the air. 
 
 Thou hast slept well, my child. [To Mir. 
 
 Mir. The sadness of your story put heaviness 
 
 in me. 
 Pros. Shake it off!— Come on, I'll now call 
 Caliban, my slave, who never yields us a kind 
 answer. 
 Mir. 'Tis a creature, sir, I do not love to look on. 
 Pros. But, as it is, we cannot miss him : He 
 does make our fire, fetch in our wood, and serve 
 in offices that profit us. — What ho, slave ! Caliban ! 
 thou earth, thou, speak ! 
 
 Cal. [within.] There's wood enough within. 
 Pros. Thou poisonous slave ! got by the devil 
 himself 
 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 
 
THE TEMPEST. 433 
 
 Enter Caliban. 
 
 Cal. As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brushed 
 with raven's feather from unwholesome fens, drop 
 on you both! A south-west wind blow on you, 
 and blister you all o'er ! 
 
 Pros, for this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 
 cramps, side-stiches, that shall pen thy breath up : 
 Urchins shall prick thee till thou bleed'st : Thou 
 shalt be pinched as thick as honey-combs, eacli 
 pinch more stinging than the bees which made 
 them. 
 
 Cal. I must eat my dinner : This island's mine 
 by Sycorax my mother, which thou took'st from 
 me. When thou camest first, thou stroak'dst me 
 and madest much of me ; would'st give me water 
 with berries in't, and teach me how to name the 
 bigger light, and how the less, that burn by day 
 and night ; and then I loved thee and showed thee 
 all the qualities of the isle, the fresh-springs, brine- 
 pits, barren places, and fertile. Cursed be I, that 
 T did so ! AU the charms of Sycorax, toads, beetles, 
 bats, light on thee ! for I am all the subjects that 
 thou hast. I first was mine own lord ; and here 
 thou stayest me in this hard rock, whiles thou dost 
 keep from me the rest o' the island. 
 
 Pros. Thou most lying slave, whom stripes may 
 move, not kindness ! I have used thee, filth as thou 
 art ! with human care ; and lodged thee in mine 
 own cell, till thou didst seek to violate the honour 
 of my children. 
 
 Cal. Oh, ho ! oh, ho ! would it had been done. 
 Thou didst prevent me, I had peopled else this isle 
 with Calibans. 
 
 Pros. Abhor'd slave ! who ne'er wouldst any 
 print of goodness take, being capable of all ill 1 I 
 pitied thee, took pains to make thee speak, taught 
 V. 2e 
 
434 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 thee each hour one thing or other : When thou 
 didst not, savage ! know thy own meaning, but 
 wouldst gabble like a thing most brutish, I en- 
 dowed thy purposes with words, which made them 
 known. — But thy wild race — though thou didst 
 learn — had that in't, which good natures could not 
 abide to be with ; therefore wast thou deservedly 
 pent up into this rock. 
 
 Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit 
 by it is, that I know to curse. The red botch* rid 
 you for learning me your language ! 
 
 Pkos. Hag-seed, hence ! 
 Fetch us in fuel and be quick 
 To answer other business. — Shrug'st thou, malice ? 
 If thou neglectest, or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; 
 Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar. 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, pr'ythee ! 
 I must obey. His art is of such power, 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pros. So, slave, hence ! 
 
 [Exeunt Prospero, and Caliban, severally. 
 
 Enter Dorinda. 
 
 Dor. Oh, sister ! what have I beheld ! 
 
 Mir. Wliat is it moves you so ? 
 
 Dor. From yonder rock. 
 As I my eyes cast down upon the seas, 
 The whistling winds blew rudely on my face. 
 And the waves roared ; at first, I thought the war 
 Had been between themselves, but straight I spied 
 A huge great creature. 
 
 Mir. 0, you mean the ship 1 
 
 Dor. Is't not a creature then ? — It seemed alive. 
 
 * An inflamed tumour. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 435 
 
 Mir. But what of it i 
 
 Dor. This floating ram did bear his horns 
 above, 
 All tied with ribbands, ruiBing in the wind : 
 Sometimes he nodded down his head awhile, 
 And then the waves did heave him to the moon, 
 He clambering to the top pf all the billows ; 
 And then again he curtsied down so low, 
 I could not see him : Till at last, all side-long, 
 With a great crack his belly burst in pieces. 
 
 Mr. There all had perished, 
 Had not my father's magic art relieved them. — 
 But, sister, I have stranger news to tell you : 
 In this great creature there were other creatures ; 
 And shortly we may chance to see that thing, 
 Which you have heard my father call a man. 
 
 Dor. But what is that 1 For yet he never 
 told me. 
 
 Mir. I know no more than you :• — But I have 
 heard 
 My father say, we women were made for him. 
 
 Dor. What, that he should eat us, sister 1 
 
 Mir. No, sure ; you see my father is a man, and yet 
 He does us good. I would he were not old. 
 
 Dor. Methinks, indeed, it would be finer, if 
 We two had two young fathers. 
 
 Mir. No, sister, no : If they were young, my 
 father 
 Said, we must call them brothers. 
 
 Dor. But, pray, how does it come, that we two 
 are 
 Not brothers then, and have not beards like him i 
 
 Mir. Now I confess you pose me. 
 
 Dor. How did he come to be our father too ] 
 
 Mir. I think he found us when we both were 
 little, 
 And grew within the ground. 
 
436, THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Dor. Why could he not find more of us 1 Pray, 
 sister, 
 Let you and I look up and down one day, 
 To find some little ones for us to play with. 
 
 Mir. Agreed ! but now we must go in. This is 
 The hour wherein my father's charm will work, 
 Which seizes all who are in open air : , 
 The efi'ect of this great art I long to see. 
 Which will perform as much as magic can. 
 
 Dor. And I, methinks, more long to see a man. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Act II. Scene I. 
 
 The scene changes to the wilder part of the Island. 
 It is composed of divers soiis of trees and barren 
 places, with a prospect of the sea at a great 
 distance. 
 
 Enter Stephano, Mustacho, and Ventoso. 
 
 Ven. The runlet of brandy was a loving runlet 
 and floated after us out of pure pity. 
 
 Mus. This kind bottle, like an old acquaintance, 
 swam after it. And this scollop-shell is all our 
 plate now. 
 
 Ven. 'Tis well we have found something since 
 we landed. 
 I pr'ythee fill a soop, and let it go round. — 
 Where hast thou laid the runlet ■? 
 
 Mus. In the hollow of an old tree. 
 
 Ven. Fill apace ! we cannot live long in this 
 barren island, and we may take a soop before death, 
 as well as others drink at our funerals. 
 
 Mus. This is prize brandy ; we steal custom, 
 and it costs nothing. Let's have two rounds more. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 437 
 
 Ven. Master, what have you saved ? 
 
 Steph. Just nothing but myself. 
 
 Ven. This works comfortably on a cold stomach. 
 
 Steph. Fill us another round ! 
 
 Ven. Look ! Mustacho weeps. Hang losses, 
 as long as we have brandy left ! — Pr'ythee, leave 
 weeping. 
 
 Steph. He sheds his brandy out of his eyes : 
 He shall drink no more. 
 
 Mus. This will be a doleful day with old Bess. 
 She gave me a gilt nutmeg at parting ; that's lost 
 too : But, as you say, hang losses ! Pr'ythee, fill 
 again. 
 
 Ven. Beshrew thy heart, for putting me in 
 mind of thy wife ; I had not thought of mine else. 
 Nature will shew itself ; I must melt. I pr'ythee, 
 fill again ! My wife's a good old jade, and has but 
 one eye left ; but she will weep out that too, when 
 she hears that Pm dead. 
 
 Steph. Would you were both hanged, for put- 
 ting me in thought of mine ! 
 
 Ven. But come, master, soitow is dry. There's 
 for you again. 
 
 Steph. A mariner had e'en as good be a fish as 
 a man, but for the comfort we got ashore. 1 for 
 an old dry wench, now I am wet. 
 
 Mus. Poor heart, that would soon make you 
 dry again. But all is barren in this isle : Here we 
 may lie at hull, till the wind blow nor' and by 
 south, ere we can cry, a sail ! a sail ! a sight of a 
 white apron: And, therefore, here's another soop to 
 comfort us. 
 
 Ven. This isle's our own, that's our comfort ; for 
 
 the Duke, the Prince, and all their train, are perished. 
 
 Mus. Our ship is sunk, and we can never get 
 
 home again : We must e'en turn savages, and the 
 
 next that catches his fellow may eat him. 
 
438 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Ven. No, no, let us have a government ; for if 
 we live well and orderly, heaven will drive ship- 
 wrecks ashore to make us all rich : Therefore let 
 us carry good consciences, and not eat one another. 
 
 Steph. Whoever eats any of my subjects, I'll 
 break out his teeth with my sceptre ; for I was 
 master at sea, and will be Duke on land : You, 
 Mustacho, have been my mate, and shall be my 
 viceroy. 
 
 Ven. When you are Duke, you may chuse your 
 viceroy ; but I am a free subject in a new planta- 
 tion, and will have no Duke without my voice : 
 And so fill me the other soop. 
 
 Steph. [whispering.] Ventoso, dost thou hear 1 I 
 will advance thee. Pr'ythee, give me thy voice. 
 
 Ven. I'll have no whisperings to corrupt the 
 election ; and, to show that I have no private 
 ends, I declare aloud, that I will be viceroy, or 
 I'll keep my voice for myself 
 
 Mus. Stephano, hear me ! I will speak for the 
 l^eople, because there are few, or rather none, in 
 the isle, to speak for themselves. Know, then, 
 that to prevent the farther shedding of christian 
 blood, we are all content Ventoso shall be viceroy, 
 upon condition I may be viceroy over him. Speak, 
 good people, are you well agreed ? what ! no man 
 answer ? Well, you may take their silence for 
 consent. 
 
 Yen. You speak for the people, Mustacho ! I'll 
 speak for them, and declare generally with one 
 voice, one and all, that there shall be no viceroy 
 but the Duke, unless I be he. 
 
 Mus. You declare for the people, who never 
 saw your face ? Cold iron shall decide it ! 
 
 [Both draw. 
 
 Steph. Hold, loving subjects ! We will have 
 no civil war during our reign. I do hereby 
 
THE TEMPEST. 439 
 
 appoint you both to be my viceroys over the whole 
 island. 
 
 Both. Agreed, agreed ! 
 
 Enter Teincalo, with a great bottle, half drunk. 
 Ven. How ! Trincalo, our brave boatswain ! 
 Mus. He reels : Can he be drunk with sea- 
 water 1 
 Trin. [sings.] I shall no more to sea, to sea, 
 Here I shall die ashore. 
 This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funer- 
 al ; but here's my comfort. [Brinks. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 The master, the swabber, the gunner, and I, 
 
 The surgeon, and his mate, 
 Loved Mall, Meg, and Marrian, and Margery, 
 
 But none of us cared for Kate. 
 For she had a tongue with a twang, 
 Would cry to a sailor. Go hang ! — 
 She loved not the savour of tar, nor of pitch. 
 Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did 
 itch. 
 
 This is a scurvy tune too ; but here's my comfort 
 again. [Drinks. 
 
 Steph. We have got another subject now : 
 Welcome, welcome, into our dominions ! 
 
 Tkin. What subject, or what dominions? 
 Here's old sack, boys ; the King of good fellows 
 can be no subject. I will be old Simon the King. 
 
 Mus. Ha, old boy ! how didst thou 'scape 1 
 
 Trin. Upon a butt of sack, boys, which the 
 sailors threw overboard. — But are you alive, hoa ! 
 for I will tipple with no ghosts, till I'm dead. 
 Thy hand, Mustache, and thine, Ventoso ; the 
 storm has done its worst. — Stephano alive too ! 
 give thy boatswain thy hand, master. 
 
440 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Yen. You must kiss it then; for I must tell 
 you, we have chosen him Duke, in a full assembly. 
 
 Trin. a Duke ! where 1 What's he Duke of? 
 
 Mus. Of this island, man. Oh, Trincalo, we 
 are all made : The island's empty ; all's our own, 
 boy ; and we will speak to his grace for thee, 
 that thou mayest be as great as we are. 
 
 Tkin. You great ! what the devil are you 1 
 
 Yen. We two are viceroys over all the island ; 
 and, when we are weary of governing, thou shalt 
 succeed us. 
 
 Trin. Do you hear, Ventoso'? I will succeed 
 you in both places before you enter into them. 
 
 Steph. Trincalo, sleep, and be sober; and 
 make no more uproars in my country. 
 
 Trin. Why, what are you, sir 1 what are you ? 
 
 Steph. What I am, I am by free election ; and 
 you, Trincalo, are not yourself: but we pardon 
 your first fault, because it is the first day of our 
 reign. 
 
 Trin. Umph ! were matters carried so swim- 
 mingly against me, whilst I was swimming, and 
 saving myself for the good of the people of this 
 island 1 
 
 Mus. Art thou mad, Trincalo ? Wilt thou dis- 
 turb a settled government, where thou art a mere 
 stranger to the laws of the country ? 
 
 Trin. I'll have no laws. 
 
 Yen. Then civil war begins. 
 
 [Fent. and Must. draw. 
 
 Steph. Hold, hold ! I'll have no bloodshed ; 
 my subjects are but few : Let him make a re- 
 bellion by himself ; and a rebel, I, Duke Stephano, 
 declare him. — Yiceroys, come away ! 
 
 Trin. And Duke Trincalo declares, that he will 
 make open war wherever he meets thee, or thy 
 viceroys. [Exeunt Steph., Must., and Vent. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 441 
 
 Enter Caliban, with wood upon his back 
 
 Trin. Ha ! who have we here 1 
 
 Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
 from fogs, fens, flats, on Prospero fall, and make 
 him by inch-meal a disease. His spirits hear me, 
 and yet I needs must curse ; but they'll not pinch, 
 fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i'the mire, 
 nor lead me in the dark out of my way, unless he 
 bid them. But for every trifle he sets them on 
 me : Sometimes, like baboons, they mow and 
 chatter at me, and often bite me ; like hedge-hogs, 
 then, they mount their prickles at me, tumbling 
 before me in my barefoot way. Sometimes I am 
 all wound about with adders, who, with their 
 cloven tongues, hiss me to madness, — Hah ! yonder 
 stands one of his spirits sent to torment me. 
 
 Trin. What have we here, a man, or a fish 1 This 
 is some monster of the isle. Were I in England 
 as once I was, and had him painted, not a holiday 
 fool there but would give me sixpence for the sight 
 of him. Well, if I could make him tame, he were 
 a present for an Emperor. — Come hither, pretty 
 monster : I'll do thee no harm. Come hither ! 
 
 Cal. Torment me not ; I'll bring thee wood 
 home faster. 
 
 Trin. He talks none of the wisest ; but I'll give 
 him a dram o' th' bottle, that will clear his 
 understanding. Come on your ways, master mon- 
 ster, open your mouth. How now, you perverse 
 moon-calf! what, I think you cannot tell who is 
 your friend. — Open your chops, I say. 
 
 [Pours wine down his throat. 
 
 Cal. This is a brave god, and bears celestial 
 liquor. I'll kneel to him. 
 
 Trin. He is a very hopeful monster. — Monster, 
 what say'st thou? art thou content to turn civil 
 
442 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 and sober, as I am? for then thou shalt be my sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Gal. I'll swear upon that bottle to be true ; for 
 the liquor is not earthly. Did'st thou not drop 
 from heaven 1 
 
 Tkin. Only out of the moon ; I was the man in 
 her, when time was. — By this light a very shallow 
 monster. 
 
 Oal. I'll shew thee every fertile inch i' th' isle, 
 and kiss thy foot : I pr'ythee be my god, and let 
 me drink. [Drinks again. 
 
 Tein. Well drawn monster, in good faith. 
 
 Bal. I'll shew thee the best springs ; I'll pluck 
 thee berries ; I'll fish for thee, and get tliee 
 wood enough.^ — A curse upon the tyrant whom 
 I serve ! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow 
 thee. 
 
 Tein. The poor monster is' loving in his 
 drink. 
 
 Cal. I pri'thee, let me bring thee where crabs 
 grow ; and I with my long nails wiU dig thee pig- 
 nuts, shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 to snare the marmozet : I'll bring thee to clustered 
 filberts. Wilt thou go with me 1 
 
 Trin. This monster comes of a good-natured 
 race. — Is there no more of thy kin in this island 'i 
 
 Cal. Divine, there is but one besides myself ; my 
 lovely sister, beautiful and bright as the full moon. 
 
 Trin. Where is she 1 
 
 Cal. I left her clamb'ring up a hollow oak, and 
 plucking thence the dropping honey-combs. — Say, 
 my King, shall I call her to thee 'i 
 
 Trin. She shall swear upon the bottle too. If 
 she proves handsome, she is mine. — Here, monster, 
 drink again for thy good news ; thou shalt speak 
 a good word for me. [Gives him the bottle. 
 
 Cal. Farewell, old master, farewell, farewell ! 
 
THE TEMPEST. 443 
 
 Sings. 
 No more dams I'll make for fish • 
 Nor fetch in firing, at requiring ; 
 Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish : 
 Ban, ban, Cackaliban, 
 Has a new master, get a new man. 
 Hey-day ! freedom, freedom ! 
 
 Trin. Here's two subjects got already, the mon- 
 ster and his sister: Well, Duke Stephano, I say, 
 and say again, wars will ensue, and so I drink. 
 [Drinks.] From this worshipful monster, and mis- 
 tress monster, his sister, I'll lay claim to this island 
 by alliance. — Monster, I say, thy sister shall be my 
 spouse. Come away, brother monster ; I'll lead 
 thee to my butt, and drink her health. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Cypress Trees and a Cave. 
 
 Enter Prospero alone. 
 
 Pros. 'Tis not yet fit to let my daughters know, 
 I keep the infant duke of Mantua 
 So near them in this isle ; 
 
 Whose father, dying, bequeathed him to my care, 
 TUl my false brother, when he designed to usurp 
 My Dukedom from me, exposed him to that fate 
 He meant for me. 
 By calculation of his birth, I saw 
 Death threat'ning him, if, till some time were past, 
 He should behold the face of any woman : 
 And now the danger's nigh. — Hippolito ! 
 
 Enter Hippolito. 
 Hip. Sir, I attend your pleasure. 
 Pros. How I have loved thee, from thy infancy. 
 Heaven knows, and thou thyself canst bear me 
 
 witness ; 
 Therefore accuse not me for thy restraint. 
 
444 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Hip. Since I knew life, you've kept me in a 
 rock ; 
 And you, this day, have hurried me from thence, 
 Only to change my prison, not to free me. 
 I murmur not, but I may wonder at it. 
 Pros. 0, gentle youth ! fate waits for thee 
 abroad ; 
 A black star threatens thee, and death unseen 
 Stands ready to devour thee. 
 
 Hip. You taught me 
 Not to fear him in any of his shapes : — 
 Let me meet death rather than be a prisoner. 
 Pros. 'Tis pity he should seize thy tender 
 
 youth. 
 Hip. Sir, I have often heard you say, no 
 creature liv'd 
 Within this isle, but those which man was lord of 
 Why, then, should I fear 1 
 Pros. But here are creatures which I named 
 not to thee. 
 Who share man's sovereignty by nature's laws, 
 And oft depose him from it. 
 
 Hip. What are those creatures, sir? 
 
 Pros. Those dangerous enemies of men, called 
 
 women. 
 Hip. Women ! I never heard of them before. — 
 What are women like ? 
 Pros. Imagine something between young men 
 and angels ; 
 Fatally beauteous, and have killing eyes ; 
 Their voices charm beyond the nightingale's ; 
 They are all enchantment ; Those, who once 
 
 behold 'em. 
 Are made their slaves for ever. 
 
 Hip. Then I will wink, and fight with 'em. 
 Pros. 'Tis but in vain ; 
 They'll haunt you in your very sleep. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 445 
 
 Hip. Then I'll revenge it on 'em when I walce. 
 
 Pros. You are without all possibility of re- 
 venge ; 
 They are so beautiful, that you can ne'er attempt, 
 Nor wish, to hurt them. 
 
 Hip. Are they so beautiful 1 
 
 Pros. Calm sleep is not so soft, nor winter suns, 
 Nor summer shades so pleasant. 
 
 Hip. Can they be fairer than the plumes of 
 swans 1 
 Or more delightful than the peacock's feathers ? 
 Or than the gloss upon the necks of doves ? 
 Or have more various beauty than the rainbow 1— 
 These I have seen, and, without danger, wond'red 
 at. 
 
 Pros. All these are far below them : Nature 
 made 
 Nothing but woman dangerous and fair. 
 Therefore if you should chance to see them, 
 Avoid them straight I charge you. 
 
 Hip. Well, since you say they are so dangerous, 
 I'll so far shun them, as I may with safety 
 Of the unblemished honour which you taught me. 
 But let them not provoke me, for I'm sure ' 
 I shall not then forbear them. 
 
 Pros. Go in, and read the book I gave you last. 
 To-morrow I may bring you better news. 
 
 Hip. I shall obey you, sir. [Exit Hip. 
 
 Pros. So, so ; I hope this lesson has secured 
 him, 
 For I have been constrained to change his lodging 
 From yonder rock, where first I bred him up. 
 And here have brought him home to my own cell, 
 Because the shipwreck happened near his mansion. 
 I hope he will not stir beyond his limits. 
 For hitherto he hath been all obedience : 
 The planets seem to smile on my designs. 
 
446 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 And yet there is one sullen cloud behind : 
 I would it were dispersed. 
 
 Enter Miranda and Dorinda. 
 
 How, my daughters ! 
 
 I thought I had instructed them enough : 
 
 Children ! retire ; why do you walk this way 1 
 
 Mir. It is within our bounds, sir. 
 
 Pros. But both 
 Take heed, that path is very dangerous. 
 Remember what I told you. 
 
 Dor. Is the man that way, sir ? 
 
 Pros. All that you can imagine ill is there. 
 The curled lion, and the rugged bear 
 Are not so dreadful as that man. 
 
 Mir. Oh me, why stay we here then ? 
 
 Dor. I'll keep far enough from his den, I 
 warrant him. 
 
 Mir. But yau have told me, sir, you are a man ; 
 And yet you are not dreadful. 
 
 Pros. Ay, child ! but I 
 Am a tame man ; old men are tame by nature, 
 But all the danger lies in a wild young man. 
 
 Dor. Do they run wild about the woods 1 
 
 Pros. No, they are wild within doors, in 
 chambers. 
 And in closets. 
 
 Dor. But, father, I would stroak them, and 
 make them gentle ; 
 Then sure they would not hurt me. 
 
 Pros. You must not trust them, child : No 
 woman can 
 Come near them, but she feels a pain, full nine 
 
 months. 
 Well, I must in ; for new affairs require my 
 Presence. Be you, Miranda, your sister's guardian. 
 
 [Exit Pros. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 447 
 
 Dor. Come, sister, shall we walk the other way 1 
 The man will catch us else : We have but two 
 
 legs. 
 And he, perhaps, has four. 
 
 Mir. Well, sister, though he have ; yet look 
 about you. 
 And we shall spy him ere he comes too near us. 
 Dor. Come back ! that way is towards his 
 
 den. 
 Mir. Let me alone ! I'll venture first, for sure 
 he can 
 Devour but one of us at once. 
 Dor. How dare you venture f 
 Mir. We'll- find him sitting like a hare in's 
 form, 
 And he shall not see us. 
 
 Dor. Ay, but you know my father charged us 
 
 both. 
 Mir. But who shall tell him on't t we'll keep 
 
 each other's counsel. 
 Dor. I dare not, for the world. 
 Mir. But how shall we hereafter shun him, if 
 We do not know him first ? 
 , Dor. Nay, I confess I would fain see him too. 
 I find it in my nature, because my father has for- 
 bidden me. 
 
 Mir. Ay, there's it, sister ; if he had said no- 
 thing, I had been quiet. Go softly, and if you see 
 him first, be quick, and beckon me away. 
 
 Dor. Well, if he does catch me, I'll humble 
 myself to him, and ask him pardon, as I do my 
 father, when I have done a fault. 
 
 Mir. And if I can but escape with life, I had 
 rather be in pain nine months, as my father 
 threatened, than lose my longing. [Exeunt. 
 
448 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter HiPPOLiTO. 
 
 Hip. Prospero has often said that nature makes 
 Nothing in vain : Why then are women made ^ 
 Are they to suck the poison of the earth, 
 As gaudy coloured serpents are 1 I'll ask 
 That question, when next I see him here. 
 
 Enter Miranda and Dorinda peeping. 
 
 Dor. sister, there it is ! it walks about 
 Like one of us. 
 
 Mir. Ay, just so, and has legs as we have too. 
 
 Hip. It strangely puzzles me : Yet 'tis most 
 likely 
 Women are somewhat between men and spirits. 
 
 Dor. Hark ! it talks : — sure this is not it my 
 father meant, 
 For this is just like one of us : Methinks, 
 I am not half so much afraid on't as 
 I was ; see, now it turns this way. 
 
 Mir. Heaven ! what a goodly thing it is ! 
 
 Dor. I'll go nearer it. 
 
 Mir. no, 'tis dangerous, sister ! I'll go to it. 
 I would not for the world that you should venture. 
 My father charged me to secure you from it. 
 
 Dor. I warrant you this is a tame man ; dear 
 sister, 
 He'll not hurt me, I see it by his looks. 
 
 MiR. Indeed he will ! but go back, and he shall 
 eat me first : 
 Fie, are you not ashamed to be so much inquisitive? 
 
 Dor. You chide me for 't, and would give 
 yourself ? 
 
 Mir. Come back, or I will tell my father. 
 Observe how he begins to stare already ! 
 I'll meet the danger first, and then call you. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 449 
 
 Dor. Nay, sister, you shall never vanquish me 
 in kindness. 
 I'll venture you no more than you will me. 
 
 Pros, [within.'] Miranda, child, where are you 1 
 Mir. Do you not hear my father call 1 Go in ! 
 Dor. 'Twas you he named, not me ; I will but 
 say my prayers, 
 And follow you immediately. 
 
 Mir. Well, sister, you'll repent it. [Exit Mir. 
 Dor. Though I die for 't, I must have th' other 
 
 peep. 
 Hip. [Seeing her.] What thing is that 1 Sure 'tis 
 some infant of 
 The sun, dressed in his father's gayest beams. 
 And comes to play with birds : My sight is 
 
 dazzled. 
 And yet I find I'm loth to shut my eyes : 
 I must go nearer it ; — but, stay a while ; 
 May it not be that beauteous murderer, woman, 
 Which I was charged to shun 1 Speak, what art 
 
 thou, 
 Thou shining vision 1 
 
 Dor. Alas, I know not ; but I'm told I am 
 A woman. Do not hurt me, pray, fair thing. 
 
 Hip. I'd sooner tear my eyes out, than consent 
 To do you any harm ; though I was told 
 A woman was my enemy. 
 
 Dor. I never knew 
 What 'twas to be an enemy, nor can I e'er 
 Prove so to that, which looks like you : For 
 
 though 
 I've been charged by him — whom yet I ne'er dis- 
 obeyed, — 
 To shun your presence, yet I'd rather die 
 Than lose it ; therefore, I hope you will not have. 
 
 the heart 
 To hurt me : Though I fear you are a man, 
 V. 2 F 
 
450 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 The dangerous thing of which I have been warned. 
 Pray, tell me what you are 1 
 
 HlPi I must confess I was informed I am a man ; 
 But if I fright you, I shall wish I were some other 
 
 creature. 
 I was bid to fear you too. 
 Dor. Ay me ! Heaven grant we be not poison 
 to 
 Each other ! Alas, can we not meet, but we must 
 die? 
 Hip. I hope not so ! for, when two poisonous 
 creatures. 
 Both of the same kind, meet, yet neither dies. 
 I've seen two serpents harmless to each other, 
 Though they have twined into a mutual knot : 
 If we have any venom in us, sure, we cannot be 
 More poisonous, when we meet, than serpents are. 
 You have a hand like mine — ^may I not gently 
 touch it ? [Takes her hand. 
 
 Dor. I've touched my father's and my sister's 
 hands. 
 And felt no pain ; but now, alas ! there's some- 
 thing, 
 When I touch yours, which makes me sigh : Just 
 
 so 
 I've seen two turtles mourning when they met : 
 Yet mine's a pleasing grief; and so, methought, 
 Was theirs ; For still they mourned, and still they 
 
 seemed 
 To murmur too, and yet they often met. 
 
 Hip. Oh heavens ! I have the same sense too : 
 your hand, 
 Methink, goes through me ; I feel at my heart. 
 And find it pleases, though it pains me. 
 Pros, [within.] Dorinda ! 
 
 Doe. My father calls again ; ah, I must leave 
 you. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 451 
 
 Hip. Alas, I'm subject to the same command. 
 
 Dor. This is my first offence against my father, 
 Which he, by severing us, too cruelly does punish. 
 
 Hip. And this is my first trespass too : But he 
 Hath more offended truth, than we have him : 
 He said our meeting would destructive be, 
 But I no death, but in our parting, see. 
 
 [Ilxeunt severally. 
 
 Scene IV. — A wild Island. 
 
 Enter Alonzo, Antonio, and G-onzai-o. 
 
 GoN. 'Beseech your grace, be merry : You have 
 cause. 
 So have we all, of joy, for our strange 'scape ; 
 Then wisely, good sir, weigh our sorrow with 
 Our comfort. 
 
 Alon. Prithee, peace ! you cram these words 
 Into my ears, against my stomach ; how 
 Can I rejoice, when my dear son, perhaps 
 This very moment, is made a meal to some strange 
 fish'? 
 
 Ant. Sir, he may live ; 
 I saw him beat the billows under him. 
 And ride upon their backs ; I do not doubt 
 He came alive to land. 
 
 Alon. No, no, he's gone ; 
 And you and I, Antonio, were those 
 Who caused his death. 
 
 Ant. How could we help it 1 
 
 Alon. Then, then we should have helped it, 
 When thou betray'dst thy brother, Prospero, 
 And Mantua's infant sovereign, to my power : 
 And when I, too ambitious, took by force 
 Another's right : Then lost we Ferdinand ; 
 Then forfeited our navy to this tempest. 
 
452 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Ant. Indeed we first broke truce with heaven ; 
 You to the waves an infant Prince exposed, 
 And on the waves have lost an only son. 
 I did usurp my brother's fertile lands, 
 And now am cast upon this desert-isle. 
 
 GoN. These, sirs, 'tis true, were crimes of 
 black dye ; 
 But both of you have made amends to heaven. 
 By your late voyage into Portugal ; 
 Where, in defence of Christianity, 
 Your valour has repulsed the Moors of Spain. 
 
 Alon. name it not, Gonzalo ; 
 No act but penitence can expiate guilt ! 
 Must we teach heaven what price to set on mur- 
 der? 
 What rate on lawless power and wild ambition ? 
 Or dare we trafiic with the powers above. 
 And sell by weight a good deed for a bad 1 
 
 [A flowish of music. 
 GoN. Music and in the air ! sure we are ship- 
 wrecked 
 On the dominions of some merry devil. 
 
 Ant. This isle's enchanted ground ; for I have 
 heard 
 Swift voices flying by my ear, and groans 
 Of lamenting ghosts. 
 
 Alon. I pulled a tree, and blood pursued my 
 hand. 
 Heaven deliver me from this dire place, 
 And all the after-actions of my life 
 Shall mark my penitence and my bounty. 
 
 [Music again louder. 
 Hark, the sounds approach us ! 
 
 [The stage opens in several places. 
 Ant. Lo ! the earth opens to devour us quick. 
 These dreadful horrors, and the guilty sense 
 Of my foul treason, have unmanned me quite. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 453 
 
 Alon. We on the brink of swift destruction 
 stand ; 
 No means of our escape is left. 
 
 [Another flourish of voices under the stage. 
 Ant. Ah! what amazing sounds are these we 
 
 hear? 
 GoN. What horrid masque will the dire fiends 
 present 1 
 
 Sung under the stage. 
 
 1 Dev. Where does the black fiend Ambition 
 
 reside, 
 With the mischievous devil of Pride 1 
 
 2 Dev. In the lowest and darkest caverns of 
 
 hell, 
 Both Pride and Ambition do dwell. 
 1 Dev. Who are the chief leaders of the damned 
 
 host? 
 .3 Dev. Proud monarchs, who tyrannize most. 
 1 Dev. Damned princes there , 
 
 The worst of torments bear ; 
 
 3 Dev. Who on earth all others in pleasures 
 
 excel, 
 Must feel the worst torments of hell. 
 [They rise singing this chorus. 
 
 Ant. heavens ! what horrid vision's this t 
 How they upbraid us with our crimes ! 
 
 Alon. What fearful vengeance is in store for us ! 
 
 1 Dev. Tyrants, by whom their subjects bleed. 
 
 Should in pains all others exceed. 
 
 2 Dev. And barbarous monarchs, who their 
 
 neighbours invade. 
 And their crowns unjustly get ! 
 And such who their brothers to death 
 
 have betrayed, 
 In hell upon burning thrones shall 
 
 be set. 
 
454 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 — In hell, in hell with flames they 
 
 shall reign, 
 And for ever, for ever shall suffer the 
 
 pain. 
 
 Ant. my soul ! for ever, for ever shall suffer 
 
 the pain ! 
 Alon. Has heaven in all its infinite stock of 
 mercy 
 No overflowings for us 1 poor, miserable, guilty 
 men ! 
 Cal. Nothing but horrors do encompass us ! 
 Tor ever, for ever must we suffer ! 
 
 Alon. For ever we shall perish ! dismal 
 words, 
 For ever ! 
 
 1 Dev. Who are the pillars of the tyrant's 
 
 court ? 
 
 2 Dev. Eapine and murder his crown must 
 
 support ! 
 
 3 Dev. His cruelty does tread 
 
 On orphans' tender breasts and brothers 
 dead ! 
 2 Dev. Can heaven permit such crimes should be 
 Attendant with felicity 1 
 
 1 Dev. No, tyrants their sceptres uneasily bear. 
 
 In the midst of their guards they their 
 consciences fear. 
 
 r Care their minds when they wake 
 
 2 Dev. , unquiet will keep ; 
 
 Chor. And we with dire vision disturb all 
 
 their sleep. 
 
 Ant. Oh horrid sight ! how they stare upon us ! 
 The fiend will hurry us to the dark mansion. 
 Sweet heaven, have mercy on us ! 
 
THE TEMPEST. 455 
 
 1 Dev. Say, say, shall we bear these bold 
 
 mortals from hence ? 
 
 2 Dev. No, no, let us shew their degrees of 
 
 oifence. 
 
 3 Dev. Let's muster their crimes upon every 
 
 side, 
 And first let's discover their pride. 
 
 Enter Pride. 
 
 Pride. Lo, here is Pride, who first led them 
 astray, 
 And did to ambition their minds then 
 betray. 
 
 Enter Fraud. 
 
 Fraud. And Fraud does next appear. 
 
 Their wandering steps who led ; 
 When they from virtue fled. 
 They in my crooked paths their course did 
 steer. 
 
 Enter Eapine. 
 
 Eapine. From fraud to force they soon arrive, 
 Where Eapine did their actions drive. 
 
 Enter MuRDER. 
 
 Murder. There long they could not stay ; 
 Down the steep hill they run ; 
 And to perfect the mischief which 
 
 they had begun, 
 To murder they bent all their way. 
 Chorus. Around, around we pace 
 of all. About this cursed place ; 
 
 While thus we compass in 
 These mortals and their sin. 
 
 [JDevils vanish. 
 Ant. Heaven has heard me. They are vanished ! 
 
456 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Alon. But they have left us all unmanned ; 
 I feel my sinews slacken with the fright ; 
 And a cold sweat trills down o'er all my limbs, 
 As if I were dissolving into water. 
 Oh Prospero, my crimes 'gainst thee sit heavy on 
 my heart ! 
 
 Ant. And mine 'gainst him and young Hippolito. 
 
 GoN. Heaven have mercy on the penitent ! 
 
 Ant. Lead from this cursed ground ; 
 The seas in all their rage are not so dreadful. 
 This is the region of despair and death. 
 
 Alon. Beware all fruit, but what the birds have 
 peck'd. 
 The shadows of the trees are poisonous too ; 
 A secret venom slides from every branch. 
 My conscience does distract me ! my son ! 
 Why do I speak of eating or repose, 
 Before I know thy fortune 1 
 
 [As they are going out, a devil rises just hefore them, at 
 which they start and are frighted. 
 
 Alon. heavens I yet more apparitions? 
 
 Devil sings. 
 
 Arise, arise ! ye subterranean winds. 
 More to disturb their guilty minds : 
 And all ye filthy damps and vapours rise. 
 Which use to infect the earth, and trouble all 
 
 the skies ; 
 Rise you, from whom devouring plagues have 
 
 birth : 
 You, that in the vast and hollow womb of 
 
 earth 
 Engender earthquakes, make whole countries 
 
 shake, 
 And stately cities into deserts turn ; 
 And you who feed the flames by which earth's 
 
 entrails burn. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 457 
 
 Ye raging winds, whose rapid force can malce 
 
 All but the fixed and solid centre shake. 
 
 Come drive these wretches to that part of the isle, 
 
 Where nature never yet did smile : 
 
 Cause fogs and storms, whirlwinds, and earth- 
 quakes there : 
 
 There let them howl and languish in despair. 
 
 Rise and obey the powerful prince o' th' air ! 
 [Two winds rise, ten mme enter and dance. At 
 the end of the dance, three winds sink, the 
 rest drive Alomo, Antonio, and Gonmlo off. 
 
 Act III. 
 Scene l.—A wild ■ 
 Enter Ferdinand, and Ariel, and Milcha invisible. 
 
 Ariel. Come unto these yellow sands, 
 And then take hands. 
 Curtsied when you have, and kissed ; 
 And wild waves whist. 
 Foot it featJy here and there, 
 And sweet sprites the burthen bear. 
 Hark! hark! 
 
 Bow waugh ! the watch-dogs bark. 
 Bow waugh. Hark ! hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting Chanticleer. 
 Cry, Cock a doodle do ! 
 
 Ferd. Where should this music be ? i' th' air, 
 or earth 1 
 It sounds no more, and sure it waits upon 
 Some God i' th' island : Sitting on a bank, 
 Weeping against the Duke my father's wreck ; 
 This music hovered on the waters. 
 Allaying both their fury, and my passion. 
 
458 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 With charming airs. Thence I have followed it, 
 Or it has drawn me rather, but 'tis gone ! 
 No, it begins again. 
 
 MiLCHA sings. 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies, 
 
 Of his bones is coral made : 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes ; 
 
 Nothing of him that does fade, 
 But does suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange : 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell ; 
 Hark ! now I hear them, ding dong bell ! 
 
 Feed. This mournful ditty mentions my 
 drown'd father. 
 This is no mortal business, nor a sound 
 
 Which the earth owns 1 hear it now before me ; 
 
 However, I will on, and follow it. 
 
 [Exit Ferd. follffwing Ariel. 
 
 Scene II. The Cypress Trees and Cave. 
 Enter Prospeeo and Miranda. 
 
 Pros. Excuse it not, Miranda, for to you, 
 The elder, and, I thought the more discreet, 
 I gave the conduct of your sister's actions. 
 
 Mir. Sir, when you called me thence, I did not 
 fail 
 To mind her of her duty to depart. 
 
 Pros. How can I think you did remember hers, 
 When you forgot your own ? Did you not see 
 The man whom I commanded you to shun % 
 
 Mir. I must confess I saw him at a distance. 
 
 Pros. Did not his eyes infect and poison you ? 
 What alteration found you in yourself? 
 
 Mir. I only wond'red at a sight so new. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 459 
 
 Pros. But have you no desire once more to see 
 him ? 
 Come, tell me truly what you think of him. 
 
 Mir. As of the gayest thing I ever saw, 
 So fine, that it appeared more fit to be 
 Beloved than feared, and seemed so near my kind, 
 That I did think I might have called it sister. 
 
 Pros. You do not love it ? 
 
 Mir. How is it likely that I should, 
 Except the thing had first loved me 1 
 
 Pros. Cherish those thoughts : You have a 
 generous soul ; 
 And since I see your mind not apt to take 
 The light impressions of a sudden love, 
 I wiU unfold a secret to your knowledge. 
 That creature, which you saw, is of a kind, 
 Which nature made a prop and guide to yours. 
 
 Mir. Why did you then propose him as an 
 object 
 Of terror to my mind ? You never used 
 To teach me anything but god-like truths, 
 And what you said, I did believe as sacred. 
 
 Pros. I feared the pleasing form of this young 
 man 
 Might unawares possess your tender breast. 
 Which for a nobler guest I had designed ; 
 For shortly, my Miranda, you shall see 
 Another of this kind, the full blown flower, 
 Of which this youth was but the opening bud. 
 Go in, and send your sister to me. 
 
 Mir. Heaven still preserve you, sir. [Exit Mir. 
 
 Pros. And make thee fortunate. 
 
 Enter Dorinda. 
 Oh, come hither ! you have seen a man to-day, 
 Against my strict command. 
 
 Dor. Who, 11 Indeed I saw him but a little, sir> 
 
460 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Pros. Come, come, be clear. Your sister told 
 me all. 
 
 Dor. Did she ? 
 Truly she would have seen him more than I, 
 But that I would not let her. 
 
 Pros. Why so? 
 
 Dor. Because, methought, he would have hurt 
 me less. 
 Than he would her. 
 
 But if I knew you'd not be angry with me, 
 I could tell you, sir, that he was much to blame. 
 
 Pros. Ha ! was he to blame ? 
 Tell me, with that sincerity I taught you, 
 How you became so bold to see the man 1 
 
 Dor. I hope you will forgive me, sir, because 
 I did not see him much till he saw me. 
 Sir, he would needs come in my way, and stared. 
 And stared upon my face, and so I thought 
 I would be revenged of him, and, therefore, 
 I gazed on him as long ; but if I e'er 
 Come near a man again 
 
 Pros. I told you he 
 Was dangerous ; but you would not be warned. 
 
 Dor. Pray be not angry, sir, if I tell you. 
 You are mistaken in him ; for he did 
 Me no great hurt. 
 
 Pros. But he may do you more harm hereafter. 
 
 Dor. No, sir, I'm as well as e'er I was in aU my 
 life. 
 But that I cannot eat or drink for thought of him. 
 That dangerous man runs ever in my mind. 
 
 Pros. The way to cure you is. no more to see 
 him. 
 
 Dor. Nay, pray, sir, say not so. I promised 
 him 
 To see him once again ; and you know, sir. 
 You charged me I should never break my promise. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 4/61 
 
 Pros. Would you see him who did you so much 
 
 mischief? 
 Doe. I warrant you 
 I did him as much harm as he did me ; 
 For when I left him, sir, he sighed so, as it grieved 
 My heart to hear him. 
 
 Pegs. Those sighs were poisonous, they infected 
 you; 
 You say, they grieved you to the heart. 
 
 Doe. 'Tis true ! but yet his looks and words 
 
 were gentle. 
 Peos. These are the day-dreams of a maid in 
 love ; 
 But still I fear the worst. 
 Dor. fear not him, sir. 
 Peos. You speak of him with too much passion ; 
 tell me. 
 And on your duty tell me true, Dorinda, 
 What passed betwixt you and that horrid creature ? 
 
 Dor. How, horrid, sir 1 if any else but you 
 Should call it so, indeed I should be angry, 
 Peos. Go to ! You are a foolish girl ; but 
 answer 
 To what I ask ; what thought you when you saw 
 it? 
 Doe. At first it stared upon me, and seemed 
 wild. 
 And then I trembled ! yet it looked so lovely, 
 That when I would have fled away, my feet 
 Seemed fastened to the ground. Then it drew 
 
 near, 
 And with amazement asked to touch my hand ; 
 Which, as a ransom for my life, I gave : 
 But when he had it, with a furious gripe 
 He put it to his mouth so eagerly 
 I was afraid he would have swallowed it. 
 
 Pros. Well, what was his behaviour afterwards ? 
 
462 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Dor. He on a sudden grew so tame and gentle, 
 That he became more kind to me than you are ; 
 Then, sir, I grew I know not how, and, touching 
 His hand again, my heart did beat so strong, 
 As I lacked breath to answer what he asked. 
 
 Pros. You've been too fond, and I should chide 
 you for it. 
 
 Dor. Then send me to that creature to be 
 punished. 
 
 Pros. Poor child ! Thy passion like a lazy ague. 
 Has seized thy blood; instead of striving, thou 
 
 humourest 
 And feed'st thy languishing disease : Thou fight'st 
 The battles of thy enemy, and 'tis one part of 
 
 what 
 I threatened thee, not to perceive thy danger. 
 
 Dor. Danger, sir? 
 If he would hurt me, yet he knows not how : 
 He hath no claws, nor teeth, nor horns to hurt 
 
 me. 
 But loolis about him like a callow-bird. 
 Just straggl'd from the nest : Pray trust me, sir. 
 To go to him again. 
 
 Pros. Since you will venture, 
 T charge you bear yourself reservedly to him ; 
 Let him not dare to touch your naked hand, 
 But keep at distance from him. 
 
 Dor. This is hard ! 
 
 Pros. It is the way to make him love you more ; 
 He will despise you, if you grow too kind. 
 
 Dor. I'll struggle with my heart to follow this ; 
 But if I lose him by it, will you promise 
 To bring him back again 1 
 
 Pros. Fear not, Dorinda ; 
 But use him ill, and he'll be yours for ever. 
 
 Dor. I hope you have not cozened me again. 
 
 [Exit Dor. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 463 
 
 Pros. Now my designs are gathering to a head ; 
 My spirits are obedient to my charms. 
 What, Ariel ! My servant Ariel, where art thou 1 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ariel. What would my potent master 1 Here 
 
 I am. 
 Pros. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last 
 service 
 Did worthily perform, and I must use you 
 In such another work : How goes the day^ 
 
 Ariel. On the fourth, my lord ; and on the 
 sixth. 
 You said our work should cease. 
 
 Pros. And so it shall ; 
 And thou shalt have the open air at freedom. 
 Ariel. Thanks, my great lord. 
 Pros. But tell me first, my spirit. 
 How fares the Duke, my brother, and their 
 followers 1 
 Ariel. Confined together, as you gave me order, 
 In the lime-grove, which weather-fends your cell ; 
 Within that circuit up and down they wander, 
 But cannot stir one step beyond their compass. 
 Pros. How do they bear their sorrows ] 
 Ariel. The two Dukes appear like men dis- 
 tracted, their 
 Attendants, brim-full of sorrow, mourning over 
 
 them; 
 But chiefly he you termed the good Gonzalo : 
 His tears run down his beard, like winter drops 
 From eaves of reeds; your vision did so work 
 
 them. 
 That, if you now beheld them, your affections 
 Would become tender. 
 Pros. Dost thou think so, spirit ? 
 Ariel. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
 
464 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Pros. And mine shall : 
 Hast thou, who art but air, a touch, a feeling, 
 Of their afflictions, and shall not I, a man 
 Like them, one, who as sharply relish passions 
 As they, be kindlier moved than thou art 1 
 Though they have pierced me to the quick with 
 
 injuries. 
 Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 
 I will take part ; the rarer action is 
 In virtue, than in vengeance. Go, my Ariel ! 
 Refresh with needful food their famished bodies ; 
 With shows and cheerful music comfort them. 
 
 Ariel. Presently, master. 
 
 Pros. With a twinkle, Ariel. — But stay, my 
 spirit ! 
 What is become of my slave, Caliban, 
 And Sycorax, his sister t 
 
 Ariel. Potent sir ! 
 They have cast off your service, and revolted 
 To the wrecked mariners who have already 
 Parcelled your island into governments. 
 
 Pros. No matter, I have now no need of them. 
 But, spirit, now I stay thee on the wing ; 
 Haste to perform what I have given in charge ! 
 But see they keep within the bounds I set them. 
 
 Ariel. I'll keep them in with walls of adamant. 
 Invisible as air to mortal eyes, 
 But yet unpassable. 
 
 Pros. Make haste then ! [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene III. A Wild Island. 
 Enter Alonzo, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
 
 GoN. I am weary and can go no further, sir. 
 Alon Old lord ! I cannot blame thee, who am 
 myself seized 
 With a weariness, to the dulling of my spirits : 
 
 [Tkey sit. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 4G5 
 
 Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
 No longer for my flatterers : He is drowned, 
 Wliom thus we stray to find. I'm faint with 
 
 hunger. 
 And inust despair of food. [Music without. 
 
 What ! harmony again 'i My good friends, hark ! 
 
 Ant. I fear some other horrid apparition. 
 Give us kind keepers, heaven, I beseech thee ! 
 
 GoN. 'Tis cheerful music this, unlike the first. 
 
 Ariel and Milcha invisible, sing 
 
 Dry those eyes which are o'erflowing. 
 All your storms are overblowing : 
 While you in this isle are biding. 
 You shall feast without providing : 
 Every dainty you can think of. 
 Every wine which you would drink of. 
 Shall be yours ; all want shall shun you, 
 Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
 
 Alon. This voice speaks comfort to us. 
 Ant. Would 'twere come ; 
 There is no music in a song 
 To me, my stomach being empty. 
 
 GoN. for a heavenly vision of boUed, 
 Baked, and roasted ! 
 
 [Dance of fantastic Spirits ; after the dance, a 
 table furnished with meat and fruit is 
 bivught in by two Spirits. 
 Ant. My lord, the Duke, see yonder ! 
 A table, as I live, set out and furnished 
 With all varieties of meats and fruits. 
 
 Alon. 'Tis so indeed ; but who dares taste this 
 feast, 
 Which fiends provide, to poison us 1 
 
 GoN. Why that dare I ; if the black gentleman 
 Be so ill-natured, he may do his pleasure. 
 V. 2 G 
 
466 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis certain we must either eat or famish : 
 I will encounter it, and feed. 
 
 Alon. If both resolve, I will adventure too. 
 GON. The devil may ftight me, yet he shall not 
 starve me. 
 [Two Spirits descend, and fly away with the talk. 
 Alon. Heaven ! behold, it is as you suspected : 
 'Tis vanished. 
 
 Shall we be always haunted with these fiends 1 
 Ant. Here we shall wander till we famish. 
 GoN. Certainly one of you was so wicked as to 
 say grace ; 
 This comes on % when men will be godly out of 
 season. 
 Ant. Yonder's another table, let's try that, 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Teincalo and Caliban. 
 
 Tein. 'Brother monster, welcome to my private 
 palace ! 
 But Where's thy sister 1 is she so brave a lass 1 
 
 Cal. In all this isle there are but two more, the 
 daughters of the tyrant Prospero ; and she is bigger 
 than them both. 0, here she comes ! now thou 
 may'st judge thyself, my lord. 
 
 Enter Sycorax. 
 
 Trin. She's monstrous fair indeed. Is this to 
 be my spouse? Well, she's heir of all this isle, for I 
 will geld monster. The Trincalos, like other wise 
 men, have anciently used to marry for estate, more 
 than for beauty. 
 
 Syc. I pri'thee let me have the gay thing about 
 thy neck, and that which dangles at thy wrist. 
 
 [Sycormx points to his whistle and his bottle. 
 
 Trin. My dear blobber-lips ! this — observe, my 
 chuck — is a badge of my sea-ofSce j my fair fuss, 
 thou dost not know it. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 467 
 
 Syc. No, my dread lord. 
 
 Trin. It shall he a whistle for our first babe, 
 and when the next shipwreck puts me again to 
 swimming, I'll dive to get a coral to it. 
 
 Syc. I'll be thy pretty child and wear it first, 
 
 Trin. I pri'thee, sweet baby, do not play the 
 wanton, and cry for my goods ere I'm dead. 
 When thou art my widow, thou shalt have the 
 devil and all. 
 
 Syc. May I not have the other fine thing 1 
 
 Trin. This is a sucking-bottle for young Trin- 
 calo. 
 
 Cal. Shall she not taste of that immortal 
 liquor ? 
 
 Trin. Umph ! that's another question : For if 
 she be thus ffippant in her water, what will she be 
 in her wine t 
 
 Enter Ariel {invisible) and changes the bottle which 
 stands upon the ground. 
 
 Ariel. There's water for your wine. 
 
 \Exit Ariel. 
 Trin. Well ! since it must be so. 
 
 \_Gims her the bottle. 
 How do you like it now, my queen that must be ? 
 
 \_She drinks. 
 Syc. Is this your heav'nly liquor? I'll bring 
 you to a river of the same. 
 
 Trin. Wilt thou so. Madam Monster? What a 
 mighty Prince shall I be then ! I would not change 
 my Dukedom to be great Turk Trincalo. 
 Syc. This is the drink of frogs. 
 Trin. Nay, if the frogs of this island drink such, 
 they are the merriest frogs in Christendom. 
 
 Cal. She does not know the virtue of this 
 liquor : 
 I pri'thee, let me drink for her. {Caliban drivJcs. 
 
468 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Trin. Well said, Subject Monster ! 
 
 Cal. My lord, this is mere water. 
 
 Trin. 'Tis thou hast changed the wine then, 
 and drunk it up, like a debauched fish as thou art. 
 Let me see't, I'll taste it myself.— Element ! mere 
 element, as I live ! It was a cold gulp, such as 
 this, which killed my famous predecessor, old 
 Simon the king.* 
 
 Cal. How does thy honour 1 pri'thee be not 
 angry, and I will lick thy shoe. 
 
 Trin. I could find in my heart to turn thee out 
 of my dominions, for a liquorish monster. 
 
 Cal. 0, my lord, I have found it out ; this must 
 be done by one of Prospero's spirits. 
 
 Trin. There's nothing but malice in these devils; 
 I would it had been holy-water for their sakes ! 
 
 Syc. 'Tis no matter, I will cleave to thee. 
 
 Trin. Lovingly said, in troth : Now cannot I 
 hold out against her. This wife-like virtue of her's 
 has overcome me. 
 
 Syc. Shall I have thee in my arms t 
 
 Trin. |Thou shalt have Duke Trincalo in thy 
 arms : But, pri'thee, be not too boisterous with 
 me at first ; do not discourage a young beginner. 
 [They embrace.'] Stand to your arms, my spouse, 
 and subject monster, — 
 
 Enter Stephano, Mustacho, and Ventoso. 
 
 The enemy is come to surprise us in our quarters. 
 You shall know, rebels, that I am married to a witch, 
 And we have a thousand spirits of our party. 
 
 Steph. Hold ! I ask a truce ; I and my viceroys 
 (finding no food, and but a small remainder of 
 
 * This personage, who has bequeathed his name to a well- 
 known tune, is believed to have been Simon Wadloe, or 
 Wadlow, master of the Deyil Tavern, when frequented by Ben 
 Jonson. — W. S. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 469 
 
 brandy,) are come to treat a peace betwixt us, 
 "which may be for the good of both armies ; there- 
 fore, Trincalo, disband. 
 
 Trin. Plain Trincalo ! methinks I might have 
 been a Duke in your mouth j I'll not accept of your 
 embassy without my title. 
 
 Steph. a title shall break no squares betwixt 
 us : Viceroys ! give him his style of Duke, and treat 
 with him whilst I walk by in state. 
 
 [Ventoso and Mtjstacho how, whilst Trincalo 
 puts on his Cap. 
 
 Mus. Our lord and master, Duke Stephano, has 
 sent us, in the first place, to demand of you, upon 
 what ground you make war against him ; having 
 no right to govern here, as being elected only by 
 your own voice. 
 
 Trin. To this I answer, that, having in the face 
 of the world espoused the lawful inheretrix of 
 this island. Queen Blouze the First, and having 
 homage done me by this hectoring spark her 
 brother ; from these two I claim a lawful title to 
 this island. 
 
 Mus. Who, that monster ? He a Hector 1 
 
 Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
 my lord ? 
 
 Trin. Viceroys ! keep good tongues in your 
 heads, I advise you, and proceed to your business. 
 
 Mus. First and foremost, as to your claim, that 
 you have answered. 
 
 Ven. But, second and foremost, we demand of 
 you, that if we make a peace, the butt also may 
 be comprehended in the treaty. 
 
 Trin. I cannot treat with my honour, without 
 your submission. 
 
 Step. I understand, being present, from my 
 Embassadors, what your resolution is, and ask an 
 hour's time of deliberation, and so I take our 
 
470 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 leave ; but first I desire to be entertained at your 
 butt, as becomes a Prince and his Embassadors. 
 
 Trin. That I refuse, till acts of hostility be 
 ceased. These rogues are rather spies than Em- 
 bassadors. I must take heed of my butt. They 
 come to pry into the secrets of my Dukedom. 
 
 Vent. Trincalo, you are a barbarous Prince, and 
 so, farewell ! [Exeunt Steph., Must, and Vent. 
 
 Trin. Subject-monster ! stand you sentry before 
 my cellar ; my Queen and I will enter, and feast 
 ourselves within. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Enter Ferdinand, and Ariel and Milcha invisible. 
 
 Ferd. How far will this invisible musician 
 Conduct my steps? he hovers still about me; 
 Whether for good or ill I cannot tell. 
 Nor care I much ; for I have been so long 
 A slave to chance, that I'm as weary of 
 Her flatteries as her frowns ; but here I am — 
 
 Ariel. Here I am. 
 
 Ferd. Ha ! art thou so ? the spirit's turned an 
 echo : 
 This might seem pleasant, could the burden of 
 My griefs accord with anything but sighs ; 
 And my last words, like those of dying men. 
 Need no reply. Fain I would go to shades. 
 Where few would wish to follow me. 
 
 Ariel. FoUow me. 
 
 Ferd. This evil spirit grows importunate, 
 But I'll not take his counsel. 
 
 Ariel. Take his counsel. 
 
 Feed. It may be the devil's counsel, I'll never 
 take it. 
 
 Ariel. Take it. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 471 
 
 Ferd. I will discourse no more with thee, 
 Nor follow one step further. 
 
 Ariel. One step further. 
 
 Ferd. This must have more importance than an 
 echo ; 
 Some spirit tempts me to a precipice. 
 I'll try if it will answer when I sing 
 My sorrows to the murmurs of this brook. 
 
 Se sings.* 
 
 Go thy way. 
 Ariel. Go thy way. 
 
 Ferd. Why should'st thou stay 1 
 
 Ariel. Why should'st thou stay 1 
 
 Ferd. Where the winds whistle, and where the 
 streams creep, 
 Under yond willow-tree fain would Isleep. 
 Then let me alone, 
 For 'tis time to be gone. 
 Ariel. For 'tis time to be gone. 
 
 * Pepys was " mightily " taken with this song, the music of 
 which was by Banister. He has these entries in his Diary 
 concerning it ; — 
 
 " 7tk Nov. 1667. — ^At noon resolred with Sir W. Pen to go to 
 see 'The Tempest,' an old play of Shakespeare's, acted, I hear, 
 the first day ; and so my wife, and girl, and W. Hewer by 
 themselves, and Sir W. Pen and I afterwards by ourselves : 
 and forced to sit in the side balcone over against the musique- 
 room at the Duke's house, close by my Lady Dorset and a great 
 many great ones. The house mighty f uU ; the King and Court 
 there ; and the most innocent play that I ever saw ; and a 
 curious piece of mu.sick in an echo of half sentences, the echo 
 repeating the former half, while the man goes on to the latter ; 
 which is mighty pretty. The play has no great wit, but yet 
 good, above ordinary plays." 
 
 " 6ik May 1668.— To the King's House. . . . Here took up 
 Knipp into our coach, and all of us with her to her lodgings, 
 and thither comes Banister with a song of her's that he hath 
 set in Sir Charles Sedley's play for her, which is, I think, but 
 very meanly set ; but this he did, before us, teach her, and it 
 being but a slight, silly, short ayre, she learnt it presently. 
 But I did get him to prick me down the notes of the Echo, in 
 ' The Tempest,' which pleases me mightily." 
 
472 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Feed. What cares or pleasures can be in this isle 1 
 "Within this desart place 
 There lives no human race ; 
 Fate cannot frown here, nor kind fortune 
 smile. 
 Ariel. Kind fortune smiles, and she 
 Has yet in store for thee 
 Some strange felicity. 
 Follow me, follow me, 
 And thou shalt see. 
 Ferd. I'll take thy word for once ; 
 Lead on, musician ! [Exeunt and return. 
 
 Scene V. The Cypress-trees and Caves. 
 
 Scene changes, and discovers Prospero and Miranda. 
 
 Pros. Advance the fringed curtains of thine eyes, 
 And say what thou seest yonder. 
 
 Mir. Is it a spirit 1 
 Lord, how it looks about ! Sir, I confess 
 It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit ! 
 
 Pros. No, girl ! it eats, and sleeps, and has such 
 
 senses 
 
 As we have. This young gallant, whom thou see'st. 
 
 Was in the wreck ; were he not somewhat stained 
 
 With grief, beauty's worst canker, thou might'st 
 
 call him 
 A goodly person ; he has lost his company, 
 And strays about to find them. 
 
 Mir. I, might call him 
 A thing divine, for nothing natural 
 I ever saw so noble. 
 
 Pros. It goes on. 
 As my soul prompts it : Spirit, fine spirit, 
 I'll free thee within two days for this. [Aside. 
 
 Ferd. She's sure the mistress on whom these 
 airs attend. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 473 
 
 Fair excellence ! if, as your form declares, 
 You are divine, be pleased to instruct me how 
 You will be worshipped ; so bright a beauty 
 Cannot sure belong to human kind. 
 
 Mm. I am, like you, a mortal, if such you are. 
 
 Ferd. My language, too ! heavens ! I am the 
 best 
 Of them who speak this speech, when I'm in my 
 Own country. 
 
 Peos. How ! the best ] what wert thou if 
 The Duke of Savoy heard thee ? 
 
 Feed. As I am now ; 
 Who wonders to hear thee speak of Savoy; 
 He does hear me, and that he does I weep. 
 Myself am Savoy, whose fatal eyes, ere since at 
 
 ebb, beheld 
 The Duke, my father, wrecked. 
 
 Mir. Alack ! for pity ! 
 
 Pros. At the first sight they have changed eyes. 
 Dear Ariel, I'll set thee free for this. — [Aside. 
 Young sir, a word. 
 With hazard of yourself you do me wrong. 
 
 Mir. Why speaks my father so ungently ? 
 This is the third man that I saw, ere the first 
 Whom e'er I sighed for ; sweet heaven ! move my 
 
 father 
 To be inclined my way. 
 
 Ferd. ! if a virgin, 
 
 And your affection's not gone forth, I'll make you 
 Mistress of Savoy. 
 
 Pros. Soft, sir ! one word more. — 
 They are in each other's powej? ; but this swift 
 Bus'ness I must uneasy make, lest too light 
 Winning make the prize light. — One word more ; 
 Thou usurp'st the name not due to thee, and hast 
 Put thyself upon this island as a spy, to get 
 The government from me, the lord of it. 
 
474 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Ferd. No, as I'm a man. 
 
 Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: 
 If the evil spirit hath so fair a house, 
 Good things will strive to dwell with it. 
 
 Pros. No more ! Speak not for him, he's a traitor. 
 Come ! thou art my prisoner, and shalt be in 
 Bonds. Sea- water shalt thou drink, thy food 
 Shall be the fresh brook-muscles, withered roots 
 And husks, wherein the acorn cradled ; — follow ! 
 
 Ferd. No, I will resist such entertainment, 
 Till my enemy has more power. 
 
 [He draws, and is charmed from moving. 
 
 Mir. dear father ! make not too rash a trial 
 Of him ; for he 's gentle, and not fearful. 
 
 Pros. My child my tutor 1 put thy sword up, 
 traitor. 
 Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike : 
 Thy conscience is possessed with guilt. 
 Come from thy ward, 
 
 For I can here disarm thee with this wand. 
 And make thy weapon drop. 
 
 Mir. Beseech you, father. 
 
 Pros. Hence : Hang not on my garment. 
 
 Mir. Sir, have pity ! 
 I'll be his surety ! 
 
 Pros. Silence ! one word more 
 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee : What ! 
 An advocate for an impostor 1 sure 
 Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as 
 
 his; 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels. 
 
 Mir. My affections are then most humble ; 
 I have no ambition to see a goodlier man. 
 
 Pros. Come on, obey ; 
 Thy nerves are in their infancy again. 
 And have no vigour in them. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 475 
 
 Ferd. So they are : 
 My spirits, as in a dream are all bound up : 
 My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
 The wrack of all my friends, and this man's threats, 
 To whom I am subdued, would seem light to me, 
 Might I but once a day thorough my prison 
 Behold this maid : All corners else o' th' earth 
 Let liberty make use of : I have space 
 Enough in such a prison. , 
 
 Pros. It works : Come on ! 
 Thou hast done well, fine Ariel : Follow me ! 
 Hark what thou shalt more do for me. 
 
 [Whiq)ers Ariel. 
 
 Mir. Be of comfort ! 
 My father's of a better nature, sir, 
 Than he appears by speech : "This is unwonted, 
 Which now came from him. 
 
 Pros. Thou shalt be free as mountain winds : 
 But then 
 Exactly do all points of my command. 
 
 Ariel. To a syllable. [Exit Ariel. 
 
 Pros. \to Mir.] Go in that way, speak not a 
 word for him : 
 I'll separate you. [Exit Miranda. 
 
 Ferd. As soon thou may'st divide the waters, 
 when 
 Thou strik'st 'em, which pursue thy bootless blow, 
 And meet when it is past. 
 
 Pros. Go practise your philosophy within. 
 And if you are the same you speak yourself. 
 Bear your afflictions like a Prince. — That door 
 Shews you your lodging. 
 
 Ferd. 'Tis in vain to strive, I must obey. 
 
 [Exit Ferd. 
 
 Pros. This goes as I would wish it. 
 Now for my second care, Hippolito. 
 I shall not need to chide him for his fault, 
 
476 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Bis passion is become his punishment. 
 Come forth, Hippolito. 
 
 Enter Hippolito. 
 
 Hip. 'Tis Prospero's voice ! 
 
 Pros. Hippolito, I know you now expect 
 I should severely chide you : You have seen 
 A woman, in contempt of my commands. 
 
 Hip. But, sir, you see I am come off unharmed ; 
 I told you, that you need not doubt my courage. 
 
 Pros. You think you have received no hurt 1 
 
 Hip. No, none, sir. 
 Try me agen ; whene'er you please I'm ready : 
 I think I cannot fear an army of them. 
 
 Pros. How much in vain it is to bridle nature ! 
 
 \_Aside. 
 Well, what was the success of your encounter ? 
 
 Hip. Sir, we had none, we yielded both at first ; 
 For I took her to mercy, and she me. 
 
 Pros. But are you not much changed from what 
 you were 1 
 
 Hip. Methinks, I wish, and wish ! — for what I 
 know not, — 
 But still I wish : — Yet if I had that woman. 
 She, I believe, could tell me what I wish for. 
 
 Pros. What would you do to make that woman 
 yours ? 
 
 Hip. I'd quit the rest o'th' world, that I might live 
 Alone with her ; she never should be from me : 
 We two would sit and look till our eyes ached. 
 
 Pros. You'd soon be weary of her. 
 
 Hip. 0, sir, never. 
 
 Pros. But you'll grow old and wrinkled, as you see 
 Me now, and then you will not care for her. 
 
 Hip. You may do what you please ; but, sir, we two 
 Can never possibly grow old. 
 
 Pros. You must, Hippolito. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 477 
 
 Hip. Whether we will or no, sir ! who shall 
 make us 1 
 
 Pros. Nature, which made me so. 
 
 Hip. But you have told me that her works are 
 various : 
 She made you old, but she has made us young. 
 
 Pros. Time will convince you. — 
 Meanwhile be sure you tread in honour's paths, 
 That youmaymerit her : And that you maynot want 
 Fit occasions to employ your virtue, in this next 
 Cave there is a stranger lodged, one of your kind, 
 Young, of a noble presence, and, as he says himself. 
 Of Princely birth ; he is my pris'ner, and in deep 
 Affliction : visit, and comfort him ; it will become 
 you. 
 
 Hip. It is my duty, sir. [Exit Hip. 
 
 Pros. True, he has seen a woman, yet he lives ! 
 Perhaps I took the moment of his birth 
 Amiss : Perhaps my art itself is false. — 
 On what strange grounds we build our hopes and 
 
 fears ! 
 Man's life is all a mist ! and, in the dark. 
 Our fortunes meet us. 
 If fate be not, then what can we foresee ? 
 Or how can we avoid it, if it be 1 
 If by free will in our own paths we move, 
 How are we bounded by decrees above 1 
 Whether we drive, or whether we are driven, 
 If ill, 'tis ours : if good, the act of heaven. [Exii. 
 
 Scene VT. — A Cave. 
 Enter Hippolito and Ferdinand. 
 Ferd. Your pity, noble youth, doth much 
 oblige me, 
 Indeed, 'twas sad to lose a father so. 
 
478 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Hip. Ay, and an only father too ; for sure, 
 You said, you had but one. 
 
 Ferd. But one father ! He's wondrous simple. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Hip. Are such misfortunes frequent in your world, 
 Where many men live t 
 
 Ferd. Such are we born to. — 
 But, gentle youth, as you have questioned me, 
 So give me leave to ask you, what are you 1 
 
 Hip. Do not you know 1 
 
 Ferd. How should I ? 
 
 Hip. I well hoped 
 I was a man, but, by your ignorance 
 Of what I am, I fear it is not so. — 
 
 Well, Prospero ! this is now the second time 
 You have deceived me. 
 
 Ferd. Sir, there is no doubt you are a man : 
 But I would know of whence 1 
 
 Hip. Why, of this world ; I never was in yours. 
 
 Ferd. Have you a father 1 
 
 Hip. I was told I had one. 
 And that he was a man ; yet I have been 
 So much deceived, I dare not tell't you for 
 A truth : But I have still been kept a prisoner, 
 For fear of women. 
 
 Ferd. They, indeed, are dangerous ; 
 For since I came, I have beheld one here. 
 Whose beauty pierced my heart. 
 
 Hip. How did she pierce 1 You seem not hurt. 
 
 Ferd. Alas ! the wound was made by her bright 
 eyes. 
 And festers by her absence. 
 But, to speak plainer to you, sir, I love her. 
 
 Hip. Now, I suspect that love's the very thing, 
 That I feel too ! — Pray tell me truly, sir. 
 Are you not grown unquiet since you saw her ? 
 
 Ferd. I take no rest. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 479 
 
 Hip. Just, just my disease. — 
 Do you not wish, you do not know for what 1 
 
 Feed. 0, no 1 I know too well for what I wish. 
 
 Hip. There, I confess, I differ from you, sir : 
 But you desire she may be always with you ? 
 
 Feed. I can have no felicity without her. 
 
 Hip. Just my condition. — Alas, gentle sir ! 
 I'll pity you, and you shall pity me. 
 
 Feed. I love so much, that, if I have her not, 
 I find I cannot live. 
 
 Hip. How ! do you love her, 
 And would you have her too ? That must not be ; 
 For none but I must have her. 
 
 Feed. But perhaps we do not love the same : 
 All beauties are not pleasing alike to all. 
 
 Hip. Why, are there more fair women, sir, 
 Besides that one I love 1 
 
 Feed. That's a strange question. There are 
 many more. 
 Besides that beauty which you love. 
 
 Hip. I will have all 
 Of that kind, if there be a hundred of them. 
 
 Feed. But, noble youth, you know not what 
 you say. 
 
 Hip. Sir, they are things I love, I cannot be 
 Without them ! — 0, how I rejoice ! — More women ! 
 
 Feed. Sir, if you love, you must be tied to one. 
 
 Hip. Tied ! How tied to her ? 
 
 Feed. To love none but her. 
 
 Hip. But, sir, I find it is against my nature. 
 I must love where I like ; and, I believe, I may 
 
 like all, — 
 All that are fair. Come, bring me to this woman. 
 For I must have her. 
 
 Feed. His simplicity 
 Is such, that I can scarce be angry with him. — 
 
 [Aside. 
 
480 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Perhaps, sweet youth, when you behold her, you 
 Will find you do not love her. 
 
 Hip. I find already 
 I love, because she is another woman. 
 
 Ferd. You cannot love two women both at once. 
 
 Hip. Sure 'tis my duty to Icrve all who do 
 Resemble her, whom I've already seen. 
 I'll have as many as I can, that are 
 So good, and angel-like, as she I love ; 
 And will have yours. 
 
 Ferd. Pretty youth, you cannot. 
 
 Hip. I can do any thing for that I love. 
 
 Ferd. I may, perhaps, by force, restrain you 
 from it. 
 
 Hip. Why, do so, if you can. But either pro- 
 mise me 
 To love no woman, or you must try your force. 
 
 Feed. I cannot help it, I must love. 
 
 Hip. Well, you may love; 
 For Prospero taught me friendship too. You shall 
 Love me, and other men, if you can find them ; 
 But all the angel-women shall be mine. 
 
 Ferd. I must break off this conference, or he 
 Will urge me else beyond what I can bear.^ — [Aside. 
 Sweet youth ! some other time we wiU speak 
 Farther concerning both our loves ; at present 
 I am indisposed with weariness and grief. 
 And would, if you are pleased, retire a whUe. 
 
 Hip. Some other time be it ; but, sir, remember 
 That I both seek and much entreat your friendship ; 
 For next to women, I find I can love you. 
 
 Ferd. I thank you, sir, I will consider of it. 
 
 [Exit Ferd. 
 
 Hip. This stranger does insult, and comes into 
 My world, to take those heavenly beauties from me. 
 Which, I believe I am inspired to love. — 
 And yet, he said, he did desire but one : 
 
THE TEMPEST. 48 1 
 
 He would be poor in love, but I'll be rich — 
 I now perceive that Prospero was cunning : 
 For when he frighted me from woman-kind, 
 These precious things he for himself designed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Act IV. Scene I. 
 Cypress Trees and a Cave. 
 Enter Prospeko and Miranda. 
 
 Pros. Your suit has pity in't, and has prevailed. 
 Within this cave he lies, and you may see him : 
 But yet take heed ; let prudence be your guide : 
 You must not stay, your visit must be short. — ■ 
 
 [She's going. 
 One thing I had forgot ; insinuate into his mind 
 A kindness to that youth, whom first you saw ; 
 I would have friendship grow betwixt them. 
 
 Mir. You shall be obeyed in all things. 
 
 Pros. Be earnest to unite their very souls. 
 
 Mir. I shall endeavour it. 
 
 Pros. This may secure 
 Hippolito from that dark danger, which 
 My art forebodes ; for friendship does provide 
 A double strength t' oppose the assaults of fortune. 
 
 [Exit Pros. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. To be a pris'ner where I dearly love. 
 Is but a double tie, a link of fortune 
 Joined to the chain of love ; but not to see her. 
 And yet to be so near her, there's the hardship ! — 
 I feel myself as on a rack, stretched out. 
 And nigh the ground, on which I might have ease. 
 Yet cannot reach it. 
 
 V. 2h 
 
482 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Mir. Sir ! — my lord ! — where are you 1 
 
 Feed. Is it your voice, my love ■! or do I dream? 
 
 Mir. Speak softly ! it is I. 
 
 Ferd. heavenly creature ! 
 Ten times more gentle than your father's cruel ! — 
 How, on a sudden, all my griefs are vanished ! 
 
 Mir. How do you hear your prison 1 
 
 Ferd. 'Tis my palace, 
 While you are here, and love and silence wait 
 Upon our wishes ; do but think we chuse it. 
 And 'tis what we would chuse. 
 
 Mir. I'm sure what I would. 
 But how can I be certain that you love me 1 
 Look to't ; for I will die when you are false. 
 I've heard my father tell of maids, who died, 
 And haunted their false lovers with their ghosts. 
 
 Ferd. Your ghost must take another form to 
 fright me. 
 This shape will be too pleasing. — Do I love you 1 
 0, heaven ! 0, earth ! bear witness to this sound. 
 If I prove false ! — 
 
 Mir. 0, hold ! you shall not swear. 
 For heaven will hate you if you prove forsworn. 
 
 Ferd. Did I not love, I could no more endure 
 This undeserved captivity, than I 
 Could wish to gain my freedom, with the loss 
 Of you. 
 
 Mir. I am a fool, to weep at what 
 I'm glad of But I have a suit to you, 
 And that, sir, shall 
 Be now the only trial of your love. 
 
 Ferd. You've said enough never to be denied, 
 Were it my life ; for you have far o'er-bid 
 The price of all that human life is worth. 
 
 Mir. Sir, 'tis to love one for my sake, who, for 
 His own, deserves all the respect which you 
 Can ever pay him. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 483 
 
 Feed. You mean your father : Do not think 
 his usage 
 Can make me hate him ; when he gave you being, 
 He then did that which cancelled all these wrongs. 
 
 MiH. I meant not him ; for that was a request, 
 Which, if you love, I should not need to urge. 
 
 Ferd. Is there another whom I ought to love t 
 And love him for your sake ? 
 
 Mir. Yes, such a one. 
 Who, for his sweetness and his goodly shape, 
 If I, who am unskilled in forms, may judge, 
 I think can scarce be equalled : 'Tis a youth, 
 A stranger, too, as you are. 
 
 Ferd. Of such a graceful feature ! and must I, 
 For your sake, love [him] 1 
 
 Mir. Yes, sir : Do you scruple 
 To grant the first request I ever made 1 
 He's wholly unacquainted with the world, 
 And wants your conversation. You should have 
 Compassion on so mere a stranger. 
 
 Ferd. Those need compassion whom you dis- 
 commend, 
 Not whom you praise. 
 
 Mir. Come, you must love him for my sake : — 
 You shall ! 
 
 Ferd. Must I for yours, and cannot for my 
 own? 
 Either you do not love, or think that I do not : 
 But, when you bid me love him, I must hate him. 
 
 Mir. Have I so far offended you already, 
 That he offends you only for my sake 1 — 
 Yet sure you would not hate hini, if you saw 
 Him as I've done, so full of youth and beauty. 
 
 Feed. 0, poison to my hopes ! — 
 When he did visit me, and 1 did mention this 
 Beauteous creature to him, he then did tell me, 
 He would have her. [Aside. 
 
484 1 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 MiE. Alas ! what mean you ? 
 Feed. It is too plain : Like most of her frail 
 sex, 
 She's false, but has not learned the art to hide it. 
 Nature has done her part, she loves variety : — 
 Why did I think that any woman could 
 Be innocent, because she's young 1 No, no ! 
 Their nurses teach them change, when, with two 
 
 nipples, they 
 Divide their liking. [Adde. 
 
 MiE. I fear I have offended you, and yet 
 I meant no harm : But, if you please to hear me. — 
 
 [A noise within. 
 Hark, sir ! now I am sure my father comes, 
 I know his steps ; Dear love ! retire a while ; 
 I fear I've staid too long. 
 
 Feed. Too long indeed, and yet not long enough : 
 Oh, jealousy ! Oh, love ! how you distract me ! 
 
 [Exit Ferd. 
 MiE. He appears displeased with that young 
 man, I know 
 Not why : But 'till I find from whence his hate 
 
 proceeds, 
 I must conceal it from my father's knowledge ; 
 For he wiU think that guiltless I have caused it, 
 And suffer me no more to see my love. 
 
 Enter Peospeeo. 
 
 Pros. Now I have been indulgent to your wish ; 
 You have seen the prisoner 1 
 
 MiE. Yes. 
 
 Pros. And he spake to you 1 
 
 MiE. He spoke ; but he received short answers 
 from me. 
 
 Pegs. How like you his conv erse 1 
 
 Mir. At second sight, 
 A man does not appear so rare a creature. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 485 
 
 Pros. I find she loves him much, because she 
 hides it ; 
 Love teaches cunning even to innocence. — [Aside. 
 Well, go in. 
 
 Mir. [Aside.] Forgive me, truth ! for thus dis- 
 guising thee. 
 If I can make him think I do not love 
 The stranger much, he'll let me see him oft'ner. 
 
 [Exit Mir. 
 Pros. Stay, stay ! — I had forgot to ask her, 
 What she has said of young Hippolito. — 
 Oh, here he comes ! and, with him, my Dorinda. 
 I'll not be seen ; let their loves grow in secret. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Hippolito and Dorinda. 
 
 Hip. But why are you so sad ? 
 
 Dor. But why are you so joyful'? 
 
 Hip. I have within me 
 All, all the various music of the woods. 
 Since last I saw you, I have heard brave news ! 
 I wiU tell you, and make you joyful for me. 
 
 Dor. Sir, when I saw you first, I, through my 
 eyes. 
 Drew something in, I know not what it is ; 
 But still it entertains me with such thoughts. 
 As makes me doubtful whether joy becomes me. 
 
 Hip. Pray believe me. 
 As I'm a man, I'll tell you blessed news ; 
 I've heard, there are more women in the world, 
 As fair as you are too. 
 
 Dor. Is this your news? You see it moves 
 not me. 
 
 Hip. And I'll have them all. 
 
 Dor. What will become of me then ? 
 
 Hip. I'll have you too. — 
 But are not you acquainted with these women f 
 
486 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Dor. I never saw but one. 
 
 Hip. Is there but one here ? — 
 This is a base poor world, I'll go to th' other ; 
 I've heard men have abundance of them there. — 
 But, pray, where is that one woman 1 
 
 DoK. Who ! my sister ? 
 
 Hip. Is she your sister ? I'm glad o' that. You 
 shall 
 Help me to her, and I 'U love you for 't. 
 
 [Offers to take her hand. 
 
 Doe. Away ! I will not have you touch my 
 hand. — 
 My father's counsel, which enjoined reservedness, 
 Was not in vain I see. [Aside. 
 
 Hip. What makes you shun me ? 
 
 Doe. You need not care, you'll have my sister's 
 hand. 
 
 Hip. Why must not he, who touches hers, touch 
 yours ? 
 
 Dor, You mean to love her too 1 
 
 Hip. Do not you love her ? 
 Then why should I not do so 1 
 
 Doe. She is my sister ; and, therefore, I must 
 love her : 
 But you cannot love both of us. 
 
 Hip. I warrant you I can : — 
 Oh, that you had more sisters ! 
 
 Dor. You may love her, but then I'll not love 
 you. 
 
 Hip. 0, but you must ; 
 One is enough for you, but not for me 
 
 Doe. My sister told me, she had seen another ; 
 A man like you, and she liked only him : 
 Therefore, if one must be enough for her. 
 He is that one, and then you cannot have her. 
 
 Hip. If she like him, she may like both of 
 
THE TEMPEST. 487 
 
 DOK But how if I should change, and like that 
 man : 
 Would you be willing to permit that change 1 
 Hip. No, for you liked me first. 
 Dor. So you did me. 
 
 Hip. But I would never have you see that 
 man ; 
 I cannot bear it. 
 
 Dor. FU see neither of you. 
 Hip. Yes, me you may, for we are now 
 acquainted : 
 But he's the man, of whom your father warned 
 
 you; 
 0, he's a terrible, huge, monstrous creature ! 
 I'm but a woman to him. 
 
 Doe. I win see him, 
 Except you'll promise not to see my sister. 
 
 Hip. Yes, for your sake, I needs must see your 
 
 sister. 
 Dor. But she's a terrible, huge creature too ! 
 If I were not her sister, she would eat me ; 
 Therefore take heed. 
 
 Hip. I heard that she was fair. 
 And like you. 
 
 Dor. No, indeed, she's like my father, 
 With a great beard ; 'twould fright you to look 
 
 on her : 
 Therefore that man and she may go together, 
 They are fit for nobody but one another. 
 
 Hip. [Looking in.] Yonder he comes with 
 glaring eyes ; fly ! fly ! 
 Before he sees you. 
 
 Dor. Must we part so soon ? 
 Hip. You're a lost woman if you see him. 
 Dor. I would not willingly be lost, for fear 
 You should not find me. I'll avoid him ! 
 
 [Exit Dor. 
 
488 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Hip. She fain would have deceived me, but I 
 know 
 Her sister must be fair, for she's a woman ; 
 All of a kind, that I have seen, are like 
 To one another : All the creatures of 
 The rivers and the woods are so. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Feed. 0, well encountered ! you are the happy 
 man ! 
 Y' have got the hearts of both the beauteous 
 women. 
 Hip. How, sir ! pray, are you sure on't 1 
 Fer. One of them charged me to love you for her 
 
 sake. 
 Hip. Then I must have her. 
 Ferd. No, not till I am dead. 
 Hip. How, dead? what's that? — But whatsoe'er it 
 be, 
 I long to have her. 
 
 Feed. Time and my grief may make me die. 
 Hip. But, for a friend, you should make haste ; 
 I ne'er 
 Asked any thing of you before. 
 Ferd. I see your ignorance, 
 And therefore will instruct you in my meaning. 
 The woman, whom I love, saw you, and loved you ; 
 Now, sir, if you love her, you'll cause my death. 
 Hip. Be sure I'll do it then. 
 Ferd. But I am your friend ; 
 And I request you that you would not love her. 
 
 Hip. When friends request unreasonable things, 
 Sure th' are to be denied. You say she's fair; 
 And I must love all who are fair : for, to tell 
 
 you 
 A secret, sir, which I have lately found 
 Within myself, they're all made for me. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 489 
 
 Feed. That's but a fond conceit : You are made 
 for one. 
 And one for you. 
 
 Hip. You cannot tell me, sir; 
 I know I'm made for twenty hundred women. 
 I mean, if there so many be i'th' world, 
 So that, if once I see her, I shall love her. 
 
 Feed. Then do not see her. 
 
 Hip. Yes, sir, I must see her : 
 For I would fain have my heart beat again, 
 Just as it did when I first saw her sister. 
 
 Feed. I find I must not let you see her then. 
 
 Hip. How will you hinder me ? 
 
 Feed. By force of arms. 
 
 Hip. By force of arms ! 
 My arms, perhaps, may be as strong as yours. 
 
 Feed. He's still so ignorant, that I pity him. 
 And fain would avoid force. [Aside.] — Pray do 
 
 not see her, 
 She was mine first ; you have no right to her. 
 
 Hip. I have not yet considered what is right. 
 But, sir, I know my inclinations are 
 To love all women ; and I have been taught. 
 That to dissemble what I think is base. 
 In honour, then, of truth, I must declare. 
 That I do love, and I will see your woman. 
 
 Feed. Would you be willing I should see and 
 love 
 Your woman, and endeavour to seduce her 
 From that affection, which she vowed to you ? 
 
 Hip. I would not you should do it, but if she 
 Should love you best I cannot hinder her. 
 But, sir, for fear she should, I will provide 
 Against the worst, and try to get your woman. 
 
 Feed. But I pretend no claim at all to yours ; 
 Besides you are more beautiful than I, 
 And fitter to allure unpractised hearts : 
 
490 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Therefore I once more beg you will not see her. 
 
 Hip. I'm glad you let me know I have such 
 beauty ; 
 If that will get me women, they shall have it 
 As far as e'er 'twill go : I'll never want them. 
 
 Feed. Then, since you have refused this act of 
 friendship, 
 Provide yourself a sword, for we must fight. 
 
 Hip. a sword ! what's that ? 
 
 Feed. Why, such a thing as this. 
 
 Hip. What should I do with it 1 
 
 Feed. You must stand thus, and push against me, 
 While I push at you, 'till one of us fall dead. 
 
 IIiP. 'This is brave sport ! 
 But we have no swords growing in our world. 
 
 Feed. What shall we do then to decide our 
 quarrel ] 
 
 Hip. We'll take the sword by turns, and fight 
 with it. 
 
 Feed. Strange ignorance ! [Aside.] — You must 
 defend your life, 
 And so must I. But, since you have no sword, 
 Take this ! [Gives him his sword.] For in a corner 
 
 of my cave 
 I found a rusty one ; perhaps 'twas his 
 Who keeps me pris'ner here : That I wiU fit. 
 When next we meet prepare yourself to fight. 
 
 Hip. Make haste, then, this shaU ne'er be yours 
 again. 
 I mean to fight with all the men I meet, 
 And when they're dead their women shall be mine. 
 
 Feed. .1 see you are unskillful: I desire not 
 To take your life, but, if yoii please, we'll fight 
 On these conditions ; he, who first draws blood, 
 Or who can take the other's weapon from him, 
 Shall be acknowledged as the conqueror. 
 And both the women shall be his. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 49 1 
 
 Hip. Agreed ! 
 And every day I'll fight for two more with you. 
 Feed. But win these first. 
 Hip. I'll warrant you I'll push you. 
 
 \Eaxunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. — The wild Island. 
 Enter Trincalo, Caliban, a7id Sycorax. 
 
 Cal. My lord, I see 'em coming yonder. 
 
 Trin. "Whom? 
 
 Cal. The starved Prince, and his two thirsty 
 subjects, that would have our liquor. 
 
 Trin. If thou wert a monster of parts, I would 
 make thee my master of ceremonies, to conduct 
 'em in. The devil take all dunces ! thou hast lost 
 a brave employment, by not being a linguist, and 
 for want of behaviour. 
 
 Syc. My lord, shall I go meet 'em ? I'll be 
 kind to all of 'em, just as I am to thee. 
 
 Trin. No, that's against the fundamental laws 
 of my Dukedom : You are in a high place, spouse, 
 and must give good example. Here they come ! 
 we'll put on the gravity of Statesmen, and be very 
 dull, that we may be held wise. 
 
 Enter Stephano, Ventoso, and Mustacho. 
 
 Ven. Duke Trincalo, we have considered. 
 
 Trin. Peace or war 1 
 
 Mus. Peace, and the butt. 
 
 Steph. I come now as a private person, and 
 promise to live peaceably under your government. 
 
 Trin. You shall enjoy the benefits of peace; 
 and the first fruits of it, amongst all civil nations, 
 is to be drunk for joy : Caliban, skink about.* 
 
 • Pour out the liquor. 
 
492 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Steph. I long to have a rouse to her grace's 
 health, and to the haunse in helder, or rather 
 haddock in kelder, for I guess it will be half fish. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Trin. Subject Stephano, here's to thee ! and 
 let old quarrels be drowned in this draught. 
 
 [Drinks. 
 
 Steph. Great magistrate, here's thy sister's 
 health to thee. [Drinks to Galib. 
 
 Syc. He shall not drink of that immortal 
 liquor ! my lord, let him drink water ! 
 
 Trin. sweetheart, you must not shame your- 
 self to-day. Gentlemen subjects, pray bear with 
 her good huswifery : She wants a little breeding, 
 but she's hearty. 
 
 Mus. Ventoso, here's to thee ! Is it not better 
 to pierce the butt, than to quarrel and pierce one 
 another's bellies ? 
 
 Ven. Let it come, boy. 
 
 Trin. Now would I lay greatness aside, and 
 shake my heels, if I had but music. 
 
 Cal. 0, my lord ! my mother left us in her will 
 a hundred spirits to attend us, devils of all sorts : 
 some great roaring devils, and some little singing 
 sprites. 
 
 Syc. Shall we call 1 And thou shalt hear them 
 in the air. 
 
 Trin. I accept the motion : Let us have our 
 mother-in-law's legacy immediately. 
 
 Caliban sings. 
 
 We want music, we want mirth. 
 Up, dam, and cleave the earth : 
 We have no lords that wrong us, 
 Send thy merry sprites among us. 
 
 Trin. What a merry tyrant am I, to have my 
 music, and pay nothing for't ! 
 
THE TEMPEST. 493 
 
 A table rises, and four Spirits with wine and meat 
 enter, placing it, as they dance, on the table : The 
 dance ended, the bottles vanish, and the table sinks 
 again. 
 
 Yen. The bottle's drunk ! 
 
 Mus. Then the bottle's a weak shallow fellow, 
 if it be drunk first. 
 
 Tein. Stephano, give me thy hand ! thou hast 
 been a rebel, but here's to thee ! [Brinks.] Pri'thee, 
 why should we quarrel ? Shall I swear two oaths ? 
 By bottle, and by butt, I love thee : In witness 
 whereof I drink soundly. 
 
 Steph. Your grace shall find there's no love 
 lost, for I will pledge you soundly. 
 
 Trin. Thou hast been a false rebel, but that's 
 all one ; pledge my grace faithfully. Caliban, go 
 to the butt, and tell me how it sounds. [Exit Cali- 
 ban.] Peer Stephano, dost thou love me ^ 
 
 Steph. I love your grace, and all your Princely 
 family. 
 
 Trin. 'Tis no matter, if thou lov'st me ; hang 
 my family. Thou art my friend, pri'thee tell me 
 what thou think'st of my Princess ? 
 
 Steph. I look on her, as on a very noble 
 Princess. 
 
 Trin. Noble ! indeed she had a witch to her 
 mother ; and the witches are of great families in 
 Lapland : but the devil was her father, and I 
 have heard of the Mounsor De Villes in France : 
 but look on her beauty, — is she a fit wife for Duke 
 Trincalo 1 Mark her behaviour too, — she's tippling 
 yonder with the serving-men. 
 
 Steph. An't please your grace, she's somewhat 
 homely, but that's no blemish in a Princess. She 
 is virtuous. 
 
 Trin. Umph ! virtuous ! I am loath to dispar- 
 
494 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 age her ; but thou art my friend, — canst thou be 
 close ? 
 
 Steph. As a stopt bottle, an't please your grace. 
 
 Enter Caliban again with a bottle. 
 
 Tein. Why then I'll tell thee, — I found her an 
 hour ago under an elder-tree, upon a sweet bed of 
 nettles, singing Tory Eory, and Eanthum Scantum, 
 with her own natural brother. 
 
 Steph. Jew ! make love in her own tribe 1 
 
 Trin. But 'tis no matter : to tell thee true, I 
 married her to be a great man, and so forth : But 
 make no words on't, for I care not who knows it, 
 and so here's to thee again. — Give me the bottle, 
 Caliban ! did you knock the butt ? How does it 
 sound ? 
 
 Cal. It sounds as though it had a noise within. 
 
 Tein. I fear the butt begins to rattle in the 
 throat, and is departing : give me the bottle ! 
 
 [Drinks. 
 
 Mus. A short life and a merry, I say. 
 
 [Stephana whispers Sycorax. 
 
 Syc. But did he tell you so t 
 
 Steph. He said you were as ugly as your mother, 
 and that he married you only to get possession of 
 the island. 
 
 Syc. My mother's devils fetch him for't ! 
 
 Steph. And your father's too. Hem ! skink 
 about his grace's health again. if you wiU but 
 cast an eye of pity upon me — 
 
 Syc. I will cast two eyes of pity on thee ; I love 
 thee more than haws or blackberries. I have a 
 hoard of wildings in the moss, my brother knows 
 not of 'em ; But I'll bring thee where they are. 
 
 Steph. Trincalo was but my man, when time was. 
 
 Syc. Wert thou his god, and didst thou give 
 him liquor 1 
 
THE TEMPEST. 495 
 
 Steph. I gave him brandy, and drunk sack my- 
 self. Wilt thou leave him, and thou shalt be my 
 Princess 1 
 
 Syc. If thou canst make me glad with this liquor. 
 
 Steph. I'll warrant thee we'll ride into the 
 country where it grows. 
 
 Syc. How wilt thou carry me thither ? 
 
 Steph. Upon a hackney-devil of thy mother's. 
 
 Trin. What's that you will do ? Ha ! I hope 
 you have not betrayed me 1 How does my 
 pigsnye ? * [To Sycffrasc,. 
 
 Syc. Begone ! thou shalt not be my lord ; thou 
 say'st I'm ugly. 
 
 Trin. Did you tell her so '! — ^hah ! he's a rogue, 
 do not believe him, chuck. 
 
 Steph. The foul words were yours : I will not 
 eat 'em for you. 
 
 Trin. I see, if once a rebel, then ever a rebel. 
 Did I receive thee into grace for this ? I will 
 correct thee with my royal hand. [Strikes Steph. 
 
 Syc. Dost 'thou hurt my love ? [Flies at Trin. 
 
 Trin. Where are our guards 1 Treason ! Treason ! 
 [Vent., Must., Galih., run betwixt. 
 
 Ven. Who took up arms first, the Prince or the 
 people 1 
 
 Trin. This false traitor has corrupted the wife 
 of my bosom. [Whispers Mustacho hastily. '\ Mus- 
 tacho, strike on my side, and thou shalt be my 
 viceroy. 
 
 Mus. I am against rebels. Ventoso, obey your 
 viceroy ! 
 
 Ven. You a viceroy 1 
 
 [They two fight off from the rest. 
 
 Steph. Ha ! Hector monster ! do you stand 
 neuter ? 
 
 ' A term of endearment to a young girl. See Tales of the 
 Mad Men of Gotham, p. 19. 
 
496 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Gal. Thou would'st drink my liquor, I will not 
 help thee. 
 
 Syc. 'Twas his doing that I had such a husband, 
 but I'll claw him. 
 
 [Syc, and Calib., fight, Syc, beating Mm off the 
 stage. 
 Trin. The whole nation is up in arms, and shall 
 I stand idle ? 
 
 [Trin. beats off Steph. to the door. Exit Steph. 
 I'll not pursue too far, for fear the enemy will rally 
 again, and surprise my butt in the citadel. Well, 
 I must be rid of my Lady Trincalo, she will be in 
 the fashion else ; first cuckhold her husband, and 
 then sue for a separation, to get alimony. [Exit. 
 
 Scene TV. The Cypress-trees and Cave. 
 
 Enter FERDINAND and Hippolito, tvith their swwds 
 drawn. 
 
 Ferd. Come, sir ! our cave affords no choice of 
 place, 
 But the ground's firm and even. Are you ready 1 
 
 Hip. As ready as yourself, sir. 
 
 Ferd. You remember 
 On what conditions we must fight ? Who first 
 Receives a wound is to submit. 
 
 Hip. Come, come ! 
 This loses time ; now for the women, sir. 
 
 [They fight a little, Ferdirmnd hurts him. 
 
 Ferd. Sir, you are wounded. 
 
 Hip. No. 
 
 Ferd. Believe your blood. 
 
 Hip. I feel no hurt, no matter for my blood. 
 
 Ferd. Remember our conditions. 
 
 Hip. I will not leave, 'till my sword hits you too. 
 [Hip. presses on, Ferd. retires and wards. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 497 
 
 Feed. I'm loth to kill you ; you are unskilful, 
 
 sir. 
 Hip. You beat aside my sword, but let it come 
 As near as yours, and you shall see my skill. 
 Feed. You faint for loss of blood, I see you 
 stagger ; 
 Pray, sir, retire ! 
 
 Hip. No ! I wiU ne'er go back. — 
 Methinks the cave turns round, I cannot find — 
 Ferd. Your eyes begin to dazzle. 
 Hip. Why do you swim so, and dance about 
 me? 
 Stand but still till I have made one thrust. 
 
 [Hip. thrusts and falls 
 Ferd. help, help, help ! 
 Unhappy man ! what have I done 1 
 Hip. I'm going to a cold sleep, but, when I 
 wake, 
 I'll fight again. Pray, stay for me ! [Swoojis. 
 
 Feed. He's gone ! he's gone ! 
 stay, sweet, lovely youth ! Help ! help ! 
 
 Enter Prospero. 
 
 Pros. What dismal noise is that 1 
 
 Feed. see, sir, see, 
 What mischief my unhappy hand has wrought ! 
 
 Pros. Alas ! how much in vain doth feeble art 
 Endeavour to resist the will of heaven ? [Bubs Hip. 
 He's gone for ever ; thou cruel son 
 Of an inhuman father ! all my designs 
 Are ruined and unravelled by this blow. 
 No pleasure now is left me but revenge. 
 
 Feed. Sir, if you knew my innocence — 
 
 Peos. Peace, peace ! 
 Can thy excuses give me back his life 1 
 What, Ariel ? sluggish spirit, where art thou ] 
 V. 2 I 
 
498 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Enter AmEii. 
 
 Ariel. Here ! at thy beck, my lord. 
 
 Pros. Ay, now thou comest, 
 When fate is past, and not to be recalled. 
 Look there, and glut the malice of thy nature ; 
 For, as thou art thyself, thou canst not but 
 Be glad to see young virtue nipt i' the blossom. 
 
 Ariel. My lord, the Being high above can 
 witness, 
 I am not glad ! we airy spirits are not of 
 A temper so malicious as the earthy. 
 But of a nature more approaching good. 
 For which we meet in swarms, and often combat 
 Betwixt the confines of the air and earth. 
 
 Pros. Why didst thou not prevent, at least 
 foretel. 
 This fatal action then ? 
 
 Ariel. Pardon, great sir, 
 I meant to do it, but I was forbidden 
 By the ill genius of Hippolito, 
 Who came and threatened me, if I disclosed it. 
 To bind me in the bottom of the sea, 
 Far from the lightsome regions of the air, 
 My native fields, above a hundred years. 
 
 Pros. I'll chain thee in the north, for thy neglect, 
 Within the burning bowels of mount Hecla ; 
 I'll singe thy airy wings with sulph'rous flames, 
 And choke thy tender nostrils with blue smoke ; 
 At ev'ry hickup of the belching mountain. 
 Thou shalt be lifted up to taste fresh air. 
 And then fall down again. 
 
 Ariel. Pardon, dread lord ! 
 
 Pros. No more of pardon than just heaven in- 
 tends thee 
 Shalt thou e'er find from me ; Hence ! fly with 
 speed. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 499 
 
 Unbind the charms which hold this murderer's 
 
 father, 
 And bring him, with my brother, straight before 
 me. 
 
 Ariel. Mercy, my potent lord ! and I'll outfly 
 Thy thought. [Exit Ariel. 
 
 Ferd. heavens! what words are these I heard, 
 Yet cannot see who spoke 'em ? Sure the woman 
 Whom I loved was like this, some airy vision. 
 
 Pros. No, murderer ! she's, like thee, of mortal 
 mould, 
 But much too pure to mix with thy black crimes ; 
 Yet she has faults, and must be punished for them. 
 Miranda and Dorinda ! where are ye ? 
 The will of heaven's accomplished : I have now 
 No more to fear, and nothing left to hope ; 
 Now you may enter ! 
 
 Enter Miranda and Dorinda. 
 Mir. My love ! is it permitted me to see 
 You once again ? 
 
 Pros. You come to look your last ; 
 I will for ever take him from your eyes. 
 But, on my blessing, speak not, nor approach him. 
 Dor. Pray, father, is not this my sister's man ] 
 He has a noble form ; but yet he's not 
 So excellent as my Hippolito. 
 
 Pros. Alas, poor girl ! thou hast no man : Look 
 yonder ; 
 There's all of him that's left. 
 
 Dor. Why, was there ever any more of him 1 
 He lies asleep, sir ; shall I waken him ? 
 
 \_Sh6 kneels by Hippolito, and jogs Mm. 
 Ferd. Alas ! he's never to be waked again. 
 Dor. My love, my love ! wilt thou not speak 
 to me ? 
 I fear you have displeased him, sir, and now 
 
500 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 He will not answer me ; he's dumb and cold too ; 
 But I'll run straight, and make a fire to warm 
 him. 
 
 [Exit Dorinda, running. 
 
 Enter Alonzo, Gonzalo, Antonio; and Ariel 
 invisihle. 
 
 Alon. Never were beasts so hunted into toils, 
 As we have been pursued by dreadful shapes. — 
 But is not that my son 1 Ferdinand ! 
 If thou art not a ghost, let me embrace thee. 
 
 Ferd. My father ! sinister happiness ! 
 Is it decreed I should recover you 
 Alive, just in that fatal hour, when this 
 Brave youth is lost in death, and by my hand ? 
 
 Ant. Heaven ! what new wonder's this ? 
 
 GoN. This isle is full of nothing else. 
 
 Pros. You stare upon me, as you ne'er had seen 
 me ; 
 Have fifteen years so lost me to your knowledge. 
 That you retain no memory of Prospero 1 
 
 GoN. The good old Duke of Milan ? 
 
 Pros. I wonder less, 
 That thou, Antonio, know'st me not; because 
 Thou didst long since forget I was thy brother, 
 Else I had ne'er been here. 
 
 Ant. Shame choaks my words. 
 
 Alon. And wonder mine. 
 
 Pros. For you, usurping Prince, \To Alon. 
 
 Know, by my art you were shipwrecked on this isle. 
 Where, after I a while had punished you. 
 My vengeance would have ended ; I designed 
 To m'atch that son of yours with this my daughter. 
 
 Alon. Pursue it still, I am most willing to it. 
 
 Pros. So am not I. No marriages can prosper, 
 Which are with murders made ; look on that 
 corpse ! 
 
THE TEMPEST. 501 
 
 This, whilst he lived, was young Hippolito ; 
 That infant Duke of Mantua, sir, whom you 
 Exposed with me ; and here I bred him up, 
 
 Till that blood-thirsty man, that Ferdinand 
 
 But why do I exclaim on him, when justice 
 Calls to unsheath her sword against his guilt ? 
 
 Alon. What do you mean ? 
 
 Pros. To execute heaven's laws. 
 Here I am placed by heaven, here I am Prince, 
 Though you have dispossessed me of my Milan. 
 Blood calls for blood ; youx Ferdinand shall die. 
 And I, in bitterness, have sent for you 
 To have the sudden joy of seeing him alive. 
 And then the greater grief to see him die. 
 
 Alon. And think'st thou I, or these, will tamely 
 stand 
 To view the execution 1 [Lays hand upon his sword. 
 
 Fekd. Hold, dear father ! 
 I cannot suffer you to attempt against 
 His life, who gave her being, whom I love. 
 
 Pros. Nay, then, appear my guards 1 — I thought 
 no more 
 To use their aid ; I'm cursed because I used it. 
 
 [He stam/ps, and many Spirits appear. 
 But they are now the ministers of heaven, 
 Whilst I revenge this murder. 
 
 Alon. Have I for this 
 Found thee, my son, so soon again to lose thee ^ 
 Antonio, Gronzalo, speak for pity ! 
 
 Ferd. Adieu, my fairest mistress. [To Mir. 
 
 Mir. Now I can hold no longer ; I must speak. 
 Though I am loth to disobey you, sir : 
 Be not so cruel to the man I love. 
 Or be so kind to let me suffer with him. 
 
 Ferd. Eecall that prayer, or I shall wish to 
 live, 
 Though death be all the 'mends that I can make. 
 
502 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Pros. This night I will allow you, Ferdinand, 
 To fit you for your death ; that cave's your prison. 
 Alon. Ah, Prospero ! hear me speak. You are 
 a father :— 
 Look on my age, and look upon his youth. 
 
 Pros. No more ! all you can say is urged in 
 vain, 
 I have no room for pity left within me. 
 Do you refuse 1 help, Ariel, with your fellows, 
 To drive them in ; Alonzo and his son 
 Bestow in yonder cave, and here Gonzalo 
 Shall with Antonio lodge. 
 
 [Spirits drive them in, as they are appointed. 
 
 Enter Dorinda. 
 
 Dor. Sir, I have made a fire ; shall he be 
 warmed ? 
 
 Pros. He's dead, and vital warmth will ne'er 
 return. 
 
 Dor. Dead, sir ! what's that 1 
 
 Pros. His soul has left his body. 
 
 Dor. When will it come again ? 
 
 Pros. never, never ! 
 He must be laid in earth, and there consume. 
 
 Dor. He shall not lye in earth; you do not 
 know 
 How well he loves me : Indeed he'll come again. 
 He told me he would go a little while, 
 But promised me he would not tarry long. 
 
 Pros. He's murdered by the man who loved 
 your sister. 
 N ow both of you may see what 'tis to break 
 A father's precept ; you would needs see man, 
 And by that sight are made for ever wretched; 
 Hippolito is dead, and Ferdinand 
 Must die for murdering him. 
 
 Mir. Have you no pity % 
 
THE TEMPEST. 503 
 
 Pros. Your disobedience has so much incensed 
 me, 
 That I this night can leave no blessing with you. 
 Help to convey the body to my couch, 
 Then leave me to mourn over it alone. 
 
 [Tliey hear off the body of Hip. 
 
 Enter Miranda and Dorinda again. Ariel 
 behind them. 
 
 Ariel. I've been so chid for my neglect by 
 Prospero, 
 That I must now watch all, and be unseen. 
 
 Mir. Sister, I say again, 'twas 'long of you 
 That all this mischief happened. 
 
 Dor. Blame not me 
 For your own fault ; your curiosity 
 Brought me to see the man. 
 
 Mir. You safely might 
 Have seen him, and retired, but you would needs 
 Go near him, and converse ; you may remember 
 My father called me thence, and I called you. 
 
 Dor. That was your envy, sister, not your love ; 
 You called me thence, because you could not be 
 Alone with him yourself; but I am sure 
 My man had never gone to heaven so soon, 
 But that yours made him go. [Crying. 
 
 Mir. Sister, I could not wish that either of them 
 Should go to heaven without us ; but it was 
 His fortune, and you must be satisfied. 
 
 DoK. I'll. not be satisfied : My father says 
 He'll make your man as cold as mine is now ; 
 And when he is made cold, my father wiU 
 Not let you strive to make him warm again. 
 
 Mir. In spite of you, mine never shall be cold. 
 
 Dor. I'm sure 'twas he that made me miserable, 
 And I will be revenged. Perhaps you think 
 'Tis nothing to lose a man. 
 
504 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Mir. Yes, but there is 
 Some difference betwixt my Ferdinand, 
 And your Hippolito. 
 
 Dor. Ay, there's your judgment : 
 Your's is the oldest man I ever saw, 
 Except it were my father. 
 
 Mir. Sister, no more ; 
 It is not comely in a daughter, when 
 She says her father's old. 
 
 Dor. But why do I 
 Stay here, whilst my cold love perhaps may want 
 
 me? 
 I'll pray my father to make yours cold too. 
 
 Mir. Sister, I'll never sleep with you again. 
 
 Dor. m never more meet in a bed with you, 
 But lodge on the bare ground, and watch my 
 love. 
 
 Mir. And at the entrance of that cave I'U lye. 
 And echo to each blast of wind a sigh. 
 
 - [Exeunt sererally, looking discontentedly on one 
 another. 
 
 Ariel. Harsh discord reigns throughout this 
 fatal isle. 
 At which good angels mourn, iU spirits smUe. 
 Old Prospero, by his daughters robbed of rest, 
 Has in displeasure left them both unblest. 
 Unkindly they abjure each other's bed. 
 To save the living and revenge the dead. 
 Alonzo, and his son, are pris'ners made. 
 And good Gronzalo does their crimes upbraid. 
 Antonio and Gronzalo disagree. 
 And would, though in one cave, at distance be. 
 The seamen all that cursed wine have spent, 
 ^^Tiich still renewed their thirst of government ; 
 And wanting subjects for the food of power, 
 Each would, to ride alone, the rest devour. 
 The monsters Sycorax and Caliban, 
 
THE TEMPEST. 505 
 
 More monstrous grow by passions learned from 
 
 man. 
 Even I, not framed of warring elements, 
 Partake and suffer in these discontents. 
 Why should a mortal by enchantments, hold 
 In chains a spirit of etherial mould i 
 Accursed magic we ourselves have taught, 
 And our own power has our subjections wrought ! 
 
 [ExU. 
 
 Act V. Scene I. 
 
 Ihter Prospeeo, and Miranda. 
 
 Pros. You beg in vain ; I cannot pardon him ; 
 He has offended heaven. 
 
 Mir. Then let heaven punish him. 
 
 Pros. It will, by me. 
 
 Mir. Grant him, at least, some respite for my 
 sake. 
 
 Pros. I, by deferring justice, should incense 
 The deity against myself and you. 
 
 Mir. Yet I have heard you say, the powers 
 above 
 Are slow in punishing ; and should not you 
 Resemble them i 
 
 Pros. The argument is weak. 
 But I want time to let you see your errors ; 
 Retire, and, if you love him, pray for him ! 
 
 [^He's going. 
 
 Mir. And can you be his judge and executioner? 
 
 Pros. I cannot force Gonzalo or my brother, 
 Much less the father to destroy the son ; 
 It must be then the monster Caliban, 
 And he's not here ; but Ariel strait shall fetch him. 
 
506 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ariel. My potent lord, before thou call'st, I 
 come 
 To serve thy will. 
 
 Pros. Then, spirit, fetch me here my salvage 
 slave. 
 
 Ariel. My lord, it does not need. 
 
 Pros. Art thou then prone to mischief, wilt 
 thou be 
 ThyseK the executioner 1 
 
 Abiel. Think better of thy airy minister. 
 Who, for thy sake, unbidden, this night has flown 
 O'er almost all the habitable world. 
 
 Pros. But to what purpose was all tl\y 
 diligence t 
 
 Ariel. When I was chidden by my mighty 
 lord. 
 For my neglect of young Hippolito, 
 I went to view his body, and soon found 
 His soul was but retired, not sallied out : 
 Then I collected 
 
 The best of simples underneath the moon, 
 The best of balms, and to the wound applied 
 The healing juice of vulnerary herbs. 
 His only danger was his loss of blood. 
 But now he's waked, my lord, and just this hour 
 He must be dressed again, as I have done it. 
 Anoint the sword which pierced him with this 
 Weapon-slave, and wrap it close from air, till 
 I have time to visit him again. 
 
 Pros. Thou art my faithful servant ; 
 It shall be done : be it your task, Miranda, 
 Because your sister is not present here : 
 While I go visit your dear Ferdinand, 
 From whom I will a while conceal the news. 
 That it may be more welcome. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 507 
 
 Mir. I obey you ! 
 And with a double duty, sir : For now, 
 You twice have given me life. 
 
 Pros. My Ariel, follow me ! [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. 
 HiPPOLiTO discovered on a couch, Dorinda by Mm. 
 
 Dor. How do you find yourself ? 
 
 Hip. I'm somewhat cold ; 
 Can you not draw me nearer to the sun 1 
 I'm too weak to walk. 
 
 Dor. Mylove, I'll try ! 
 
 [She draws the chair nearer the audience. 
 I thought you nfever would have walked again ; 
 They told me you were gone to heaven ; 
 Have you been there ? 
 
 Hip. I know not where I was. 
 
 DoK. I will not leave till you promise me you 
 Will not die again. 
 
 Hip. Indeed, I will not. 
 
 Dor. You must not go to heaven, unless we go 
 Together ; for I have heard my father say, 
 That we must strive to be each other's guide. 
 The way to it will else be difficult. 
 Especially to those who are so young ; 
 But I much wonder what it is to die. 
 
 Hip. Sure 'tis to dream, a kind of breathless 
 sleep. 
 When once the soul's gone out. 
 
 Dor. What is the soul ? 
 
 Hip. a small blue thing, that runs about within 
 us. 
 
 Dor. Then I have seen it in a frosty morning. 
 Run smoking from my mouth. 
 
508 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Hip. But, dear Dorinda, 
 What is become of him who fought with me ? 
 
 Dor. ! I can tell you joyful news of him ; 
 My father means to make him die to-day, 
 For what he did to you. 
 
 Hip. That must not he, 
 My dear Dorinda ; go, and beg your father. 
 He may not die ; it was my fault he hurt me, 
 I urged him to it first. 
 
 Doe. But if he live, he'll never leave killing 
 
 you. 
 Hip. no ! I just remember when I fell asleep, 
 I heard him calling me a great way off. 
 And crying over me as you would do ; 
 Besides, we have no cause of quarrel now. 
 Dor. Pray, how began your difference first 1 
 Hip. I fought with him for all the women in 
 
 the world. 
 Dor. That hurt you had was justly sent from 
 heaven. 
 For wishing to have any more but me. 
 
 Hip. Indeed I think it was, but I repent it ; 
 The fault was only in my blood, for now 
 'Tis gone, I find I do not love so many. 
 
 Dor. In confidence of this, I'll beg my father 
 That he may live ; I'm glad the naughty blood. 
 That made you love so many, is gone out. 
 
 Hip. My dear, go quickly, lest you come too late. 
 
 [Exit Dor. 
 
 Enter Miranda at the other door with Hippolito's 
 sword wrapt up. 
 
 Hip. Who's this, who looks so fair and beautiful, 
 As nothing but Dorinda can surpass her ? 
 ! I believe it is that angel-woman, 
 Whom she calls sister. 
 
 Mir. Sir, I am sent hither 
 
THE TEMPEST. 509 
 
 To dress your wound; how do you find your 
 strength t 
 
 Hip. Fair creature, I am faint with loss of blood. 
 
 MiE. I'm sorry for 't. 
 
 Hip. Indeed, and so am I, 
 For if I had that blood, I then should find 
 A great delight in loving you. 
 
 Mir. But, sir, 
 I am another's, and your love is given 
 Already to my sister. 
 
 Hip. Yet I find, 
 That, if you please, I can love still a little. 
 
 Mir. I cannot be unconstant, nor should you. 
 
 Hip. my wound pains me. 
 
 Mir. I am come to ease you. 
 
 [She unwraps the sword. 
 
 Hip. Alas ! I feel the cold air come to me ; 
 My wound shoots worse than ever. 
 
 [She wipes and anoints the sword. 
 Does it still grieve you 1 
 
 Hip. Now methinks, there's something 
 Laid just upon it. 
 
 MiR. Do you find no ease? 
 
 Hip. Yes, yes, upon the sudden, all the pain 
 Is leaving me. Sweet heaven, how I am eased t 
 
 Enter Ferdinand and Dorinda to them. 
 
 Feed, [to Dor.] Madam, I must confess my life 
 is yours, 
 I owe it to your generosity. 
 
 Dor. I am o'erjoyed my father let's you live, 
 And proud of my good fortune, that he gave 
 Your life to me. 
 
 MiR. How ] gave his life to her ! 
 
 Hip. Alas ! 1 think she said so, and he said. 
 He ow'd it to her generosity. 
 
510 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Terd. But is not that your sister with Hip- 
 pohto 1 
 
 Dor. So kind already 1 
 
 Ferd. I came to welcome life, and I have met 
 The cruellest of deaths. 
 
 Hip, My dear Dorinda with another man 1 
 
 Dor. Sister, what hus'ness have you here ? 
 
 Mir. You see I dress Hippolito. 
 
 Dor. Y'are very charitable to a stranger. 
 
 Mir. You are not much behiad in charity. 
 To beg a pardon for a man, whom you 
 Scarce ever saw before. 
 
 Dor. Henceforward let your surgery alone. 
 For I had rather he should die, than you 
 Should cure his wound. 
 
 Mir. And I wish Ferdinand had died before 
 He owed his life to your entreaty. 
 
 Ferd. [to Hip.] Sir, I am glad you are so well 
 recovered. 
 You keep your humour still to have all women 1 
 
 Hip. Not all, sir; you except one of the 
 number. 
 Your new love there, Dorinda. 
 
 Mir. Ah, Ferdinand ! can you become in- 
 constant 1 
 If I must lose you, I had rather death 
 Should take you from me, than you take yourself. 
 
 Ferd. And if I might have chosen, I would have 
 wished 
 That death from Prospero, and not this from you. 
 
 Dor. Ay, now I find why I was sent away, 
 Tliat you might have my sister's company. 
 
 Hip. Dorinda, kill me not with your unkindness ; 
 This is too much, first to be false yourself. 
 And then accuse me too. 
 
 Ferd. We all accuse 
 Each other, and each one denies their guilt : 
 
THE TEMPEST. 511 
 
 I should be glad it were a mutual error ; 
 
 And, therefore, first to clear myself from fault. 
 
 Madam, I beg your pardon, while I say, 
 
 I only love your sister. [To Dor. 
 
 Mir. 0, blest word ! 
 I'm sure I love no man but Ferdinand. 
 
 Dor. Nor I, heaven knows, but my Hippolito. 
 
 Hip. I never knew I lov'd so much ; before 
 I feared Dorinda's constancy, but now 
 I am convinced that I loved none but her ; 
 Because none else can recompense her loss. 
 
 Ferd. 'Twas happy, then, we had this little 
 trial; 
 But how we all so much mistook I know not. 
 
 Mir. I have only this to say in my defence ; 
 My father sent me hither to attend 
 The wounded stranger. 
 
 Dor. And Hippolito 
 Sent me' to beg the life of Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. From such small errors left at first un- 
 heeded. 
 Have often sprung sad accidents in love. — 
 But see, our fathers and our friends are come 
 To mix their joys with ours. 
 
 Enter Prospero, Alonzo, Antonio, and Gon- 
 
 ZALO. 
 
 ALON.[fo Prosp.] Let it no more be thought of ; 
 Your purpose, though it was severe, was just. 
 In losing Ferdinand I should have mourn'd, 
 But could not have complained. 
 
 Pros. Sir, I am glad 
 Kind heaven decreed it otherwise. 
 
 Dor. O, wonder ! 
 How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 How beauteous mankind is ! 
 
 Hip. 0, brave new world. 
 
512 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 That has such people in't ! 
 
 Alon. [to Ferd.] Now all the blessings 
 Of a glad father compass thee about, 
 And make thee happy in thy beauteous choice. 
 
 GoN. I've inward wept, or should have spoken 
 ere this. — 
 Look down, sweet heaven ! and on this couple 
 
 drop 
 A blessed crown ; for it is you chalked out 
 The way, which brought us hither. 
 
 Ant. Though penitence, 
 Forced by necessity, can scarce seem real. 
 Yet, dearest brother, I have hope my blood 
 May plead for pardon with you : I resign 
 Dominion, which, 'tis true, I could not keep, 
 But heaven knows too, I would not. 
 
 Pros. All past crimes 
 I bury in the joy of this blessed day. 
 
 Alon. And, that I may not be behind in justice, 
 To this young Prince I render back his Dukedom, 
 And as the Duke of Mantua thus salute him. 
 
 Hip. "What is it that you render back? methinks 
 You give me nothing. 
 
 Pros. You are to be lord 
 Of a great people, and o'er towns and cities. 
 
 Hip. And shall these people be all men and 
 women t 
 
 GONZ. Yes, and shall call you lord. 
 
 Hip. Why, then, I'll live no longer in a prison. 
 But have a whole cave to myself hereafter. 
 
 Pros. And, that your happiness may be com- 
 plete, 
 I give you my Dorinda for your wife : 
 She shall be yours for ever, when the priest 
 Has made you one. 
 
 Hip. How can he make us one t Shall I grow 
 to her 1 
 
THE TEMPEST. 513 
 
 Pros. By saying holy words you shall be 
 joined 
 In marriage to each other. 
 
 Dor. I warrant you, those holy words are 
 charms : 
 My father means to conjure us together. 
 
 Pros. My Ariel told me, when last night you 
 quarrelled, [To his daughters. 
 
 You said you would for ever part your beds. 
 But what you threatened in your anger, heaven 
 Has turned to prophecy ; 
 For you, Miranda, must with Ferdinand, 
 And you, Dorinda, with Hippolito, 
 Lie in one bed hereafter. 
 
 Alon. And heaven make 
 Those beds stiU fruitful in producing children, 
 To bless their parents' youth, and grandsires' 
 age. 
 MiE. [to Dor.] If children come by lying in a 
 bed, 
 I wonder you and I had none between us. 
 Dor. Sister, it was our fault ; we meant, like 
 fools. 
 To look 'em in the fields, and they, it seems, 
 Are only found in beds. 
 Hip. I am o'er-joyed, 
 That I shall have Dorinda in a bed ; 
 We'll lie all night and day together there. 
 And never rise again. 
 
 Feed. [Aside to him.] Hippolito ! You yet 
 Are ignorant of your great happiness ; 
 But there is somewhat, which, for your own and 
 
 fair 
 Dorinda's sake, I must instruct you in. 
 
 Hip. Pray teach me quickly. 
 How men and women, in your world, make love; 
 I shall soon learn, I warrant you. 
 V. 2 k 
 
514 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Enter Ariel, driving in Stephano, Trincalo, 
 MusTACHO, Ventoso, Caliban, and Sycorax. 
 
 Pros. Why, that's my dainty Ariel ; I shall miss 
 thee, 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom. 
 
 GoN. look, sir, look I The master and the 
 sailors — 
 The boatswain too — my prophecy is out. 
 That if a gallows were on land, that man 
 Could ne'er be drowned. 
 Alon. Now, blasphemy; what, not one oath 
 ashore ! 
 Hast thou no mouth by land 1 Why star'st thou 
 so] [2'o Trincalo. 
 
 Trin. What ! more Dukes yet 1 I must resign 
 my Dukedom ; 
 But 'tis no matter, I was almost starved in't. 
 
 Mus. Here's nothing but wild salads, without 
 (jil, or vinegar. 
 
 Steph. The Duke and Prince alive ! Would I 
 had now 
 Our gallant ship again, and were her master : 
 I'd willingly give all my island for her. 
 Ven. And I my viceroyship. 
 Trin. I shall need no hangman ; for I shall 
 e'en hang myself, now my friend Butt has shed 
 his last drop of life. Poor Butt is quite departed. 
 Ant. They talk like madmen. 
 Pros. No matter, time will bring 'em to them- 
 selves, 
 And now their wine is gone, they will not quarrel. 
 Your ship is safe and tight, and bravely rigg'd, 
 As when you first set sail. 
 
 Alon. This news is wonderful. 
 Ariel. M''as it well done, my Lord % 
 Pros. Rarely, my Diligence. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 515 
 
 GoN. But pray, sir, what are those misshapen 
 creatures 1 
 
 Pros. Their mother was a witch ; and one so 
 strong. 
 She would control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 
 And deal in her command without her power. 
 
 SyC. Setebos ! these be brave sprites indeed. 
 
 Pros. Go, sirrah, to my cell ! and, as you hope 
 For pardon, trim it up. [To Cal. 
 
 Cal. Most carefully. I will be wise hereafter. 
 What a dull fool was I, to take those drunkards 
 For gods, when such as these were in the world 1 
 
 Pros. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train 
 To my poor cave this night ; a part of which 
 I will employ, in telling you my story. 
 
 Alon. No doubt it must be strangely taking, 
 sir. 
 
 Pros. When the morn draws, I'll bring you to 
 your ship, 
 And promise you calm seas, and happy gales. 
 My Ariel, that's thy charge : Then to the elements 
 Be free, and fare thee well ! 
 
 Ariel. I'll do it, master. 
 
 Pros. Now, to make amends 
 For the rough treatment you have found to-day, 
 I'll entertain you with my magic art. 
 rU, by my power, transform this place, and call 
 Up those, that shall make good my promise to you. 
 
 Scene II.- — Changes to the Bocks, with the arch of 
 Bocks, and calm Sea. Music playing on the 
 Bocks. 
 Pros. Neptune, and your fairAmphitrite, rise ; 
 
 Oceanus, with your Tethys too, appear ; 
 
 All ye SearGods, and Goddesses, appear ! 
 
 Come, all ye Tritons ; all ye Nereids, come. 
 
 And teach your saucy element to obey : 
 
516 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Amph. 
 
 For you have Princes now to entertain, 
 
 And unsoiled beauties, with fresh youthful lovers. 
 
 Neptune, Amphitrite, Oceanus, and Tethys, 
 appear in a chariot drawn with sea-Jwrses; on 
 each side of the chariot, Sea-Gods and God- 
 desses, Tritons, and Nereids. 
 
 Alon. This is prodigious ! 
 Ant. Ah ! what amazing objects do we see ? 
 GON. This art doth much exceed all human 
 skill. 
 
 Song. 
 
 My lord, great Neptune, for my sake, 
 Of these bright beauties pity take ; 
 And to the rest allow 
 Your mercy too. 
 Let this enraged element be still. 
 
 Let .iEolus obey my will : 
 Let him his boisterous prisoners safely 
 keep 
 In their dark caverns ; and no more 
 Let them disturb the bosom of the 
 deep, 
 Till these arrive upon their wished- 
 for shore. 
 So much my Amphitrite's love I prize. 
 That no commands of her's I can de- 
 spise. 
 Tethys no furrows now shall wear, 
 Oceanus no wrinkles on his brow. 
 
 Let your serenest looks appear ! 
 Be calm and gentle now. 
 ( Be calm, ye great parents of the floods 
 J and the springs, 
 
 j While each Nereid and Triton plays, 
 [ revels, and sings. 
 
 Nept. 
 
 Nept. 
 
 and 
 
 Amph. 
 
THE l-EMPEST. 
 
 517 
 
 Ocean. Confine the roaring winds, and we 
 Will soon obey you cheerfully. 
 rH«re the Dancers mingle with the Singers. 
 Choms I Tie up the winds, and we'll obey ; 
 of Trit. < Upon the floods we'll sing and play, 
 & Ner. ( And celebrate a halcyon day. [Dance. 
 Nept, Great nephew, jEoIus, make no noise. 
 Muzzle your roaring boys. 
 
 [j^olus appears. 
 Amph. Let 'em not bluster to disturb our ears, 
 Or strike these noble passengers with 
 fears. 
 Nept. Afford 'em only such an easy gale. 
 As pleasantly may swell each sail. 
 Amph. While fell sea-monsters cause intestine 
 
 you invade by foreign 
 
 .(EOLUS 
 
 descends. 
 
 jars. 
 This empire 
 wars. 
 Nept. But you shall now bef still. 
 
 And shall obey my Amphitrite's will. 
 You I'll obey, who at one stroke can 
 
 make. 
 With your dread trident, the whole 
 earth to quake. 
 Come down, my blusterers, swell no 
 
 more, 
 Your stormy rage give o'er. 
 Let all black teinpests cease. 
 
 And let the troubled ocean rest : 
 Let all the sea enjoy as calm a peace, 
 As where the halcyon builds her 
 quiet nest. 
 [Winds from the f<mr corners appear. 
 To your prisons below, 
 Down, down you must go ! 
 You in the earth's entrails your revels 
 may keep ; 
 
518 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 But no more till I call shall you trouble 
 
 the deep. [Winds fly down. 
 
 Now they are gone, all stormy wars shall 
 
 cease ; 
 Then let your trumpeters proclaim a 
 peace. 
 AiiPH. Tritons, my sons, your trumpets sound, 
 And let the noise from neighbouring 
 shores rebound. 
 ' Sound a calm. 
 Sound a calm. 
 Cliffrus. -l Sound a calm, 
 a calm. 
 Sound a calm. 
 
 [Here the Tritons, at every repeat of '^ Sound a calm,'' 
 changing their fl^gvre and postures, seem to sound 
 their wreathed trumpets made of shells. 
 
 [A shmt symphony of music, like trumpets, to 
 which four Tritons dance. 
 
 Kept. See, see, the heavens smile ; all your 
 troubles are past. 
 Your joys, by black clouds, shall no 
 more be o'ercast. 
 Amph. On this barren isle ye shall lose all 
 your fears, 
 Leave behind all your sorrows, and 
 banish your cares. 
 And your loves and your lives shall in 
 Both. safety enjoy ; 
 
 No influence of stars shall your quiet 
 destroy. 
 Chorus (And your loves, &c. 
 of all. \ No influence, &c. 
 
 [Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers. 
 ' We'U safely convey you to your own 
 happy shore. 
 
 Ocean. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 519 
 
 And your's and your country's soft 
 peace we'll restore. 
 Tethys. To treat you, blest lovers, as you sail 
 on the deep, 
 The Tritons and sea-nymphs their 
 revels shall keep. 
 fOn the swift dolphins' backs they 
 
 Both -! ^^^^ ®^"^ ^^^ ^^^^^ P^*^- ' 
 
 1 They shall guard you by night, and 
 
 [ delight you by day. 
 
 Chorus I On the svrift, &c. 
 of all. \ And shall guard, &c. 
 
 [Here the Dancers mingle with the singers. 
 [A dance of twelve Tritons. 
 
 MiE. What charming things are these ? 
 
 Doe. What heavenly power is this ? 
 
 Peos. Now, my Ariel, be visible, 
 And let the rest of your aerial train 
 Appear, and entertain them with a song, 
 And then farewell, my long-loved Ariel. 
 
 Scene changes to the Rising Sun, and a number 
 of Aeriel Spirits in the air ; Ariel flying from the 
 Sun, advances towards the Pit. 
 
 Alon. Heaven ! What are these we see ? 
 
 Peos. They are spirits, with which the air 
 abounds 
 In swarms, but that they are not subject 
 To poor feeble mortal eyes. 
 
 Ant. wondrous skill ! 
 
 GoN. power divine ! 
 
 Aeiel, and the rest, sing the following song. 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 In the cowslip's bed I lie ; 
 There I couch when owls do cry. 
 
520 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 On the swallow's wings I fly, 
 
 After summer merrily. 
 Merrily, merrily shall I live now, 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 Smg ended, Ariel speaks, hovering in the air. 
 
 Ariel. My noble master ! 
 May theirs and your blest joys never impair ! 
 And, for the freedom I enjoy in air, 
 I will be still your Ariel, and wait 
 On airy accidents that work for fate. 
 Whatever shall your happiness concern. 
 From your still faithful Ariel you shall learn. 
 
 Pros. Thou hast been always diligent and kind. 
 Farewell, my long-loved Ariel ! thou shalt find 
 I will preserve thee ever in my mind. 
 Henceforth this isle to the afflicted be 
 A place of refuge, as it was to me : 
 The promises of blooming spring live here, 
 ' And all the blessings of the ripening year. 
 On my retreat let heaven and nature smile. 
 And ever flourish the Enchanted Isle. [Exeunt. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 521 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Gallants, by all good signs it does appear, 
 That sixty-seven's a very damning year, 
 For knaves abroad, and for ill poets here. 
 
 Among the Muses there's a gen'ral rot, 
 
 The rhyming monsieur, and the Spanish plot : 
 
 Defy or court, all's one, they go to pot. 
 
 The ghosts of poets walk within this place, 
 And haunt us actors wheresoe'er we pass, 
 In visions bloodier than King Richard's was. 
 
 For this poor wretch he has not much to say, 
 But quietly brings in his part o'th' play. 
 And begs the favour to be damned to-day. 
 
 He sends me only like a sh'riiF's man here, 
 To let you know the malefactor's near, 
 And that he means to die en cavalier. 
 
 For if you should be gracious to his pen, 
 Th' example will prove ill to other men. 
 And you'll be troubl'd with them all again. 
 
ADDENDA ET CORRIGENDA. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 Prefatory Memoir, page v., line 16. — For 1744 read 1780. 
 
 Page Ivii. — Upon the commotions which preceded the Restor- 
 ation, and particularly upon Sir George Booth's insurrection, 
 Sir William Davenant fell into fresh troubles, and underwent 
 another imprisonment, from which, however, he was speedily 
 released. — Whitelocke's Mem., p. 682. He complimented 
 General Monk upon his good designs, and his great capacity, 
 in a short poem, and his Majesty, King Charles the Second, 
 upon his return, in a very long one. 
 
 Page 84. — Charles Daveiiant — Charles Davenant, the 
 eldest son of Sir William, was bom, it has been con- 
 jectured, some time in 1656. He was sent to the Grammar 
 School of Cheame, in the county of Surrey. It ia said he 
 was scarcely twelve when his father died. He became 
 a Fellow Commoner of Baliol College in Midsummer Term 
 1671, but left the university without taking a degree. His 
 play of Circe, written when he was about nineteen, was well 
 received, 1675, and frequently acted afterwards with just ap- 
 plause. He had a considerable share in this theatre in right of 
 his father, but he turned his attention to other pursuits. He 
 applied himself to the study of Civil Law, in which he had the 
 degree of Dr conferred upon him by the University of Cam- 
 bridge. He was elected with James St Amand, Esq., to re- 
 present the burgh of St Ives in Cornwall, in the first Parlia- 
 ment of King James II., summoned to meet 19 May 1685 ; and 
 about the same time was jointly empowered, with the Master 
 of the Revels, to inspect aU plays, to preserve the stage from 
 immorality. He had also been appointed a Commissioner of 
 the Excise, and so continued from 1683 to 1689. " His 
 thorough acquaintance with the laws and constitution of the 
 kingdom, joined to his great skill in figures, and his happiness 
 in applying that skill according to the principles advanced by 
 
524 ADDENDA ET CORRIGENDA. 
 
 Sir William Petty, for the perfecting Political Arithmetic en- 
 abled him to enter deeply into the management of affairs, and 
 procured him great success as a political writer." — Oldmixon't 
 History of the Stuarts, vol. ii. p. 217. His merit as a political 
 writer has been always acknowledged. He died 6th Nov. 
 I7li.—Help to Histm-y, vol. iii., p- 296. 
 
 Among the legacies left by the Duchess of Shrewsbury who 
 died in July 1720, there is : — 
 
 "To Mrs Davenant, Daughter of the late Duke, £100." 
 
 Her Grace was Adelhida, daughter of the Marquis of Paliotti, 
 in Italy, descended by her mother from Sir Robert Dudley, 
 the celebrated son of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, and 
 created Duke of Northumberland abroad. By her, his only 
 wife, the Duke of Shrewsbury had no issue, and, dying on the 
 1st of February 1717-18, his Marquisate and Dukedom became 
 extinct. The Earldom of Shrewsbury, however, devolved 
 upon the next heir male, and is at present the premier Earl- 
 dom in this country. 
 
 Mrs Davenant is presumed to have been a natural daughter 
 of the Duke and the wife of Dr Davenant. 
 
 It may be well to note that the Duchess' brother, Ferdinando, 
 Marquis de Paleotti, was executed at Tyburn, 17th March 1718, 
 for the murder of his footman. 
 
 " We hear, that upon the Dutchess of Richmond's presenting 
 an humble petition to her Majesty, setting forth the most de- 
 plorable circumstances of six daughters of the late Dr Dave- 
 nant (who were left quite destitute of all manner of subsistence, 
 by their brother's leaving the kingdom), her Majesty, with 
 great goodness, recommended their miserable condition to the 
 King ; and his Majesty, out of his Royal Bounty, was graci- 
 ously pleased to order each of them a pension of £50 a-year." 
 — [20 May 1732.]— JVewspapcr. 
 
 Fletcher's Comedy of the' Woman Hater was revived by Sir 
 Wilham Davenant, who wrote a new Prologue in "Verse, which 
 is printed in the folio edition of his works, p. 249. 
 
 "12 Sept. 1667. ^To the Duke's house, where 'Tu quoque ' was 
 the first time acted, with some alterations of Sir W. Davenant's ; 
 but the play is very silly, methinks ; for I, and others that sat 
 by me, Mr Povey and Mr Progers, were weary of it ; but it 
 will please the citizens." — Pemjs. 
 
 This play was written by John Cooke, and first printed in 
 1614, having been published by the Dramatist, Thomas Hey- 
 wood. It was called " Greene's Tu quoque," on account of the 
 celebrity of the actor, Thomas Greene, in the part of Bubble. 
 It was afterwards known aa the City Gallant, the second title 
 being made the first. It is reprinted in Dodsley's Old Plays. 
 
 Vol. II. page 9, Pppjma (Platonic Lovers). 
 
 Poppaea, the wife of Nero, is said to have invented the 
 mask to guard her complexion from the sun. 
 
ADDENDA ET CORRIGENDA. 525 
 
 lb., p. 67. Th£ Tub. See Mayne'a City Match, A. 5, S. 3. 
 Also note to Timon of Athens in Stevens' edition of Shake- 
 speare, 1778, vol. 8. 
 
 Vol. II. p. 121, Branl Pole (The Wits). 
 
 "^our sticks ought to be heavy, made of Brasile, Lignum 
 VitsB, or some other weighty wood, which at the broad end 
 must be tipt with iyory." — "Of Billiards," in Compleat 
 Gamester, 1710. 
 
 "Drake resolved to build his pinnaces in this convenient 
 Port, which they finished in seven days, by the help of some 
 large trees growing there near forty yards about, being white, 
 and as heavy as brasil-wood." — Life of Sir Francis Drake. 
 
 Vol. III. p. 15, The Unfortunate Lovers. 
 
 " 11 Sep. 1667. — To the Duke of York's playhouse, and there 
 saw part of ' The Ungratefull Lovers,' and sat by Beck 
 Marshall, whose hand is very handsome." — Pepys. There is no 
 such play as the fJngrateful Lovers — evidently a mistake for 
 "The Unfortunate Lovers." 
 
 " 8 April 1668.— With Lord Brounoker to the Duke of York's 
 playhouse, where we saw 'The Unfortunate Lovers,' no 
 extraordinary play, methinks." — lb, 
 
 " 3 Dec. 1668. — So to the office, where we sat all the morn- 
 ing ; and at noon home to dinner, and then abroad again, 
 with my wife, to the Duke of York's Playhouse, and saw ' The 
 Unfortunate Lovers' — a mean play, I think, but some parts 
 very good, and excellently acted." — 76. 
 
 Vol. III. p. 196, Captain Coohe. Entertainment at Rutland 
 House. 
 
 12 Aug. 1660. — Pwjjs. — " After sermon, a brave anthem 
 of Captain Cooke's, which he himself sung, and the King was 
 well pleased vrith it." 
 
 ■ " 13 Feb. 1666-7.— To Dr Gierke's, by . invitation. Here was 
 his wife painted, and her sister Worshipp, a widow now, and 
 mighty pretty, in her mourning. Here was also Mr Pierce 
 and Mr Floyd, Secretary to the Lords Commissioners of 
 Prizes, and Captain Cooke to dinner, an ill and little mean 
 one, with foul cloth and dishes, and everything poor. Dis- 
 coursed most about plays and the opera, where, among other 
 vanities, Captain Cooke had the arrogance to say that he was 
 fain to direct Sir W. Davenant in the breaking of his verses 
 into such and such lengths, according as would be fit for 
 musick, and how he used to swear at Davenant, and command 
 him that way, when W. Davenant would be angry, and find 
 fault with this or that note — a vain coxcomb he is, though he 
 sings and composes so well. Dr Clerke did say that Sir W. 
 Davenant is no good judge of a dramatick poem, finding fault 
 
526 ADDENDA ET CORRIGENDA. 
 
 with Us choice of Henry the 5th, and others, for the stage, 
 when I do think, and he confesses, ' The Siege of Rhodes' as 
 good as ever was writ. Cooke gone, Dr Gierke fell to reading 
 a new play, newly writ, of a friend's of his ; but, by his dis- 
 course and confession afterwards, it was his own. " — Pepys. 
 
 Volume V. page 3, The Man's the Master. 
 
 "26 March 1668.— To the Duke of York's house, to see the 
 new play, called ' The Man is the Master,' where the house 
 was, it being not one o'clock, very full. But my wife and 
 Deb. being there before, with Mrs Pierce and Corbet and 
 Betty Turner, whom my wife carried with her, they made 
 room ; and there I sat, it costing me 8s. upon them in 
 oranges, at 6d. a-piece. By and by the King came ; and we 
 sat just under him, so that I durst not turn my back all the 
 play. This play is a iranslation out of French, and the plot 
 Spanish, but not anything extraordinary at all in it, though 
 translated by Sir W. Davenant, and so 1 found the King and 
 his company did think meanly of it, though there was here 
 and there something pretty ; but the most of the mirth was 
 sorry, poor stuffe, of eating of saak posset and slabbering 
 themselves, and mirth tit for clownes ; the prologue but poor, 
 and the epilogue little in it but the extraordinariness of it, it 
 being sung by Harris and another in the form of a ballad." 
 - -Pepys. 
 
 From this opinion, however, he was subsequently induced to 
 depart. 
 
 "7 May 1668. — To the Duke of York's house, and there saw 
 'The Man's the Master,' which proves, upon my seeing it 
 again, a very good play." 
 
 Volume V. p. 396, Tempest. 
 
 The Tempest, or The Enchanted Island. A Comedy. As it is 
 now acted at his Highness the Dnhe of York's Theatre. London : 
 Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringham, at the Blew Anc/un; 
 in the Lmcer Walk oftlie Neio-Exchange. 1674. 
 
 P. 402, Beard. There is a mezzotint engraving of a scene 
 from the English opera, " Love in a Village," by Finlaysou, 
 after Zofifany, 1 March 1768, in which Beard appears as Squire 
 Hawthorn in the act of singing " Let gay ones and great," the 
 others being Sam Foote in the character of Justice Woodcock, 
 and Dunstall in that of Hoop. 
 
 One of the " London sights " alluded to by Trinoalo were the 
 two Indians brought away from Virginia by Captains Amidas 
 and Barlow, of Raleigh's first expedition (27 April 1684), who 
 discovered Virginia. 
 
 TURNBULI, AHD SPKAKS PKIS'TEUS, EDINBUUGH.