... (m/\i^ •Aa/ITH Northwestern University Library Evanston, Illinois 60201 "Good queev, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen." —PauHna. the complete works William Shakspeare, WITH % NOTES AND COMMENTS, AND Peeliminary Remarks upon the Several Plays. TO WHICH AKB PREFIXED A Life of the Poet, AND SOME NEW FACTS CONCERNING HIS LIFE, BY J. PAYNE COLLIER, F.S.A. EIGHT VOLUMES IN FOUR. PHILADELPHIA; JOHN E. POTTER AND COMPANY, 617 Sansom Street. 5 ^ Y.S 4- WINTER'S TALE. / PRELIMINARY REMARKS The story of this play is taken from The Pleasant History of Do- ramus and Fawnia, by Robert Greene, which was first printed in 1588. The parts of Antigonus, Paulina, and Autolycus, are of the Poet's own creation; and many circumstances of the novel are omitted in the play. "A booke entitled A Winter's Night's Pastime," entered at Sta tinner's Hall, in 1594, but which has not come down to us, may have suggested the title, by which Shakspeare tirought the romantic and extraordinary incidents of the play well characterized. He several times, in the course of the last act, makes one of his characters remark its similarity to an old tale. Schlegel has observed, that« The Winter's Tale is as appropriately named as the Midsummer Night's Dream. It is one of those tales, which are peculiarly calculated to beguile the dreary leisure of a long winter evening, which are even attractive and intel¬ ligible to childhood, and which, animated by fervent truth in the deline¬ ation of character and passion, invested with the decoration of a poetry lowering itself, as it were, to the simplicity of the subject, transport even manhood back to the golden age of imagination. The calculation ot probabilities has nothing to do with such wonderful and fleeting adven¬ tures, ending at last in general joy; and, accordingly, Shakspeare has here taken the greatest liberties with anachronisms and geographical errors: he opens a free navigation between Sicily and Bohemia, makes Julio Romano the contemporary of the Delphic oracle, not to mention other incongruities." It is extraordinary that Pope should have thought only some single scenes of this play were from .the hand of Shakspeare. It breathes his spirit throughout;—in the serious parts as well as in those of a lighter kind: and who but Shakspeare could have conceived that exquisite pistoral scene in which the loves of Florizel and Perdita are developed' 4 WliNTERS TALE. It is indeed a pastoral of tlie golden age, and PerJita " no shepheruess, but Flora, Peering in April's front," and breathing flowers, in the spring-tide of youth and beauty. How gracefully she distributes her emblematic favors! What language ac¬ companies them! Well may FJorizel exclaim, « —s when you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever!" The reader reechoes the sentiment of the lover, and is sorry to come to tlie close. With what modest, unconscious dignity are all her words ana actions accompanied! even Polixenes, who looks on her with no favor¬ able eye, says that there is " nothing she does or says But sma9ks of something greater than herself" The shepherds and shepherdesses, with whom she has been brought up, are such as ordinary life affords, and are judicious foils to this de¬ lightful couple of lovers. The arch roguery and mirthful stratagems of Autolycus are' very amusing, and his character is admirably sustained. " The jealousy of Leoiites (says the judicious Schlegel) is not, like that of Othello, de¬ veloped with all the causes, symptoms, and gradations; it is brought forward at once, and is portrayed as a distempered frenzy. It is a passion which does not produce the catastrophe, but merely ties the knot of the piece." But it has the same intemperate course, is the same soul- goading passion which wrings a noble nature to acts of revengeful cruelty; at which, under happier stars, it would have shuddered, and which are no sooner committed than repented of. The patient and affecting resignation of the wronged Hermione, under circumstances of the deepest anguish, and the zealous and cour¬ ageous remonstrances of the faithful Paulina, have the stamp of Shak- speare upon them. Indeed I know not what parts of this drama could be attributed to any even of the most skilful of his contemporaries. It was perhaps the discrepancies of the plot, (which, in fact, almost divides it into two plays with an interval of sixteen years between,) and the anachronisms, which made Dry den* and Pope overlook the beauties of execution in this encnanting play. • Dryden, in the Essay at the end of the second part of the Conquest of Granada, speak- tng of the plays of Shakspeare and Fletcher, says ^" Witness the lameness of their plots s maiy of which, especially those which they wrote hrst, (for even that age refined itself In •oine measure,) were made up of some ridiculous, incoherent storv, which in one play many PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 5 Malone places the composition of The Winter's Tale in Idll, because it was first licensed for representation by Sir George Bucke, Muster of Jie Revels, who did not assume the functions of his ofiice until August, 1610. The mention of the " Punlan singing psalms to hornpipes" also points at this period, as does another passage, which is supposed to be a compliment to James on his escape from the Gowrie Conspiracy. These are conjectures, but probable ones. Malone had in former instances placed tlie date much earlier; first in 1594, and then in 1602. The supposition that Ben Jonson intended a sneer at this play in his Induction to Bartholomew Pair, has been satisfactorily answered by Mr. Gilford.* Horace Waipole, in his Historic Doubts, attempts to show that The Winter's Tale was intended (in compliment to Queen Elizabeth) as an indirect apology for her mother Anne Boleyn; but the ground for his conjecture is so slight as scarcely to deserve attention. Indeed it may be answered, that the plot of the play is not the invention of Shakspeare, who therefore cannot be charged with tliis piece of flattery: if it was intended, it must be attributed to Greene, whose novel was published in 1588. I think, with Mr. Boswell, tliat these supposed allusions by Shak¬ speare to the history of his own time, are very much to be doubted. times took up the business of an age. I suppose I need not name Pericles, nor the historical plays of Shakspeare; besides many of the rest, as, The tfipter^s TaU. Love*8 Labor^s Lost, Measure for Measure, which were either grounded on impossibilities, or at least so qioanly written, that the comedy neither caused your mirth, nor the serious parts your concern ment." Pope, in his Preface to Shakspeare, almost reechoes this:—should conjecture fsays he) of some of the others, particularly f/ove's Labor's Lost, The Winter^$ Tale, Com¬ edy of Errors, and Titus Andronicus, that oniy some characters or single sceaes, or peitaps a few particular passages, are from the band of Shakspeare." * Works of Ben Jonson, wo\, W. p 371. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Leontes, King of Sicilia. Mamillius, his Son. Camillo, Antigonus, Cleomenes, Dion, Another Sicilian Lord. Rogero, a Sicilian Gentleman. An Attendant on the young Prince Mamilliua. Officers of a Court of Judicature. PoLiXENES, King ^Bohemia. Florizel, his Son. Archidamus, a Bohemian Lord. A Mariner. Jailer. An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita. Clown, his Son. Servant to the old Shepherd. Aittolycus, a Rogue. Time, as Chorus. Hermione, Queen to Leontes. Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione Paulina, Wife to Antigonus. Two mher Laffi^, } Queen. Dolcls, } ^^'Pf^^^'^esses Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dant»: Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, ^c. SCENE, sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia Sicilian Lords. WINTER'S TALE ACT I. SCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes' Palace. Enter Camillo and Archidamus. Archidamus. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great differ¬ ence betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. Cam. 1 think, this coming summer, the king of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, we will be justified in our loves; for, indeed,— Cam. Beseech you, Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge; we cannot with such magnificence—in so rare—1 know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks; that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance,. Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their child¬ hoods ; and there rooted betwixt them then such an (7) e WINTER S TALE. [ACT I affection, which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and rojal necessities made separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally attorneyed,' with inter¬ change of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that thej have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a vastand emi)raced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The Heavens continue their loves! Arch. I think there is not in the world either malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an unspeak able comfprt of your young prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever came into my note. Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child; one that, indeed, physics the subject,^ makes old hearts fresh. They that went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their life, to see him a man. Arch. Would they else be content to die ? Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. Arch. If the king had no §on, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. \_Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A Room of State m the Palace. Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo, and Attendants. Pol. Nine changes of the watery star have been The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne Without a burden. Time as long again Would be filled up, my brother, with our thanks; 1 "Royally attorneyed." Nobly supplied by substitution of embassies. 2 i. e. over a wide, intervening space. 3 " Physics the subject." Affords a cordial to the state; has Uie powei of assuaging the sense of misery. sc. II.] WIN'l ER'S TALK 9 And yet we should, for perpetuity, Go hence in debt. And therel'ore, like a cipher, Yet standing in rich place, I multiply,* With one we-thank-you, many thousands more That go before it.- Leon. Stay your thanks awhile; And pay the'm when you part. Pot. Sir, that's to-morrow 1 am questioned by my fears, of what may chan»e, Or breed upon our absence: that' may blow No sneaping ® winds at home, to make us say, Tfiis is put forth too truly Besides, 1 have staid To tire your royalty. Leon. We are tougher, brother, Than you can put us to't. ^Pol. No longer stay. Leon. One sevennight longer. Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. Leon. We'll part the time between's then; and in that I'll no gainsaying. Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so. There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'the world, So soon as yours, could win me; so it should now. Were there necessity in your request, although 'Twere needful 1 denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder Were, in your love, a whip to me; my stay. To you a charge and trouble. To save both, Farewell, our brother. Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? Speak you. Uer. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir. Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure, All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction 1 That for Oh that! is not unconunon in old writers. 2 Sneaping, nipping. 3 u e. to mat 3 me say, I had too good reason for my fears concerning what may happen in my absence from home. VOL. 111. 2 10 winter's tale. [act 1 The by-gone day proclaimed; say this to him, He's beat from his best ward. Leon. Well said, Hermione Her. To tell he longs to see his son, were strong. But let him say so then, and let him go; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay; We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.— Yet of your royal presence [To Pol.] I'll adventure The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission. To let' him there a month, behind the gest' Prefixed for his parting; yet, good deed,® Leontes, I love thee not ajar o' the clock behind What lady she her lord.—You'll stay f Pol. No, madam Her. Nay, but you will ? Pol. I may not, verily. Her. Verily! You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek to uns])here the stars with oaths. Should yet say. Sir, no going. Verily, You shall not go; a lady's verily is As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet} Force me to keep you as a prisoner. Not like a guest: so you shall pay your fees. When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you My prisoner, or my guest ? By your dread verily. One of them you shall be. Pol. Your guest, then, madam To be your prisoner, should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit. Than you ta punish. Her. Not your jailer, then, r To let had for its synonymes to slay or stop; to hi him there, is to stay him there. Gests were scrolls in which were marked the stages or places of rest in a progress or journey, especially a royal one. 2 i. e. indeed, in v ery deed, in troth. Good deed is used in tlie same sense by the ecrl of Surrey, sir John Hay ward, and Gascoigne. sc. M.J WINTER'S T.\LE. 11 But jour kind hostess. Come, I'll question you Of mj lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys, You were pretty lordings then. Pol. We were, fair queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind. But such a day to-morrow as to-day. And to be boy eternal. Her, Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two Pol. We were as twinned lambs, that did frisk i'the sun, And bleat the one at the other. What we changed. Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not The doctrine of ill doing, nor dreamed That any did. Had we pursued that life. And our weak spirits ne'er been higher reared With stronger blood, we should have answered Heaven Boldly, Not Guilty; the' imposition cleared,^ Hereditary ours. Her. By this we gather. You have tripped since. Pol. . O, my most sacred lady, Temptations have since then been born to us; for In those unfledged days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not crossed the eyes Of my young play-fellow. Her. Grace to boot! ® Of this make no conclusion; lest you say. Your queen and 1 are devils. Yet, go on ; The offences we have made you do, we'll answer; If you first sinned with us, and that with us You did continue fault, and that you slipped not ^Vith any but with us. Leon. Is he won yet ? Her. He'll stay, my lord. Leon. At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st To better puxpose. 1 i. e. setting aside the original sin, bating the imposition from Uia offence of our first parents, we might have boldly protested our innocenca * " (ji ice to boot;" an exclamation equivalent to give tis grace 13 WINTER'S TALE. [act i. Her. Never ? Leon. Never, but once. Her. What ? have I twice said well ? When was'l before ? F j)r'ythee, tell me. Cram us with praise, and make us As fat as tame things; one good deed, dying tongueless, Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages: you may ride us, With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal.— My last good was, *0 entreat his stay; What was my first It has an elder sister, Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose. When ? Nay, let me have't; I long. Leon. Why, that was when rhree crabbed months had soured themselves to death Ere I could make thee open thy white hand. And clap ^ thyself my love; then didst thou utter, I am yours forever. Her. It is grace, indeed.— Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice. The one forever earned a royal husbantl; The other, for some while, a friend. [^Giving her hand to Polixenes Leon. Too hot, too hot. \^Aside To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. I have tremor cordis on me ;—my heart dances; But not for joy,—not joy.—This entertainment May a free face put on ; derive a liberty From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,® And well become the agent. It may, I grant: But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, 1 At entering into any contract, or plig-hting of troth, this clapping of hands together set the seal. Numerous instances of allusion to the cus¬ tom have been adduced by the editors; one shall suffice, from tlio old play of Ram Alley: "Come, clap hands, a match." The custom is not yet disused in common life. "from bounty, fertile bosom." Malone thinks tliat a letter lia^r leen omitted, and that-we should read— " from bounty's fertile bosom." sc. II.] WINTER'S TALE. 13 As now they are; and making practised smiles, As in a looking-glass;—and then to sigh, as 'twere The mort o' the deer;' O, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows.—Mamillius, Art thou my boy ? Mam. Ay, my good lord. Leon. I'fecks ? V\'hy, that's my bawcock.® What, hast smutched iht nose ?— They say, it's a copy out of "mine. Come, captain, We must be neat! not neat, but cleanly, captain; And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, Are all called neat.—Still virginalling' [06sem/^ PoLiXENEs and Hermione. Upon his palm.^—How now, you wanton calf.'' Art thou my calf.? Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots that I have,^ To be full® like me : yet, they say, we are Almost as like as eggs; women say so. That will say any thing. But were they false As o'er-dyed blacks,® as wind, as waters; false As dice are to be wished, by one that fixes No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true To say this boy were like me.—Come, sir page. Look on me with your welkin"' eye. Sweet villain! 1 i. e. the death of the deer. The mort was also certain notes played on the horn a*, the death of the deer. 2 « Bawcock." A burlesque word of endearment supposed to be derived, from heau-coq, or boy-cock. It occurs again in Twelfth Night, and in King Henry V., and in both places is coupled with chuck or chick. It is said that bra'cock is still used in Scotland. *3 Still playing with Ker fingers as a girl playing on the virginals. Vir¬ ginals were stringed instruments played with keys like a spinnet, which Biey resembled in all respects but in shape, spinnets being nearly trian¬ gular, and virginals of an oblong square shape like a small piano-forte. * "Thou wantest a rough head-, and the budding horns that I have. A pash in some places denoting a yoijpg bull calf whose horns are spring mg; a mad pash, a mad-brained boy. 5 i. o entirely. 8 i. e. old, faded stuffs, of other colors, dyed black. '' Welkin is blue, i. e. the color of the welkin or sky. 14 WINTER S TALE. [ACT I Most dearest! my collop! '—-can thy dam ?—May't be ? Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre Thou dost make possible, things not so held; Communicat'st with dreams;—(How can this be?) VVith what's unreal thou coactive art, And fellow'st nothing. Then, 'tis very credent,® Thou mayst conjoin with something; and thou dost; (And that beyond commission, and I find it;) And that to the infection'of my brains. And hardening of my brows. Pol. What means Sicilia ? Her. He something seems unsettled. Pol. How, my lord ? What cheer ? How is't with you, best brother ? Her. You look As if you held a brow of much distraction. Are you moved, my lord ? Leon. No, in good earnest.— How sometimes nature will betray its folly. Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face, methought I did recoil Twenty-three years ; and saw myself unbreeched, In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled, Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel. This squash," this gentleman.—Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money ? ® Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. 1 In King Henry VI. Part I. we have— « " God knows thou art a collop of my flesh." 2 ./Iffection here means imagination. Intention is earnest consideratiou, eager attention. It is this vehemence of mind which affects Leontes, by making him conjure up unreal causes of disquiet; and thus, in the Poefs language, "stabs him to the centre." 3 Credent, credible. ♦ i. e. an immature pea-pod. 5 "Will you take eggs for money?" A proverbial phrase for "Will you suffer yourself to be cajoled or imposed upon " sc. ii.] winters tale. 15 Leon. Yoy wlll.^ why, happy man le his dole!^— My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince, as we Do seem to be of ours ? Pol. If at home, sir. He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter: Now, my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all; He makes a July's day short as December; And, with his varying childness, cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood. Leon. So stands this squire Ofificed with me. We two will walk, my lord. And leave you to your graver steps.—Hermione, How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap. Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's Apparent ® to my heart. Her. If you would seek us. We are yours i'the garden. Shall's attend you there } Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found. Be you beneath the sky;—I am angling now. Though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to! [Aside. Observing Polixenes and Hermione. How she holds up the neb,® the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband! Gone already! Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a forked one.'* [Exeunt Pol., Her., and Attendants. Go, jday, boy, play;—thy mother plays, and I Play too; but so disgraced a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamor Will he my knell.—Go, play, boy, play.—There have been, ' i. e. may happiness be his portion! 9 Heir apparent, next claimant. 9 L e. mouth. * i. e. a homed one. 16 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT 1 Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now ; And many a man there is, even at this present. Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, That little thinks she has been sluiced in his absence, And his pond fished by his next neighbor, by Sir Smile, his neighbor. Nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men have gates; and those gates opened As mine, against their will. Should all despair. That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none ; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it, From east, west, north, and south: be it concluded, No barricado for a belly ; know it; It will let in and out the enemy. With bag and baggage. Many a thousand of us Have the disease, and feel't not.—How now, boy ? Mam. I am like you, they say. Leon. Why, that's some comfort.—^ What! Camillo there ? Cam. Ay, my good lord. Leon. Go play, Mamillius: thou'rt an honest man.— [Exit Mamillius. Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold , When you cast out, it still came home.' Leon. Didst note it} Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; made His business more material.® Leon. Didst perceive it ?— They're here with me already:' whispering, round- Sicilia is a so-forth.^ 'Tis far gone, ' '' It still came home," a nautical term, meaning, «the anchor would not take hold." 2 The more you requested him to stay, the more urgent he represented tliat business to be which summoned him away. 3 Not Polixenes and Hemiione, but casual observers. 4 To round in the ear was to tell sec "etly, to whisper. 5 .d so-forth, a phrase apparently employed to avoia the utterance of aa ooprobrious one. So, so, is sometimes us^ in a similar manner. SCi II.] WINTERS TALE. n When 1 shall gust' it last.—How came't, Camillo. That he did stay Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. Leon. At the queen's, be't: good, should be per¬ tinent ; But so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine ? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks.—Not noted, is't. But of the finer natures ? By some severals. Of head-piece extraordinary ? Lower messes,® Perchance, are to this business purblind: say. Cam. Business, my lord ? I think most understand Bohemia stays here longer. Leon. Ha} Cam. Stays here longer Leon. Ay, but why ? Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. Leon. Satisfy The entreaties of your mistress ? Satisfy ?— Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-councils; wherein, priestlike, thou Hast cleansed my bosom; I from thee departed Thy penitent reformed ; but we have been Deceived in thy integrity, deceived In that which seems so. Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! Ijeon. To bide upon't: Thou art not honest; or. If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward; Which hoxes® honesty behind, restraining Fiom course required; or else thou must be counted A servant, grafted in my serious trust. And therein negligent; or else a fool. That seest a game played home, the rich stake drawn And tak'st it all for jest. 1 i. e. taste it;—" ille dotnus sciet uItimiis.".._.....yMi;. Sat x, 2 Messes is here put for degrees, comlitions. ^ To Hot is to hamstring: the proper word is to hough. vol.. 111. 3 18 WINTER'S TALE. .ACT I Cam. My gracious lord, 1 may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; In every one of these no man is free. But that his negligence, his folly, fear. Amongst the infinite doings of the world. Sometime puts .forth. In your affairs, my lord, If ever I were wilful-negligent. It was my folly ; if industriously I played the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, Whereof the execution did cry out Against the non-performance,^ 'twas a fear Which oft affects the wisest. These, my lord, Are such allowed infirmities, that honesty Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace. Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own visage. If I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, But that's past doubt: you have ; or your eye-glass s thicker than a cuckold's horn ;) or heard, ,(For, to a vision so apparent, rumor Cannot be mute,) or thought,—(for cogitation Resides not in that man, that does not think,)®— My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess, (Or else be impudently negative. To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say. My wife's a hobby-horse ; deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to Before a troth-plight: say it, and justify it. Cam. I would not be a stander-by to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken. 'Shrew my heart, 1 This is expressed obscurely, but seems to mean " the execution ol which [when done) cried out against the non-performance of it before.^ 2 Leontes means to say, " Have you not thought that my wife is slip¬ pery ? (for cogitation resides not in the man that does not think my wife is slippery.") The four latter words, though disjoined from the word think by the necessity of a parenthesis, are evidently to be connected in con- Rtruction with it sc. il.] WINTER'S TALE. 19 Y'ou never spoke what did become you less Than this, which to reiterate, were sin As deep as that, though true. Leon. Is whispering nothing ? is leaning cheek to cheek ? Is meeting noses ? Kissing with inside lip.^ Stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh ? (a note infallible Of breaking honesty :) Horsing foot on foot ? Skulking in corners ? Wishing clocks more swift ? Hours, minutes,? Noon, midnight.? And all eyes blind With the pin and web,' but theirs, theirs only. That would unseen be wicked.? Is this nothing.? Why, then, the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing. Cam. Good my lord, be cured Of this diseased opinion, and betimes; For 'tis most dangerous. Leon. Say, it be; 'tis true. Cam. No, no, my lord. Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie. I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave; Or else a hovering temporizer, that Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil. Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass.® Cam. Who does infect her ? Leon. Why, he that wears her like his medaj, hanging About his neck, Bohemia. Who—if I Had servants true about me, that bare eyes To see alike mine honor as their profits, Their own particular thrifts,—they would do that 1 The pin and web is the cataract in an early stage. 9 L ei one hour. ' The old copy reads, " her medal." 20 WINTEH S TALE. fACT i Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou, His cupbearer,—whom I from meaner form Have benched, and reared to worship; who mayst S(!e Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven. How i am galled,—mightst bespice a cup,^ To give mine enemy a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial. Cam. Sir, my lord, I could do this; and that with no rash ® potion. But with a lingering dram; that should not work Maliciously® like poison. But 1 cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress. So sovereignly being honorable. I have loved thee, Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot'' Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled. To appoint myself in this vexation.? sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets. Which to preserve, is sleep ; which being spotted, Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps Give scandal to the blood o'the prince, my son. Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine; Without ripe moving to't ? Would I do this ? Could man so blench.?® Cam. I must believe you, sir. I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; Provided, that when he's removed, your highness Will take again your queen, as yours at first; 1 «Bespice a cup." So in Chapman's Translation of the tenth book of the Odyssey:— " with a festival She'll first receive thee; but will i^nce thy bread With flowery poisons." 2 Rash is hasty; as in King Henry IV. Part II. "rash gunpowder." Maliciously is malignantly, with efl'ects openly hurtful. Make that, i. e. Hermione's disloyalty, wjiich is a clear point, a sub¬ ject of doubt, and go rot! Dost think I am such a fool as to torment myself, and bring disgrace on me and my child, without suflicienf grounds f Sc mething is necessary to complete the verse. Hanmer roads :— "Is goads 0nd thorns, nettles and tails of wasps." 5 To blench is to staii off, to slu-ink. BO. n.j WINTER'S TALE. 21 Even for your son's sake ; and thereby, for sealing The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours. Leon. Thou dost advise me, Even so as I mine own course have set down. I'll give no blemish to her honor, none. Cam. My lord, Cio then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, And with your queen. I am his cupbearer; If from me he have wholesome beverage. Account me not your servant. Leon. This is all; Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou splittest thine own. Cam. I'll do't, my lord. Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me. \^Exit. Cam. O miserable lady—But, for me. What case stand 1 inI must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes : and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a master; one. Who, in rebellion with himself, will have All that are his, so too.—To do this deed. Promotion follows. If I could find example Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings. And flourished after, I'd not do't; but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Let villany itself forswear't. I must Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now' Here comes Bohemia. Enter Polixenes. Pol. This is strange! Methinks My favor here begins to warp. Not speak ?— Good-day, Camillo. Cam. Hail, most royal sir 1 Pol. What is the news i'the court ? Cam. None^re, my lord 22 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT I. Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, * As he had lost some province, and a region Loved as he loves himself. Even now I met him With customary compliment; when he, Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; and So leaves me to consider what is breeding. That changes thus his manners. Cam. I dare not know, my lord. Pol. How! Dare not ? Do not. Do you know, and dare not Be intelligent to me ? 'Tis thereabouts; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must; And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo, Your changed complexions are to me a mirror. Which shows me mine changed too; for I musi be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus altered with it. Cam: There is a sicknew Which puts some of us in distemper ; but I cannot name the disease; and it is caught Of you that yet are well. Pol. How! caught of me t Make me not sighted like the basilisk. I have looked on thousands, who have sped the bettei By my regard, but killed none so. Camillo,— As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto Clerk-like, experienced, which no less adorns Our gentry, than our parents' noble names. In whose success we are gentle,'—I beseech you. If you know aught which does behove my knowledge Thereof to be informed, imprison it not In ignorant concealment. Cam. I may not answer Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! I must be answered.—Dost thou hear, Camillo, I conjure thee, by all the parts of man. Which honor does acknowledge,—wheieof the least 1 Stucess, for suptasion. Gentle, well born, was opposed to simple. sc. If.] WINTER'S TALE. 23 Is not this suit of mine,—that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near; Which way to be prevented, if to be; If not, how best to bear it. Cam. Sir, I'll tell you; Since I am charged in honor, and by him That I think honorable. Therefore, mark my counsel Which must be even as swifdy followed, as I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me Cry, lost, and so good-night. Pol. On, good Camillo. Cam. I am appointed him to murder you.^ Pol. By whom, Camillo ? Cam. By the king. Pol. For what ? Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears. As he had seen't, or been an instrument To vice ® you to't,—that you have touched his queen Forbiddenly. Pol. O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly; and my name Be yoked with his, that did betray the best!' Turn then my freshest reputation to A savor, that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive; and my approach be shunned, Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection That e'er was heard, or read ! Cam. Swear his thought over * By each particular star in heaven, and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, 1 "I am appointed him to murder youI am the person appointed to murder you. 2 L e. to screw or move you to it A vice, in Shakspeare's time, meant any kind of winding screw. The vice of a clock was a common ex¬ pression. 3 That is, Judas. * « Swear his thought over." The meaning apparently is, " Over-sipetu his thought by," &.c. 24 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT 1 As, or by oath, remove, or counsel, shake The fabric of his folly; whose foundation Is piled upon his faith,' and will continue The standing of his body. Pol. , How should this grow Cam. I know not; hut, I am sure, 'tis safer to Avoid what's grown, than cpiestion how 'tis horn If therefore you dare trust my honesty,— That lies inclosed in this trunk, which you Shall hear along impawned,—away to-night. Your followers I will whisper to the business ; And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns. Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put My fortunes to your service, which are here By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain: For, by the honor of my parents, I Have uttered truth; which if you seek to prove, I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer Than one condemned by the king's own mouth thereon His execution sworn. Pol. I do believe thee : I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand; Be pilot to me, and thy places shall Still neighbor mine.' My ships are ready, and My people did expect my hence departure Two days ago.—This jealousy Is for a precious creature; as she's rare. Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty. Must it be violent; and as he does conceive He is dishonored by a man which ever Professed to him, why, his revenges must In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me , (iood expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing ' " Ts piled upon his faith;" this folly which is erected on the fouu< dation of settled belief. '•i i. e. I will place thee in elevated rank, always near to my own in dig>> or near my person. sc. 1] winter s tale. 25 Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! ^ Come, Camillo, 1 will respect thee as a father, if Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid. Cam. It is in mine authority to command The keys of all the posterns. Please your highness To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. [Exeunt ACT II. SCENE I. The same. Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, "Tis past enduring. 1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord. Shall I be your playfellow ? Mam. No, I'll none of you. 1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord ? Mam. You'll kiss me hard; and speak to me as if I were a baby still.—I love you better. 2 Lady. And why so, my lord ? Mam. Not for because Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say, Become some women best; so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semicircle. Or half-moon made with a pen. 2 Lady. Who taught you this Mam. I learned it out of women's faces.—Pray now What color are your eyebrows ? 1 JohnBon might \rell say, "I can make nothing of the following words- ♦- and comfort The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing Of his ill-ta'en suspicion.'" He suspected the line whicli connected them to ft .e rest to have been lost VOL.. 111. 4 36 WINTER'S TALE L^LI H 1 Lady. Blue, mj loid. Mam. Nay, that's a mock; I have seen a lady's nose That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. 2 Lady. Hark ye; The queen, your mother, rounds apace : we shall Present our services to a fine new prince. One of these days ; and then you'd wanton with us. If we would have you. 1 Lady. She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her ! Her. What-wisdom stirs amongst you.'' Come, sir now I am for you again. Pray you, sit by us, And tell's a tale Mam. Merry, or sad, shall't be ? Her. As merry as you will. 31am. A sad tale's best for vvintei I have one of sprites and goblins. Her. Let's have that, good sii Come on, sit down.—Come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites: you're powerful at it. Mam. There was a man,— Her. Nay, come, sit clown; then on. 3Iam. Dwelt by a churchyard ;—I will tell it softly ; Yon crickets shall not hear it. Her. ' Come on then. And give't me in mine ear. E7Uer Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and others. Leon. Was he met there.? his train.? Camillc with him.? 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them never Saw 1 men scour so on their w^ay. I eyed them Even to their ships. Leon. ITow blessed am I In my just censure !' in my true opinion !— ' i. e. judirinent. bU. l.J WJNTKK'S TALE. 2-3 Alack, for lesser knowledge !' How accursefJ, In being so blest!—There may be in the cup ^ A spider ® steeped, and one may drink; depart, And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge Is not infected : but if one present The abhorred ingredient to his eye; make known, How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides With violent hefts.®—I have drunk, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander.— There is a plot against my life, my crown; All's true that is mistrusted.—That false villain, Wirom I employed, was pre-employed by him: He has discovered my design, and I Remain a pinched thing; * yea, a very trick For them to play at will.—How came the posterns So easily open ? 1 Lord. By his great authority ; Which often hath no less prevailed than so. On your command. Leon. I know't too well. Give me the boy; I am glad you did not nurse him. Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him. Her. What is this ? sport ? Leon. Bear the boy hence ; he shall not come about her; Away with him ;—and let her sport herself With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. Her. But I'd say, he had not. And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to the nayward. Leon. You, my lords. Look on her, mark her well; be but about 1 That is, O that my knowledge were less! 2 Hpidcis were esteemed poisonous in our author's time. Htjls, heavings. ■' i. e. " a thinar pinched out of clouts ; a puppet for tliein to move and acuiate .vs tiioy please." 28 WINTER S TALE. [ACT II To say, She is a goodly lady, and The justice of your hearts will thereto add, ^Tis pity, she^s not honest, honorable. Piaise her but for this her without-door form, A\'hich, on rny faith, deserves high speech,) and straight The shrug, the hum, or ha: these jietty brands, That calumny doth use ;—O, 1 am out; 1 hat mercy does ; for calumny will sear Virtue itself;—these shrugs, these hums, and ha's, When you have said, she's goodly, come between, Ere you can say she's honest. But be it known, ' From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, She's an adult'ress. Her. " Should a villain say so, The most replenish villain in the world. He were as much more villain. You, my lord, Do but mistake. Leon. You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing. Which I'll not call a creature of thy place. Lest barbarism, making me the precedent. Should a like language use to all degrees, And mannerly distinguishment leave out Betwixt the prince and beggar!—I have said. She's an adult'ress; 1 have said with whom; More, she's a traitor! and Camillo is A federary' with her; and one that knows What she should shame to know herself. But®"with her most vile principal, that she's A bed-swerver, even as bad as those That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy To this their late escape. Her. No, by my life, Pri\'y to none of this. How will this grieve you. When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have published me ? Gentle my lord, 1 Federartj, confederate, acconiplice. s One that knows what she should be ashamed to know herself, evei If the knowledge of it was shared but wU,h her paramour. It is the use of but for be-out (only, according to Malone) that obscures the sense. so. I.J WINTER S TALE. . 29 You scarce can right me throughly, then, to say You did mistake. Leon. No, no; if I mistake fn those foundations which I build upon, The centre is not big enough to bear A school-boy's top.' Away with her to prison. He who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty. But that he speaks.® Her. There's some ill planet reigns I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favorable.—Good my lords, \ am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are; the want of which vain (Jew, Perchance, shall dry your pities: but I have That honorable grief lodged here, which burns * Worse than tears drown. 'Beseech you all, my lords, With thoughts so qualified as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me;—and so The king's will be performed! Leon. Shall I be heard ? [To the Guards. Her. Who is't that goes with me ?—'Beseech your highness, My women may be with me; for, you see, My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; There is no cause ; when you shall know your mistress Has deserved prison, then abound in tears. As 1 come out. This action, I now go on, > Is for my better grace.—Adieu, my lord ; I never wished to see you sorry; now, I trust, I shall. My women, come ; you have leave Leon. Go, do our bidding; hence. [^xeunt Queen and Ladies 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen again. Ant. Be certain what you do, sir; lest your justice Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer, Yourself, your queen, your son. 1 i. e. no foundation can be trusted. ® He who stiall speak for tier, is remotely guilty in merely speaking. 30 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT II 1 Lord. For her, mj lord,— I dare nij life lay down, and will do't, sir, Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless ['the eyes of Heaven, and to you; I mean, In this which you accuse her. Ant. If it prove She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables' where I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; Thau when I feel, and see her, no further trust her For every inch of woman in the world, Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false. If she be. Leon. Hdld your peaces. 1 Lord. Good my lord,— Ayit. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves. Fou are abused, and by some putter-on. That will be damned for't; 'would I knew the villain, I would land-damn ® him. Be she honor-flawed,—. I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven ; The second, and the third, nine, and some five; If this prove true, they'll pay for't; by mine honor, I'll geld them all: fourteen they shall not see. To bring false generations; they are coheirs ; And I had rather glib myself, than they Should not produce fair issue. Leon. Cease ; no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold As i? a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't, As you feel doing thus; and see withal The instruments that feel.^ Ant. If it be so, We need no grave to bury honesty; 1 This passage may be explained thus:—" If she prove false, I'll make my stables or kennel of my wife's chamber; I'll go in couples with her like a dog, and never leave her for a moment; trust her no further than 1 can feel and see her." 2 « I would land-damn him." Johnson interprets this:—«I will damn or condemn him to quit the land." 3 I see and feel my disgrace, as you, Antigonus, now feel my doing this to you, and as you now see the instruments that feel, i. e. my fingers Leontes must here be supposed to touch or lay hold of Antigonus. MJ. I.J WINTKaS TALE. 31 Tliere's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. Lroa. What! lack I credit ^ 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, IJjion this ground: and more it would content me To have her honor true, than your suspicion; Be blamed for't how you might. Leon. Why, what need we (Joinmune with you of this ? but rather follow Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels ; but our natural goodness Imparts this ; which,—if you (or stupefied, Or seeming so in skill) cannot, or will not, Relish as' truth, like us; inform yourselves. We need no more of your advice: the matter, The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all Properly ours. j4/it. And I wish, my liege. You had only in your silent judgment tried it, Without more overture. Leon. How could that be.^ Either thou art most ignorant by age. Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight. Added to their familiarity, (Which was as gross as ever touched eonjectuic. That lacked sight only, nought for approbation,® But only seeing, all other circumstances Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding Yet, for a greater confirmation, (For, in an act of this importance, 'twere Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatched in post, To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know Of stuffed sufficiency.^ Now from the oracle They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel, had, Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 1 Tlie old copy reads a truth. Rowe made the correctioa 2 i. e. proof. 3 i. e. of abilities more than sufficient 32 winter s tale. [act il Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no nwe Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Give rest to the minds of others; such as he. Whose ignorant credulity will not Come up to the truth So have we thought it good, From our free person she should be confined; JiCst that the treachery of the two fled hence, J3e left her to perform. Come, follow us; We are to speak in public; for this business Will raise us all. Ant. [^Aside.'] To laughter, as 1 take it. If the good truth were known. \^Exeuni SCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison Enter Paulina and Attendants. Paul. The keeper of the prison,—call to him; l^Exit an Attendant Let him have knowledge who I am.—Good lady! No court in Europe is too good for thee ; What dost thou then in prison.?—^Now, good sir. Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper. You know me, do you not ? Keeper. For a worthy lady, And one whom I much honor. Paul. Pfay you, then, Conduct me to the queen. Keep. I may not, madam; to the contrary I jiave express commandment. Paul. Here's ado. To lock up honesty and honor from The access of gentle visitors! Is it lawful. Pray you, to see her women .? any of them ? Emilia.? Keep. So please you, madam, to put av. ii.] winter s tale. 33 Apart these your attendants, I shall bring Emilia forth. Paul. I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend Eeep. And, madamj I must be present at your conference. Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Keeper Here's such ado to make no stain a stain. As passes coloring. Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia. Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady } Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, May hold together. On her frights and griefs fWhich never tender lady hath borne greater) She is, something before her time, delivered. Paul. A boy.? Emil. A daughter; and a goodly babe, Lusty, and like to live. The queen receives Much comfort in't; says, 3Iy poor prisoner, I am innocent as you. Paul. I dare be sworn. These dangerous, unsafe lunes' o' the king! beshrew them! He must be told on't, and he shall; the office Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me : If I prove honey-mouthed, let my tongue blister; And never to my red-looked anger be The trumpet any more.—Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the queen; If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll show't the king, and undertake to be Her advocate to th' loudest. We do not know How he may soften at the sight o' the child; The silence often of pure innocence Persuades, when speaking fails. 1 Lunes. This word has not been found in any other English writer but it is used in old French for frenzy, lunacy, folly. A similar expie» sion occurs in The Ruveneer's Tragedy, 1608. VOL. lU 5 34 "winters tale. [act ii. Emil. Most worthy madam, Your honor, and your goodness, is so evident, That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue; there is no lady living So meet for this great ;rrand. Please your ladyship To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the queen of your most noble oflfer, Who, but to-day, hammered of this design ; iJut durst not tempt a minister of honor, Lest she should be denied. Paul. Tell her, Emilia, I'll use that tongue I have. If wit flow from it. As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted I shall do good. Emil. ■ Now be you blest for it! I'll to the queen. Please you, come something nearer. Keep. Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur, to pass it. Having no warrant. Paul. You need not fear it, sir. The child was prisoner to the womb; and is. By law and process of great nature, thence Freed and enfranchised : not a party to The anger of the king; nor guilty of. If any be, the'trespass of the queen. Keep. I do believe it. Paul. Do not you fear; upon Mine honor, I will stand 'twixt you and danger. \^Exeunl. SCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and other At-' tendants. Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest. It is but weak¬ ness To bear the matter thus ; mere weakness, if The cause were not in being;—part o' the cause, sc. III.] WIXTEK's TALr.. 35 She, the adiik'ress;—for the harlot king [s quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level' of my brain, plot-proof: but slie 1 can hook to me. Say, that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Mi'jht come to me again. Who's there ? \ Attend. INfyloid! \^Advancing Leon. How does the boy ? 1 Attend. He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hojied his sickness is discharged. Leon. To see His nobhmess! Conceiving the dishonor of his mother. He straight declined, droojied, took it deeply; Fastened and fixed the shame on't in himsftlf; Threw off his sjiirit, his ajipetite, his sleep. And downright languished.—Leave me solely; go. See how he fares. \^Exit Attend.]—Fie, fie' no thought of him ;— The very thought of my revenges that way Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty; And in his parties, his alliance,—let him be. Until a time may serve; for present vengeance, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me ; make their ])astime at my sorrow. They should not laugh, if I could reach them; nor Shall she, within my power. Enter Paulina, xmth a Child. 1 Lord. You must not enter. Paid. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to mo .Fear you his tyrannous passion more, ahrs. Than the queen's life a gracious, innocent soul; More free,® than he is jealous. 1 Blank and level mean mark and aim, or direction. They are terma o1 gunnery. ~ i. e. leave me alone. 8 fVee, i. e. as here used, pure. c}>asie. 36 winter s tale. [act ii. Ant. That's enough. 1 Attend. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; com manded None should come at him. I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,— That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh At each his needless heavings,—such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as med'cinal as true; Honest, as either; to purge him of that humor. That presses him from sleep. Leon. What noise there, ho. Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference About some gossips for your highness. Leon. , How.^ Away with that audacious lady. Antigonus, I charged thee, that she should not come about me; I know she would. Ant. I told her so, my lord. On your displeasure's peril, and on mine. She should not visit you. Leon. What, canst not rule her.? Paul. From all dishonesty, he can. In this, (Unless he take the course that you have done. Commit me, for committing honor,) trust it, He shall not rule me. AtU. Lo you now; you hear! When she will take the rein, I let her run; But she'll not stumble. Paul. Good my liege, I come,— And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess' Myself your loyal servant, your physician, Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare Less appear so, in comforting your evils,® Than such as most seem yours;—I say, I come From your good queen. 1 The old, copy has professes. ® «In co»!/or/i7i^ yom evils." To con^rt,. in old language, is to md, to encowage. Evils here mean fvicked courses. Paid. Not so hot, good sir; sc. iii.] winter's tale. 31 Leon. Good queen! Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen. I say, good queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst' about you. Leon. Force her hence. Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, First hand me: on my own accord, I'll oflT; But, first, I'll do my.errand.—The good queen— For she is good—hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. [^Laying down the Child Leon. Out! A mankind ® witch ! Hence with her, out o' door' A most intelligencing bawd! Paul. Not so. I am as ignorant in that, as you In so entitling me ; and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. Leon. Traitors! Will you not push her out ? Give her the bastard.— Thou dotard {To Antigonus.] thou art woman-tired,* unroosted By thy dame Partlet here.—Take up the bastard; Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.^ Paul. Forever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'st up the princess, by that forced ® baseness Which he has put upon't! Leon. He dreads his wife. 1 L e. the wtakest, or least warlike. 2 «A mankind witch." In Junius's Nomenclator, by Abraham Flem ing, "ISSS, Virago is interpreted " A manly woman, or a mankind woman." Joh nson asserts that the phrase is still used in the midland counties foi a woman violent, ferocious, and mischievous. 3 i. e. hen-pecked. To tire in falconry is to tear with the beak. Partlet is the name of the hen in the old story of Renard the Fox. * A crone was originally a toothless old ewe; and thence became a term of contempt for an old woman. 5 Forced is false; uttered with violence to truth. Baseness for bos' tardv, w<> still say base bom. 38 WliNTER'S TALE. [ACT 11 Paul So I would you did; then, 'twere past all doubt, y^ou'd call your children yours. Leon. A nest of traitors! Ant. I am none, by this good light. Paul. Nor I; nor anv, But one, that's here , and that's himself: for he The sacied honor of himself, his queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander. Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compelled to't) once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten. As ever oak, or stone, was sound. Leon. A callat,' Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her husband, And now baits me !—This brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes. Hence with it; and, together with the dam. Commit them to the fire. Paul. It is yours; And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worse.—Behold, my lords. Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father; eye, nose, lip. The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; his smiles The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:— And, thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colors No yellow ® in't; lest she suspect, as he does. Her children not her husband's ! Leon. A gross hag !— And, lozel,® thou art worthy to be hanged, That wilt not stay her tongue. 1 A callat is a trull. 2 « No yellow" the color of jealousy. 3 Lozel, a worthless fellow; one lo.st to all groodness—from the Saxoa losinn, to perish, to be lust. Lord, losd, losliche, are all of the same family. sc. in.] WINTER'S TALE. 39 Ant. Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. Leon. Once more, take her hence. Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. Leon. I'll have thee burned. Paul. V I care not It is a heretic that-makes the fire, Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant, But this most cruel usage of your queen (Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hinged fancy) something savors Of tyranny, and will ignolile make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. Leon. On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, Where were her life ? She durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her. Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours; Jove send her A better guiding spirit!—What need these hands ? You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so.—Farewell; -we are gone. [Exit Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.— My child ? Away with't!—Even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, »And see it instantly consumed with fire ; Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight Within this hour bring me word, 'tis done, (And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life. With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse, And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; For thou sett'st on thy wife. , Ant. I did not, sir These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,, Can clear me in't. 40 WINTER'S TALE. [act ii. 1 Lord. We can ; my royal hege, He is not guilty of her coming hither. Leon. You are liars all. 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better credit We have always truly served you ; and beseech So to esteem of us ; and on our knees we beg (As recompense of our dear services, Past, and to come) that you do change this purpose; •Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue. We all" kneel. Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows;«— Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel And call me father,? Better burn it now,- Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live. It shall not neither.—You, sir, come you hither; [To Antigonos You, that have been so tenderly officious With lady Margery, your midwife, there. To save this bastard's life,—for 'tis a bastard, So sure as this beard's gray,'—what will you adventure To save this brat's life.? Ant. Any thing, my lord, That my ability may undergo. And nobleness impose. At least, thus much; I'll pawn the little blood which I have left, To save the innocent: any thing possible. Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword, Thou wilt perform my bidding. Ant. I will, my lord. Leon. Mark, and perform it; (seest thou.?) for the fail Of any point in't shall not only be Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife ; Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee. As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it 1 Leontca must mean the beard of Antigonus, which he may be sup¬ posed to toucL ilc himself tells us that twenty-three years ago he was unbreeched; of course his age must be under thirty, and his own beard would hardly be graj-. sc. III.] WIJSTER S TALE. 41 To seme remote and desert place quite out Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, Without more mercyj to its own protection, And favor of the climate. As by strange fortune It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,— On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture,— That thou commend it strangely to some place,* Where chance may nurse, or end it. Take it up. Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death Had been more merciful.—Come on, poor babe. Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens To be thy nurses! Wolves, and bears, they say, Casting their savageness aside, have done Like offices of pity.—Sir, be prosperous In more than this deed doth require ! and blessing,' Against this cruelty, fight on thy side. Poor thing, condemned to loss! ® [Exit, with the Child Leon. No, Til not reai Another's issue. 1 Attend. Please your highness, posts. From those you sent to the oracle, are come An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed. Hasting to the court. 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. Leon. Twenty-three days They have been absent. 'Tis good speed ; foretells. The great Apollo suddenly will have The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; Summon a session, that we may arraign Our most disloyal lady ; for, as she hath Been publicly accused, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives. My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt 1 i e. commit it to some place as a stranger. To com-iena is to commit according to the old dictionaries. 2 i e. the favor of Heaven. "i i e. to exposure, or to be lost or dropped. VOL. III. 6 42 winters tale: [act lu ACT III. . SCENE 1. The same. A Street in some Town. Enter Cleomenes and Dion. Cleo. The climate's delicate ; the air most sweet, Fertile the isle ;' the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. Dion. I shall report— For most it cau2:ht me—the celestial habits (Methinks 1 so should term them) and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly It was i' the offering! Cleo. But of all, the burst And ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense, That 1 was nothing. Dion. If the event o'the journey Prove as successful to the queen,—O, be't so!— As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. Cleo. Great Apollo, Turn all to the best! These proclamations. So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. Dion. The violent carriage of it Will clear, or end, the business. When the oracle (Thus by Apollo's great divine sealed up) Shall the contents discover, something rare Even then will rush to knowledge. Go,—frcsl horses!— And gracious be the issue .' \^Exeunt ' Warburtin has remarked that the temple of Apollo was at Dtlphx, which was niit an island. But Shakspeare little regarded geographical accuracy. He followed Green's Dorastus and Fawnia, in which it ia called t he isk of Delphos. There was a temple of Apollo in the isle of Delos so 11.] winter's tale. 43 . SCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice. leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properly seated Jjeon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro¬ nounce) Even pushes 'gainst our heart. The party tried. The daughter of a king; our wife ; and one Of us too-much belovedbe cleared Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice; which shall have due course, Even to the guilt, or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. Offi,. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen Appear in person here in court.—Silence! Hermione is brought in, guarded; Paulina and Ladies, attending. Leon. Read the indictment. Offi. Hermione, queen to the ivorthy Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take aivay the life of our sovereign lord and king, thy royal husband; the pretence ^ whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and alle¬ giance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night. Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that Which contradicts my accusation ; and The testimony on my part, no other But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me To say. Not guilty: mine integrity. Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, Be so received. But thus,—If powers divine Behold our human actions, (as they do,) I doubt not, the i, but innocence shall make ' L e. the design. Shakspea'rw often uses the word for denign or intention. ■ 44 WINTER S TALE. [ACI in False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience.—You, my lord, best know (Who least will seem to do so) my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true. As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devised. And played to take spectators. For behold me,— A fellow of the royal bed, which owe ^ A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopef^^|.^§,''''3—here standing To prate and talk for lite, and honor, 'fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which I would spare ; for honor, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine. And only that I stand for. 1 appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how J was in your grace. How merited to be so; since he came. With what encounter so uncurrent I , Have strained, to appear thus: ® if one jot beyond The bound of honor; or, in act, or will. That way inclining; hardened be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry, Fie upon my grave! Leon. I ne'er heard yet, That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did. Than to perform it first.® Her. That's true enough ; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. Leon. You will not own it. Her. More than mistresi of, Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 1 Own, possess. 2 Encounter so uncurrent is unallowed or unlawful meeting.-—drained means swerved or gone astray from the line of duty. The explanations of this passage are not very satisfactory. It appears to be designed as a question. . 3 It is to be observed that originally, in our language, two negatives did not affirm, but only strengtlien the negation. In this passage, John¬ son observes that, according to the present use of words, less should be vu»e. or wanted should be had. sc n.] winter's tale. 45 At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, With whom I am accused,) I do confess loved him, as in honor he required; With such a kind of love, as might become A lady like me; with a love, even such, So, and no other, as yourself commanded; Which not to have done, I think, had been in me Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and toward your friend ; whose love had si^wke, Even since it could speak, from an infant freely, That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, I know not how it tastes; .though it be dished For me to try h5w. All I know of it, Is, that Carnillo was an honest man ; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know VVhat you have underta'en to do in his absence. Her. Sir, You speak a language that I understand not. My life stands in the level' of your dreams. Which I'll lay down. Leon. Your actions are my dreams; You had a bastard by Polixenes, And 1 but dreamed it.—As you were past all shame. (Those of your fact ® are so,) so past all truth; Which to deny, concerns more than avails; for as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it, (which is, indeed. More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou Shalt feel our Justice; in whose easiest passage, Look for no less than death. Her. Sir, spare your threats , The bug,® which you would fright me with, I seek. To me can life bo no commodity. ' See note 1, p. 35. To stand within the level of a gun is to stand io a direct line with its moutii, and in danger of being hurt by its discharge This expression often occurs in Shakspeare. i. e. they who have done like you. 3 Bugbear 46 WINTER S TALE. [ACT ni. The crown and conifort of my life, your favor, I do give lost; for I do feel it gone. But know not how it went. My second joy. And first-fruits of my body, fronr his presence I am barred, like one infectious. My third comfort, Starred most unluckily,' is from my breast. The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, IJaled out to murder; myself on every post Proclaimed a strumpet; with immodest hatred, * The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion.—Lastly, hurried Here to this place, i'the open air, before I have got strength of limit.® Now, my liege. Tell me what blessings I have here alive. That I should fear to die ? Therefore, proceed. But yet hear this ; mistake me not. No ! life, 1 prize it not a straw;—but for mine honor, (Which I would free,) if I shall be condemned Upon surmises ; all proofs sleeping else, • But what your Jealousies awake ; I tell you, 'Tis rigor, and not law.—Your honors all, I do refer me to the oracle ; Apollo be Biy Judge. 1 Lord. This your request Is altogether Just: therefore, bring forth. And in Apollo's name, his oracle. [Exeunt certain Officers Her. The emperor of Russia was my father. O that he were alive, and here, beholding His daughter's trial ! that he did but see The flatness^ of my misery ; yet with eyes Of pity, not re\'enge ! 1 "Starred most unluckily;" ill-starred, bom under an inausp'cioua planet. 2 Strertfrfh of limit, i. e. the deofree of strentrth which it is customar" te acquire before women are suffered to go abroad after child-bearing. The coiiipltlenKss of my misery. sc. ii.] winttlr's tale. 47 Re-enter Officers, with Cleomenes and Dion. Offi, You here shall swear upon this sword of jus¬ tice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both.at Delphos; and from" thence have brought This sealed-up oracle, by the hand delivered Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then, You have not dared to break the holy seal, Nor read the secrets in't. Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. Leon. Break up the seals, and read. Offi,. Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blame¬ less, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live without an heir, if that, which is lost, be notfound.^ Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo! Her. Praised! Leon. Hast thou read truth ? Offi. Ay, my lord; even so As it is here set down. Leon. There is no truth at all i'the oracle. The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood. Enter a Servant, hastily. Serv. My lord the king, the king! Leon. What is the business ? Serv. O, sir, I shall be hated to report it; The prince your son, With mere conceit and fear Of the queen's speed,® is gone. Leon. How ! gone ? Serv. Is dead. Leon. Apollo's angry; and the Heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione fainti. How now there ? Paul. This news is mortal to the queen.—Look down, And see what death is doing. ' This is almost literally from (Jreene's novel. 2 i. e. of tlie event of the queen's trial. We still say, he su d ••■eli or U1 ^ 4fi winter's "tale. [act iii. Leon. Take her hence; Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover.— I have too much believed mine own suspicion.— 'Beseech jou, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life.—Apollo, pardon [^Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle !— 1 '11 reconcile me to Polixenes; New woo my queen ; recall the good Camillo; Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, 1 chose Camillo for the minister, to poison My friend Polixenes; which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death, and with Reward, did threaten and encourage him. Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane, And filled with honor, to my kingly guest Unclasped my practice; quit his fortunes here. Which you knew great; and to the certain' hazard Of all incertainties himself commended. No richer than his honor.—How he glisters Thorough my rust! and how his piety Does my deeds make the blacker! Re-enter Paulina. Paul. Woe the while. O cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it. Break too! 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady ? ' Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me ? What wheels ? racks? fires? What flaying? boiling In leads or oils? What old, or newer torture Must 1 receive; whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst ? Thy tyranny ' Certain is not in the first folio; it was supplied by the editor of the «oo >nd sc. II ] WINTER'S TALE. 49 Together working with thy jealousies,— Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine! O, think what they have done, And then run mad, indeed; stark mad ! for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing, That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ungrateful: nor was't much. Thou wouldst have poisoned good Camillo's honor, To have him kill a king; poor trespasses. More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter. To be or none, or little; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire,^ ere done't: Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young prince ; whose honorable thoughts ^houghts high for one so tender) cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemished his gracious dam: this is not, no. Laid to thy answer. But the last, O lords. When I have said, cry, woe!—The queen, the queen. The sweetest, dearest creature's dead ; and vengeance for't Not dropped down yet. 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid! Paul. I say, she's dead; I'll swear't. If word noi oath Prevail not, go and see; if you can bring Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye. Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve yo i As I would do the gods.—But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things; for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting. Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual could not move the god.s To look that way thou wert. 1 i. e. a devil would have shed tears of pity, ere he would have pel oetrated such an action VOL. III. 7 50 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT III Leon. Go on, go on Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved All tongues to talk their bitterest. 1 Lord. Say no more ; Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I'the boldness of your speech. Paid. I am sorry for't; All faults I make, when I shall come to know them 1 do repent. Alas, I have showed too much The rashness of a woman : he is touched To the noble heart.—What's gone and what's pas' help, . . Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction At my petition, I beseech you ; rather Let me be punished, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. The love I bore your queen,—lo, fool again!— ['11 speak of her no more, nor of your children , I'll not remember you of my otvn lord. Who is lost too. Take your patience to you. And I'll say nothing. Leon. . Thou didst speak but well. When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen and son; One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie; and tears, shed there, Shall l)e my recreation. So long as Nature will bear up with this e.xercise, • So long I daily vow to use it. Come, An J lead me to these sorrows. \Eieuni sc. 111.1 WINTER O TALE. 51 SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country neat the Sea. Enter Antigonus, with the Child ; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect,^ then, our ship hath touched upon Tlie deserts of Bohemia ? Mar. Ay, my lord; and fear We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly, And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The Heavens with that we have in hand are angry, And frown upon us. Ant. Their, sacred wills be done !—Go, get aboard Look to thy bark; I'll not be long, before I call upon thee. Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not Too far i'the land; 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon't. Ant. Go thou away. I'll follow instantly. Mar. I am glad at heart To be so rid o'the business. [^Extt Ant. Come, poor babe. have heard (but not believed) the spirits of the dead May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother A ppeared to me last night; for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature. Sometimes her head on one side, some another, I never saw a vessel of like sorrow. So filled, and so becoming; in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My (;abiu where I lay; thrice bowed before me; And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon Did this break from her : Good Antigonus, 1 i. e. well assured. 52 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT III. Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,— Places remote enough are in Bohemia : There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe Is counted lost forever, Perdita, / ppythee callH; for this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne^er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more: and so, with shrieks, She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself; and thought This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys; Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squared by this. I do believe Hermione hath suffered death; and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid. Either for life, or death, upon the earth Of its right father.—Blossom, speed thee well! [Laying down the Child There lie; and there thy character: ^ there these; [Laying down a bundle. Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins.—Poor wretch, That, for thy mother's fault, art thus exposed To loss, and what may follow!—Weep 1 cannot. But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I, To be by oath enjoined to this.—Farewell I The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have A lullaby too rough. I never saw The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamor! - Well may I get aboard! This is the chase ; I am gone forever. [Exit, pursued by a bear 1 i. e. ilescription. The writing afterward discovered with Perdita. 2 « A savage clamor." This clamor was the cry of the dogs and hunters then seeing the bear, he cries, This is the chase, L e the animet pursued. sc. HI. I WINTERS TALE. 53 Entei' an old Shepherd. Shep. I would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty; or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting.—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty, hunt this weather.^ They have scared away two of ray best sheep; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find than the master; if any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing of ivy.^ Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here ? [ Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a barne ; a very pretty barne ! A boy, or a child, I wonder.^ A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape: though I ara not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind- door work. They were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'H take it up for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hollaed but even now Whoa, ho, hoa! Enter Clown. Clo. Hilloa, loa! Shep. What, art so near.? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither What ail'st thou, man ? Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by land;—but I am not' to say, it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. Shep. Why, boy, how is it.? Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how i rages, how it takes up the shore! But that's not tc the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: now the 1 Ttiia is from the novel. It is there said to be " sea ivic, on which they do greatly feed." 54 WINTER S TALE. [ACT III ship boring the moon with her main-mast; and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service,—To see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone ! how he cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antig- onus, a nobleman.—But to make an end of the ship, —To see how the sea flap-dragoned^ it:—but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; —and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather. Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy ? Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights. The men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at i now. Shep. 'Would I had been by, to have helped the old man ! Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her; there your charity would have lacked footing. [^Aside. Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth® for a squire's child! Look thee here: take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see. It was told me, I should be rich, by the fairies: this is some changeling.—Open't. What's within, boy? Clo. You're a made ^ old man"; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold' All gold! Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next ^ way. VVe are lucky, boy; and to be so still, requires nothing 1 L e. swallowed it, as our ancient topers swallowed flap-dragons. 2 A bearing-cloth is the mantle of fine cloth, in which a child was car¬ ried to be baptized. 3 The old copies read mad. The emendation is Theobald's * i. e. nearest. ^\,r IV.] winter's taet.. but secn3uj.—Let mj sheep go.—Come, good hoy, liie neAt way home. Clo. (jo you the next way "with your findings, I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst,' but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury it. Sltep. That's a good deed. If thou mayst discern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to the sight of him. Clo. Marry, will I: and you shall help to put him i'the ground. Sliep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't. [LVcwjit ACT IV. Enter Time, as Chorus. Time. I,—that please some, try all; both joy and terror, Of good and bad; that make, and unfold erroi.— Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime, To me, or my swift passage, that I slide (Ter sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap; since it is in my power To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was. Or what is now received. I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale The glistering of this present, as my tale 1 Curd 'lere signifies mischxevovs* 56. winter's tale. [act iv Now sesms to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass; and give my scene such growing, As jou had slept between. Leontes leaving The effects of his fond jealousies; so grieving, That he shuts up himself; imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia ; and remember well, I mentioned a son o'the king's, which Florizel 1 now name to you ; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdifa, now grown in grace Equal with wondering. What of her ensues, list not prophesy; but let Time's news Be known, when 'tis brought forth:—a shepherd's daughter. And what to her adheres, which follows after. Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,' If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never yet, that Time himself doth say. He wishes earnestly you never may. [Exit SCENE I. The same. A Room in the Palace oj Polixenes. Enter Polixenes and Camillo. Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im¬ portunate. 'Tis a sickness, denying thee any thing; a death, to grant this. Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my country though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad I desira to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me ; to whose feeling soTro\i's I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so; which is another spur to my departure. Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services, by leaving me now. The need 1 have of thee, thine own goodness hath made; bettei . I L e. approve. so. i.j WINTER S TALE. 57 not to have had thee, than thus to want thee. Thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done ; which if I have not enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be more thankful to thee, shall be my study; and my profit therein, the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children, are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the prince Florizel", my son ? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them, when-they have approved their virtues. Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted,^ he is of late much retired from court; and is less frequent to his princely exer¬ cises, than formerly he hath appeared. Pol. 1 have considered so much, Camillo; and with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness, from whom I have this intelligence; that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they sa}*, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbors, is grown into an unspeakable estate. Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note; the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But I fear the angle® that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not unea.^y 1 Missingly noted, observed at intervals. ® Angle IB here used for bait, or line and hook. VOL. III. 8 55 • WINTER'S TALE [ ACT IV to get the cause of my son's resort thithei'. Pr'ytheet be my present partner in this business, and lay aside tJie tlioughts of Sicilia. Cam. I willingly .obey your command. Pol. My best Camillo!—We must disguise our selves. [^Exeunt SCENE II. The savie. A Road near the Shep¬ herd's Cottage. Enter Autolycus,' singing. When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh I the doxy over the dale,— Why, then comes in the sweet o^the year; For the red blood reigns in the wmter^s pale.' The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,— With, hey I the sweet birds, O how they sing Doth set my pugging ^ tooth on edge; For a quart of cde is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,— With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,— Are summer songs for me and my aunts,* IVhile we lie tumbling in the hay. I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore three-pile ; ® but now I am out of service. But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night; And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. ' A 'lto ycus was the son of Mercury, and as famous for all tne arts ot fraud and thievery as his father. 2 L e. " the red, the spring blood now reikis over the parts lately under the dominion of udnter." A pale was a division, a place set apart froni another, as the English pale, the pale of the church. The words pale and red were used for the sake of the antithesis. The glow of spring reigns nver the paleness of winter. 3 A puggard was a cant name for some kind of tliief. * .luni was^a cant word for a bawd or b-ull. 6 i 6 rich velvet, so called. liC. li J WINTER'S TALE. 59 If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget ; Then my account I well may give, And in the stocks avoujcii it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser lineiid My father named me Autolycus; who, being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snaj)per-up of unconsidered trifles. With dye, and drab, I purchased this caparison; and my revenue is the silly cheat.^ Gallows, and knock, are too jrowerful on the highway; beating, and hanging, are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. —A prize! A prize ! Enter Clown. C/o.. Let me see;—Every 'ieven wether—tods;® every tod yields—pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn,—what comes the wool to ? Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. [Aside. Clo. I cannot do't without counters.''—Let me see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast ? Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants; rice what will tliis sister of mine do with rice ? But my father hath made her mistress of tiie feast, and she lays it on. Sire hath made me four-and-t\'\'enty nose¬ gays for the shearers; three-man songmen ^ all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means ® and bases: but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron, to 1 Aut,ol)xus means that his practice was to steal sheets; leaving tlie smaller linen to be carried away by the kite.s, who will sometimes carry it off to line their nests. 2 The silly cheat is one of the slang terms belonging to cony-catching or thievery. It is supposed to have meant picking of pockets. 3 Every eleven sheep will produce a tod or twenty-eight pounds of wool. The price of a tod of wool was about 20 or 22.9. in 1581. ■» Counters were circular pieces of base metal, ancic'ntly used by the U literate to adjust tlieir reckonings. ''' 5 i. e. singers of catches in tliree parts. 6 Means are tenors. GO WINTER'S TALE. lACT IV color the warden pies;' mace,—dates,—none; that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; a race, or two, of ginger; hut that I may beg;—-four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins oi'the sun. Aut. O liiat ever I was born! [^Grovelling on the ground, Clo. I'the name of me,— Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need cf more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me morp than the stripes I have received; which are mighty ones and millions. Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. Aut. I a*m robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man ? Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the gar¬ ments he hath left with thee ; if this be a horse-man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand ; I'll help thee ! come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up. Aut. O, good sir, tenderly, oh! Clo. Alas, poor soul! Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out. Clo. How now ? canst stand ? Aut. Sofil}', dear sir ; [Picks his pocket.'] good sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little money for thee. 1 Wardens are a larjre sort of pear, called in French Poires de Garde, because, being a late, hard pear, they may be kept very long. It is said that their name is derived from the Anglo-Saxon wearden, to preserve. They are now called bakin^-peais, and are generally colored with cochx ne.al instead of s(i^ron, as of old. sc. IT.] WINTER'S TALE. 61 Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir; I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going ; I shall there have money, or any thing I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart.^ Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you .? Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with trol-my dames.® I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his vir tues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the. court. Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the court They cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide.® Aut. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; fhen a pro¬ cess-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion ^ of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. Clo. Out upon him! Prig, ® for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd have run. Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I war¬ rant him. Clo. How do you now ? ^ Dame Quickly, speaking of FalstafF, says—« The king hath killed hs heart." 2 « Trol-my dames." The old English title of this game was pigeon¬ holes; as the arches in the board through which the balls are to be rolled rejenible the cavities made for pigeons in a dove-house. 3 "Abide" only sojourn, or dwell for a time. " He compassed a motion," &c.; he obtained a puppet-show, &c Prig, another cant phrase for the order of thieves, * winter's tale. [act iv Aut Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand, and walk. I will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ? Aut. No, good-faced sir ! no, sweet sir. Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir!—[Exit Clown.] Vour purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled,' and my name put in the book of virtue! Jog on, jog on, the foot-path icay, And merrily Kent ^ the stile-a : A merry heart goes all the day. Your sad tires in a mile-a. f Exit. SCENE III. The same. A Shepherd's Cottage. Enter Florizel and Perdita. Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life ; no shepherdess, but Flora, Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods. And you the queen on't. Per. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me"; O, pardon, that I name them. Your high self, The gracious mark® o'the land, you have obscured With a swain's wearing; and me, poor, lowly maid, Most goddesslike pranked up. But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders i. e. dismissed from the society of rogues. 2 To hent the stile is to take tlie stile. It comes from the Saxon hentan. The gracious mirk of the land is the object of all men's notice and rxpectaiion. sc. Jll ] WINTER'S TAEE. Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired ; sworn, I think, '!"■) show myself a glass. Flo. I bless the time. When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. Per. Now Jove afford you cause! To me, the difference' forges dread ; your greatnes-s Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident. Should pass this way, as you did. O the fates! How would he look, to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up! What would he say.^ Or how Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence ? Flo. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter Became a bull, and bellowed; the green Neptune A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god, Golden Apollo, a poor, humble swain. As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer ; Nor in a way so chaste ; since my desires Run not before mine honor; nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. Per. O, but, dear® sir, Vour resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Opposed, as it must be", by the power o'the king; One of these two must be necessities. Which then will speak; that you must change this purpose. Or I my life. Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forced ^ thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not The mirth o' the feast. Or Pll be thine, my fair, 1 Meaning the difference between his rank and hers. 2 Dear is wanting in the oldest copy. 3 i. e. far-fetched, not arising from present objects 64 winters tale [act 1? Or not iny father's ; for I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any. if I be not thine : to this I am most constant. Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentte; Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming* Lift up your countenance, as it were the dav Of celebration of that nuptial, which We two have sworn shall come. Per. O lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and C \millo, dis' guised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others. Flo. See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fie, daughter! When my old wife lived, upon This day, she was both pantler, butler,- cook ; Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all Would sing her song, and dance her turn; now here. At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle ; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labor; and the thing she took to quench it. She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting. Pray you, bid These unknown friends to us welcome; for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench j'our blushes ; and present yourself That which you are, mistress o' the feast. Come on. And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing. As your good flock shall prosper. Per. Welcome, sir ! [To Pol. It is my father's will I should take on me The hostesship o'the day.—You're welcome, sir! [To Camill), Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.—Reverend sirs, For j'ou there's rosemary, and rue ; these keep sc. III.] WINTER'S TALE. 65 Seeming, and savor,' all the winter long. Grace, and remembrance, be to jou both, And welcome to our shearing ! Pol. Shepherdess, (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages With flowers of winter. Per. Sir, the year growing ancient,— Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter,—the fairest flowers o' the season Are our carnations, and streaked gilliflowers. Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and 1 care not To get slips of them. Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden. Do you neglect them ? Per. For I have heard it said. There is an art,^ which, in their piedness, shares With great creating nature. Pol. Say, there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean. But nature makes that mean; so, o'er that art. Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature,—change it rather : but The art itself is nature. Per. So it is. Pol. Then make your garden rich in gilliflowers. And do not call them bastards. Per. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ; No more than, were I painted, I would wish This youth should say, 'twere well; and only therefore 1 i. e. appearance and smell. Rut, being used in exorcisms, was called herh of ^race, and rosemanf was supposed to strengthen the mejiwry ; it is prescribed for that purpose in the ancient herbals. Ophelia distributes the same plants with the same attributes. 2 ']''he allusion is to the common practice of producing, by art, particulai varieties of colors on flowers, especially on carnations. VOL. III. 9 winter's tale. [Al'T iv. De.sire to breed by me.—Here's flowers for you , Hot lavender, mints, savory marjoram; Tl.e marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping;' these are flowers Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given To men ol middle age. You are very welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. Per. Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January ^Vould blow you through and through.—^Now, my fair¬ est friend, f would I had some flowers o' the spring, that might Become your time of day; and yours ; and yours ; That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing.—O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, fi-ighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's wagon ! daffodils. That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim. But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. That die unmarried,® ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds. The flower-de-luce being one! O, these J lack. To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend. To strew him o'er and o'er. Flo. What, like a corse Per. No, like a bank, for loie to lie and play on , Not like a corse: or if,—not to be buried. But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers 1 "Some call it sponsus solis, the spowse of the sunne, because it sleeps and is awakened with him."—Lupton's JVotable Thines, book vi 2 Perhaps the true explanation of this passag-e may be deduced from > tlie subjoined verses in tlie original edition of Milton's Lycidas, which he subsequently omitted, and altered the epitliet unwedded to forsaken in tnc iveceding line. " Bring the rathe primrose that unwedded dies, Cnlorine^ the pale cheek of unepjoyed love." sc. 111.1 winter's tale. 67 Methinks, I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun' pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. Flo. • What you do, Still betters Avhat is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever: when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms ; Pray so ; and for the ordering your affairs. To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own No other function. Each your doing. So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. Per. O Doricles, Your praises are too large : but that your youth, ^ And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it. Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd. With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You wooed me the false way. Flo. I think you have As little skill to fear,' as I have purpose To put you to't.—But come, our dance, I pray: Your hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair, That never mean to part. Per. I'll swear for 'em.® Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Ran on the green sward; nothing she does, or seemsi But smacks of something greater than herself; Too noble for this place. Cam. He tells her something. That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Clo. Come on, strike up Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with. A i. e yoii as little knoio how to fear that T am false, as, &c. 2 Th»s is a common phrase of acquieocence, like " I'll warrant you." 68 WINTER'S TALE. [act iv. Mop. Now in good time ! Clo. Not a word, a word; we s'and upon our manners.'— Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this, which dances "with your daugliter ? Shep. They call him Doricies, and he l)oasts himself l^o have a worthy feeding ; but I have it Upon his own report, and 1 believe it; He looks like sooth.® He says he loves my daughter, I think so too; for never gazed the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read. As 'twere, my daughter's eyes ; and, to be plain, 1 think there is not half a kiss to choose. Who loves another best. Pol. She dances featly.® Shep. So she does any thing ; though I report it, That should be silent. If young Doricies Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Serv. O, master, if you did but hear the pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tal»or and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. Clo. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing in¬ deed, and sung lamentably. Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves ; * he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without 1 L e. vre are now on our good behavior. 2 Truth. 3 That is, dexterously nimbly. < The trade of a milliner was formerly carried on hymen exclusively Come, strike up. [Music Enter a Servant. sc. III.] WINTER S TALE. G9 bawdry, which is strange ; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings;' jump her and thump her; and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer. If hoop, do me no harm, good man ; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, good man.^ Pol. This is a brave fellow. Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable con¬ ceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares Serv. He hath ribands of all the colors i' the rain¬ bow ; points,^ more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross ; inkles,® caddisses,® cambrics, lawns. Why, he sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses ; you would think a smock were a she-angel; he so chants to the sleeve-hand,' and the work about the square on't.® Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him approach singing. Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes. Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister. Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter Autolycus, singing. Lawn, as white as driven snow; Cyprus, black as e'er was croiv ; Gloves, as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces', and for noses; 1 " With a nie dilJo dill, and a diido dee," is the burden of an old bs.- lad or two. Fading is also another burden to a ballad found in Shirley i Bird in a Cace; and perhaps to others. 2 This was also the burden of an (Id ballad. 2 i. e. undamaged wares, true and wood. < Points, upon which lies tlie quibble, were laces with tags ' A kind of tape. 8 A kind of ferret or worsted lace. 7 Sleeve-hani, the cuffs, or wristband. 8 The work about the bosom of it 70 WINTER S TALE. [ACT IV Bugle-bracelet, necklace-amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs, and stomachers. For my lads to give their dears; Pins, and poking-sticks of steel,' What maids lack from head to heel. Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy * Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry; Come buy, &c. « Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouhlst take no money of me ; but being enthralled as I am, It will also be the bondage of certain ribands and gloves. Blop. I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now. Dor. He hath promised you more than -that, or there be liars. Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has paid you more ; which will shame you to give him again. Clo. Is there no manners left among maids ? Will they wear their plackets® where they should bear their faces ? Is there not a milkiiig-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole,^ to whistle off these secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests ? 'Tis well, they are whispering. Clamor your tongues,'' and not a wprd more. Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace,® and a pair of sweet gloves.® • A stick of metal or wood, used by the laundress in plaiting rufllea. i. e. stoTuacher. The kiln-hole generally means the fireplace for drying malt; still a noted gossiping place. 4 An expression taken from bell-ringing; now contracted to dnm. The bells are said to oe dimmed, when, after a course of rounds or changes, they are all pulled ott'at once, and give a general clash or clam, by which the peal is concluded. As this dam is succeeded by a silence, it exactly suits the sense of the passage. 5 A tiii'dnj lure was a sort of necklace worn by country wenches. 6 Sweet, or perfumed gloves, are often mentioned by Shakspeare ; tlicy were very much esteemed, and a fre(;uent present in the Poet's time sc. m.j WINTER'S TALE. 71 Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened the way, and lost all my money ? s, Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. Clo. Fear not thou, man; ,thou shalt lose nothing here. Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many par¬ cels of charge. Clo. What hast here ballads.? Mop. 'Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true. Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden; and how she longed to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed. Mop. Is it true, think you .? Aut. Very true ; and but a month old. Dor. Bless me from marrying an usurer! Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress Taleporter; and five or si.x honest wives, that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad ? Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it. Clo. Come on, lay it by. And let's first see more ballads ; we'll buy the other things anon. Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that appeared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this bal¬ lad against the hard hearts of maids; it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for she would not exchange fiesh with one that loved her. Tlie ballad is very pitiful, and as true. Dor. Is it true, think you ? Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more than my pack will hold. Clo. Lay it by too. Another. Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a vciy j)ret- ty one. Mop. Let's have some merry ones. Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes to the tune of, Tivo maids wooing a vuri,. There's 72 WINTER S TALE. fACT IV scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in re¬ quest, I can tell you. Mop. We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis niy occupation ; have at it with you. SONG. A. Get you hence, for I must go; Where, it fits not you to knoio. D. Whither ? M. O whither f D. Whither ^ M. It becomes thy oath full ivell, Thou to me thy secrets tell. D. Me too, let me go thither. M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill; D. If to either, thou dost ill. A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. D. Thou hast sworn my love to be; M. Thou hast sivorn it more to me. Then, whither go''st ? Say, whither ? Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentleman are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy j)aek after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both.—Pedler, let's have the first choice.—Follow me, girls. A it. And you shall pay well for 'em. \^Asidf' Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a ? Any silk, any thread. Any toys for your head. Of the new''St, and fin'sl, finest tvear-a ? Come to the pedler; Monefs a medler. That doth utter' all men''s ware-a \T,xeunt Clown, Aut., Dorc., and Mopsa 1 A sale or utterance of ware. so 111 ] WINTER S TALE. 73 Enter a Servant. Serv Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made tiiemselves all men of hair ; they call themselves sal- tiers ; ^ and they have a dance, which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are. not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling) it will please plentifully. Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already.—I know, sir, we wea¬ ry you. Pol. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's sec these four threes of herdsmen. Serv. One .three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squire.' Sliep. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. iServ. Why, they stay at door, sir. \Exit. Re-enter Servant, ivith twelve Rustics habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that here¬ after.—^ Is it not too far gone ?—'Tis time to part them.— He's simple, and tells much. [^Aside.']—How now, fair shepherd ? Your heart is full of something, that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when>I was young, And handed love, as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks. I would have ran¬ sacked The pedler's silken treasury, and have poured it 1 Satyrs. ® Foot rule {esquierre Fr.) ' This is an answer to something whicli tlie shepherd is supposed tfl have said to I'olixenes during the dance. VOL. ii«. 10 74 WLNTERS TALE. ACT IV To hor acceptance; you have let him go, And nothing maried^ with him : if your lass Ijiteipretation should abuse, and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited* For a reply; at least, if you make a care Of happy holding her. Flo. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are. The gilts she looks from me are packed and locked Up in my heart; which I have given already, Bui not delivered.—O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime loved. I take thy hand; this hand. As soft as dove's down, and as white as it; Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fanned snow. That's bolted® by the northern blasts twice o'er. Pol. What follows this ? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand, was fair before !—I have put you out.— But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. Flo. Do, and be witness to't. Pol. And this my neighbor too ? Flo. . And he, and more Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all: That,—were I crotvned the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve; had force, and knowl- More than was ever man's,—I would not prize them, Without her love ; for her employ them all; Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, ()r to their own perdition. edge. Pol. Fairly offered. Cam. This shows a/sound affection. Shep. Sav you the like to him ? Per. But, my daughter I cannot speak Bought, trafficTted. 3 Straitened, put to difficulties. 3 i. e. sifled sc. III.J WINTER'S TALE. 75 So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. By the pattern of my own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. Shep. Take hands ; a bargain ;— And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't 1 give my daughter to him, and will make * Her portion equal his. Flo. O, that must be I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But come on ; Contract us 'fore these witnesses.' Shep Come, your hand;— And, daughter, yours. Pol. Soft, swain, a while, 'beseech you Have you a father ? Flo. I have. But what of him ? Pol. Knows he of this ? Flo. He neither does, nor shall Pol. Methinks a father Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ; Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs.? Is he not stupid With age, and altering rheums.? Can he speak ? hcaf:,? Know man from man.? dis])ute his own estate ?' Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing, But what he did being childish ? Flo. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed. Than most have of his age. Pol. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial. Reason, my son, Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason, The father (all whose Joy is nothing else But fair posterity) should hold some counsel 'u such a business. • L e. " converse about his own affairs." 76 WINTER'S TALE. lACT IV Flo. I yield all this, But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, VVhit^h 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. Pol. ^ Let him know't. Flo. He shall not. Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. Flo. No, he must not Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. Flo. Come, come, he must not.— Mark our contract. Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, \Discovering himself Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledged. Thou a sceptre's heir. That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!—Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can but Shorten thy life one week.—And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force, must know The royal fool thou cop'st with;—^ Shep. O, my heart! Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratched with briers, and made More homely than thy state.—For thee, fond boy,— If I-may ever know thou dost but sigh, That thou no more shalt never see this knack, (as never I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession. Not bold thee of our blood, no, not our kin ; Kar ' than Deucalion off.—Mark thou my words Follow us to the court.—Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it.—And you, enchantment,-. Worthy enough a herdsman; yea., him too. That makes himself, but for our honor therein, ' Far, in the old spelling Jarre, i. e./arther. The ancient comparative of Jer, was/errer. sc. 111.) winter's tale. 71 Unworthy thee,—if ever, henceforth, thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop' his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee, As thou art tender to't. \^EnU Per. Even here undone ! 1 was not much afeard: for once, or twice, 1 was about to speak, and tell him plainly, The self-same sun, that shines ujjon his court, Hides net his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.—Will't please you, sir, be gone ? \To Florizel. I told you what would come of this. 'Beseech you. Of your own state take care. This dream of mine,— Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further, But milk my ewes, and weep. Cam. Why, how now, father t Speak ere thou diest. Shep. I cannot speak, nor think. Nor dare to know that which I know.—O, sir, [To Florizel You have undone a man of fourscore three. That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea. To die upon the bed my father died. To lie close by his honest bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay rne Where no priest shovels-in dust.®—O, cunsed wretch, [To Perdita. That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adven¬ ture To mino'le faith with him.—Undone! undone I If 1 might die within this hour, I have lived J o die when I desire. [Exit. Flo. Why look you so upon me ? I am but sorry, not afeard ! delayed. But nothing altered! What 1 was, I am ; 1 The old copy reads hope. 2 Before the reform of the burial service, by Edward VI., it was tbo custom for the priest to throw eartli on the body in tiio form of a cross, and then sprinkle it witli holy water. 78 winter's tale. [act iv. More straining on, for plucking back; not following Mj leasli unwillingly. Cam. Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper. At this time He will allow no speech,—which, I do guess, You do not purpose to him;—and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, fear.' Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. ^ Flo. I not purpose it. I think, Camillo. Cam. Even he, my lord. Per. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known! Flo. It cannot fail, but by The violation of my faith ; and then Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, And mar the seeds within !—Lift up thy looks:— From my succession wipe me, father! I Am heir to my affection. Flo. I am ; and by my fancy :' if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, Do bid it welcome. Flo. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat gleaned; for all the sun sees, or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair beloved. Therefore, I pray you. As you have e'er been my father's honored friend When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,) cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and fortune Cam. Be advised. Cam. This is desperate, sir. '» Fancy here means love, as in other places already pointed out so. Ill j winter's tale. T9 Tug for the time to come. This you may Know, And so deliver.—I am put to sea With hei whom here I cannot hold on shore ; And, most opjiortune to our' need, I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. Cam. O, my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need. Clo. Hark, Perdita.—[Takes her aside I'll hear you by-and-by. [To C ami leg Cam. He's irremovable; Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if His going I could frame to serve my turn ; Save him from danger, do him love and honor; Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much iliirst to see Flo, Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business, that I leave out ceremony. [Going Cam. Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services, i' the love That I have borne j^our father ? Flo. Very nobly Have you deserved. It is my father's music To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompensed as thought on. Cam. Well, my ord. If you may please to think I love the king; And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, Sf your more ponderous and settled project ay suffer alteration,) on mine honor I'll point you where you shall have such receiving 1 " Our need." The old copy reads her. The emendation is Th«> obald's. 60 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT IV As shall become jour highness; where jou may Enjoy your mistress, (from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by, As Heavens forefend! your ruin,) marry her. And (with my best endeavors, in your absence) Tour discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. Flo. How, Camillo, JMay this, almost a miracle, be done ? That I may call thee something more than man. And, after that, trust to thee. Cum: Have you thought on A place, whereto you'll go ? Flo. Not any yet. But as the unthought-on accident' is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows. Cam. Then list to me. This follows,—if you will not change your purpose, , But undergo this flight;—Make for Sicilia, And there present yourself, and your fair princess, (For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leoutes; She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping His welcomes forth ; asks thee, the ^ son, forgiveness. As 'twere i' the father's person ; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow, Faster than thought, or time. Flo. Worthy Camillo What color for my visitation shall I Hold up before him ? 1 This unihought-on accident is the unexpected discovery made by Polrxones. 2 Guilty to, though it sound harsh to our ears, was the phraseology of Shakspeare. ^ The old copy reads, "thee there son." The correction was made in die third folio. fC. 111.] WINTER S TALE 8l Cam. Sent by the king your father To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you, as from your father, shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down, The which shall point you forth, at every sitting,' What you must say ; that he shall not perceive. But that you have your father's bosom there, And speak his very heart. Flo. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. Cam. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpathed waters, undreamed shores ; most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you; But as you shake olf one, to take another: Nothing so certain ?.«! your anchors; who Do their best office, if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be: Besides, you know, Prosperity's the very liond of love; Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. Per. One of these is true. I think affliction may subdue the cheek. But not take in® the mind. Cam. ' Yea, say you so.? There shall not, at your father's house, these seven years. Be born another such. Flo. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding, as She is i' the rear of birth. Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity She lacks instructions • for she seems a mistress To most that teach. Per. Your pardon, sir, for tins; I'll blush you thanks. 1 The council-days were called srUin^n, in Shakspcare's time. 9 To take in, is to conquer, to get the better of. VOL. III. 11 82 WINTER'S TALE. FACT IV. Flo. My prettiest Perdita But, 0 the thorns we stand upon!—Cainillo,— Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house !—how shall tve do t We are not furnished like Bohemia's son; . Nor shall appear in Sicilia Cam. My lord, Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there : it shall be so my care To have you royally appointed, as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want,—one word [They talk asiilt Enter Autolycus. Aut. Ha, ha! what a fool honesty is! And trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander,' brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting; they throng who should buy first; as if my trinkets had been hallowed, and brough a benediction to the buyer ; by which means, I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use, I remembered. My clown (who wants but something to be a reasonafile man) grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing, to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have filed keys off, that ^ hung in chains; no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with a ^^^loobub against his daughter and the king's son, I Pomanders were little balls of perfumed paste, worn in the pocket, or hung about the neck, and even sometimes suspended to the wrist Tlie name is derived from pomme d'ambre. so. III.] WINTER'S TALE. 83 and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. [Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita come forward. Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. Flo. And those that you'll procure from king Leontes Cam. Shall satisfy your father. Per. Happy be you! All that you speak, shows fair. Cam. Who have we here ? \^Seeing Autolycus. We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing, may give us aid. Aut. If they have overheard me now, why, hanging. \_Aside. Cam. How noAV, good fellow ? Why shakest thou so.^ Fear not, man ; here's no harm intended to thee. Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet, for the outside of thy poverty, we must make an exchange therefore, disease thee instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in't,) and change garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir;—I know ye well enough. [^Aside. Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch. The gentleman is half flayed ^ already. Aut. Are you in earnest, sir ?—I smell the trick of it. [^Aside. Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle.— [Flo. and Autol. exchange garments Fortunate mistress,—let my projihecy 1 Stripped. 64 winter s tale. lact iv Come home to you!—You must retire yourself Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat, And pluck it o'er your brows ; muffle your face, Dismantle you ; and as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming; that you may fFor I do fear eyes over you) to shipboard uot imdescried. Per. I see, the play so lies. That I must bear a part. Cam. No remedy.— Have you done there? Flo. Should I now meet my father He would not call me son. Cam. Nay, you shall have No hat.—Come, lady, come.—Farewell, my friend. Aut. Adieu, sir. Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot ? Pray you, a word. [They converse apart Cam. What I do next, shall be to tell the king [Aside Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is, I shall so prevail. To force him after: in whose company I shall review Sicilia; for whose sight I have a woman's longing. Flo. Fortune speed us !:^— Thus we set on, Camillo, to the seaside. Cam. The swifter speed, the better. [Exeunt Flo., Per., and Cam Aut. I understand the business; I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimible hand, is neces¬ sary for a cutpurse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see, this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an ex¬ change had this been, without boot I what a boot is here, with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extem¬ pore. The prince himself is about a jiiece of iniquity stealing away from his father, with his clog at his heels If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint sc. III.] WINTERS TALE. 85 the king withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am 1 constant to tny profession. Enter Clown and Shepherd. Aside, aside;—here is more matter for a hot brain Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang jig, yields a careful man work. Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now! There is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change¬ ling, and none of your flesh and blood. Shep. Nay, but hear me. Clo. Nay, but hear me Shep. Go to, then. Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king; and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about her; those secret things, all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle ; I warrant you. Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about ti make me the king's brother-in-law. Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest oft you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer, by I know how' much an ounce. Aut. Very wisely; puppies! [^Aside. Shep. -Well; let us to the king; there is that in this fardel, will make him scratch his beard. Aut. I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. Clo. 'Pray heartily, he be at palace. Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance.—Let me pocket up my pedler's excrement.® [Takes off his false beard.'] How now, rustics ? Whither are you bound ? 1 We should probably read, " by I know not how much an ounce." S Thus in the Comedy of Errors:—" Why is time such a niggard offcUi hail, being as it is so plentiful an excrement ? " 86 WINTER'S TALE. fACT IV Shep. To the palace, an it like you worship. Atit. Your afiairs there what.^ with whom.^ the condition of that fardel," the place of your dwellings your names, your ages, of what having,® breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. Ant. A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let nie have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamjied coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie.® Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner.^ Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir ? Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court, in these enfold- ings ? Hath not my gait in it, the measure of the court ? ® Receives not thy nose, court-odor from me ? Reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt ? Think- est thou, for that I insinuate, or toze ® from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? I am courtier,' cap-a-pie; and one that will either push on, or pluck back thy business there; whereupon, 1 command thee to open thy affair. Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. Aut. What advocate hast thou to him ? Shep. I know not, an't like you. Clo. Advocate's the court word for a pheasant; say you have none. Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock, nor hen.'' 1 Fardel is a bundlt, a pack or burden ; « a pack that a man doth beai witli him in the way," says Baret. 2 i. e. estate, prDperty. 3 The meaning is, they are paid for lying, therefore they do not gtvt us the lie. * That is, in the fact. Vide Love's Labor's Lost, Act L Sc. 1. 5 The measure, the stately tread of courtiers. 8 To toze is to pluck or draw out; as to toze or teize wool, carpert lanam. See the old dictionaries. 7 Malone says, "Perhaps in the first of these spr^ches we should reai^ a present, wiiich tiie old shephf your daughter nor my sister ; we are gone else 1 Tlie hottest day foretold in the almanac. sc. 1.] winter s tale. 89 Sir, I will gi v^e you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed ; and remain, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. Aut. 1 will trust you. Walk before toward the sea¬ side ; go on the right hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. Clo. We are blessed in this man, as 1 may say, even blessed. Shep. Let's before, as he bids us; he was provided to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune would not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion ; gold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which, who knows how that may turn back to my advancement ? 1 will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him; if he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue, for being so far officious ; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them; there may be matter in it. [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace of Leontes. Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, ana others. Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per¬ formed A saintlike sorrow; no fault coidd you make. Which you have not redeemed; indeed, paid down More penitence, than done trespass. At the last, VOL. III. 12 90 WINTERS TALE. fACT V Do, as the Heavens have done ; forget jour evil: With them, forgive yourself. Leon. Whilst 1 remenihcr Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them; and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much. That h(urless it hath made my kingdom ; and Destroyed the sweet'st companion that e'er man tired his hopes out of. Paul. Tnie, too true, my lord. If, one by one, you wedded all the world. Or, from the all that are, took something good, To make a perfect woman, she, you killed. Would be unparalleled. Leon. I think so. Killed! She I killed! I did so; but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter Upon thy tongue, as in my thought. Now, good now, Say. so but seldom. Cleo. Not at all, good lady. Ton might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and graced Your kindness better. Paul. You are one of those. Would have him wed again. Dion. If you would not so. You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign dame ; consider little. What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue. May drop upon his kingdom, and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holv, y * Than to rejoice, the former queen is well What holier, than,—for royalty's repair. For present comfort and for future good,- To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't ? Paul. There is none worthy Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods 1 I. c. at rost, dead. si;. 1J winter s tale. 9i Will have fulfilled their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenor of his oracle, That king Leontes shall not have an heir. Till his lost child be found ? which, that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason. As my Antigonus to break his grave. And come again to me; who, on my life. Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel. My lord should to the Heavens be contrary. Oppose against their wills.—Care not for issue ; \To Leontes The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander Left his to the worthiest; so "his successor Was like to be the best. Leon. Good Paulina,— Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honor,—O, that ever I Had squared me to thy counsel!—Then, even now, I might have looked upon my queen's full eyes Have taken treasure from her lips, Paul. And left them More rich for what they yielded. Leon. Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore no wife. One worse And better used, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse; and on this stage, (Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vexed. Begin, And why to me ?' Paul. Had she such power. She had just cause. Leon. She had ; and would incense® mt To murder her I married. Paul. I should so. Were I the ghost that walked, I'd bid you mark Her eye; and tell me, for what dull part in't I The old copy reads, " And begin, Why toni£?" The transposition of (snd was ma le by Sti3evens. ® Incense, to instigate or sHmxdate, was the ancient sense of tliis word It is rendered in the Latin dictionaries by dare sHmiUo. 92 WINTER S TALE. [act V. Y^oii chose her: ihen I'd shriek, that e.ven your ears Should rift' to hear me; and the words that followed Should be, Remember mine. Leon. Stars, stars. And all eyes else dead coals!—P'ear thou no wife ; ['11 have no wife, Paulina. Paul. Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave f Leon. Never, Paulina; so be blessed my spirit! Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. Cleo. You tempt him overmuch. Paul. Unless another As like Ilermione as is her picture, Affront^ his eye. Cleo. Good madam,— Paul. I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir, No remedy, but you will,—give me the office To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such. As, walked your first queen's ghost, it should take jcy To see her in your arms. Leon My true Paulina, We shad not marry, till thou bidd'st us. Paul. That Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access To your high presence. Leon. What with him ? He comes not r i. e. split 2 i. e. meet his eye, or encounter it—affrontnre (Ital.). Shakspeare uses this word with tJie same meaning again in Hamlet, Act iii. Sc. I;— " Tha:: he, as 'twere by accident, may here £ffr nl Ophelia." WINTER'S TALE. 93 Like to his father's greatness. His approach, So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced By need and accident. What train ? Gent. But few. And those but mean. Leon. His princess, say you, with him t Gent. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. Paul. O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better, gone ; so must thy grave' Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself Have said, and writ so,® (but your writing now Is colder than that theme,®) She had not been Nor was not to be equalled;—thus your verse Flowed with her beauty once ; 'tis shrewdly ebbed. To say, you have seen a better. Gent. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot, (your pardon;) The other, when she has obtained your eye. Will have your tongue too. This is a creature. Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else ; make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. Paul. How ? not women ? Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. Ijeon. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honored friends. Bring them to our embracement.—Still 'tis strange \^Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentlemen He thus should steal upon us. Paul. Had our prince (Jewel of children) seen this hour, he had paired 1 i. e. thy beauties wliich are buried in the grave. 2 So relates not to what precedes, but to what follows; that she boo not been eqitalkd. •t i. e. than tlie corse of Hermione, the subject of y aur writing. 94 winter's tale. [ACT V Woll with this lord; there was not full a month Between their births. Leon. Pr')'thee, no more ; thou know'st' He dies to me again, when talked of. Sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason.—They are come. Re enter Cleomenes, loith Florizel, Perdita, ana Attendants. Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; For she did print your royal father off. Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you, His very air, that I should call you brother. As I did him; and speak of something, wildly By us performed before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess, goddess!—O, alas ! I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as You, gracious couple, do! And then 1 lost (All mine own folly) .the society. Amity too, of your brave father; whom. Though bearing misery, I desire my life On(;e more to look on him.® Flo. By his command Have I here touched Sicilia ; and from him Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend,® Can send his brother: and, but infirmity (Which waits upon worn times) hath something seizea His wished ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measured, to look upon you; whom he loves 1 The old copy reads, «Pr'ythee, no more: cease; thou know'st," &c. Stejvens made the omission of the redundant word, which he considers a mere marginal gloss or explanation of no more. 2 Steevens altered this to look upon, but there are many instances of similar construction, in Shakspeare, incorrect as thev may now appear L e. at amity, as we now say sc. 1] wintkk's tale 95 (Fie bade me say so) more than all the sceptres, And those that bear them, living. Lepn. O, my brother,- (Good gentleman!) the wrongs I have done thee, stii Afresh within me; and these thy offices. So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness!—Welcome hither. As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage (At least, ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, TO greet a man hot worth her pains; much less The adventure of her person ? Flo. Good my lord. She came from Libya. Leon, Where the warlike Smalus, That noble, honored lord, is feared and loved? . Flo. Most royal sir, from thence ; from him, whose daughter FFis tears proclaimed his, parting with her; thence (A prosperous south wind friendly) we have crossed, To execute the charge my father gave me. For visiting your highness. My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismissed ; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir. But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety, Flere, where we are. Leon. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air, whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful' gentleman ; against whose person. So sacred as it is, I have done sin ; For which the Heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blessed (As he from Heaven merits it) with you. Worthy his goodnesf. What might I have been. Might I a son and daughter now have looked on. Such goodly things as you ? 1 t. e. full of grace and virtue 96 WINTER S TALE. [ACT V. Enter a Lord. Lord. Most noble sir, That which I shall report, will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please jou, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself, by me ; Desires you to attach his son ; who has , (His dignity and duty both cast off) Fled from his father, from his hopes, and wdth A shepherd's daughter. Leon. Where's Bohemia ? speak. Lord. Here in the city; I now came from him. I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel, and my message. To your court Whiles he was hastening, (in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady, and. Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. Flo. Camillo has betrayed me ; Whose honor, and whose honesty, till now Endured all weathers. Lord. Lay't so to his charge ; He's with the king your father. Z/Con. Who ? Camillo ? Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question.' Never saw 1 Wretches so quake; they kneel, they kiss the earth, Forswear themselves as often as they s])eak; Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. Per. O, my poor father!—■ The Heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. Leon. You are married ? Flo. We are not, sir,-nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.— The odds for high and low's alike. * 1. e. conversation. BC I.] WINTER S TALE. 97 Leon My lord, Is this the daughter of a king ? Flo. She is, When once she is niy wife. Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's sj)e(!d, Will come on very slowly. 1 am sorry. Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry. Your choice is not so rich in worth' as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. Flo. Dear, look up. Though fortune, visible an enemy. Should chase us with my father, power no jot Hath she to change our loves.—'Beseech you, sir. Remember since you owed no more to time Than I do now. With thought of such affections. Step forth mine advocate ; at your request. My father will grant precious things as trifles. Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress. Which he counts but a trifle. Paul. Sir, my liege. Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. Leon. I thought of her, Even in these looks I made.—But your jietition [To Fi.oarzEL Is yet unanswered; I will to your father; Your honor not o'erthrown by your desires, J am a friend to them, and you; upon which errand 1 now go toward him ; tlierefore, follow me. And mark what way I make. Come, goo'' mv lord ' Worth, for descent or wealth. VOL III. 13 98 WINTER'S TALE. [ACT V SCENE II. The same. Before the Palace. Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this r3lation ? 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought, I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. ,1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business —But the changes I perceived in the king> and Ca- millo, were very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of tlieir eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they looked as they had heard of a tvorld ransomed, or one destroyed- A notable passion of wonder appeared in them ; but tiie wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the im})ortance' w^ere joy, or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Enter another Gentleman. Here comes a gentleman, that, happily. Knows more The nevv^s, Rogero ? 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is ful- lllled; the king's daughter is found; such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour, that ballad- makers cannot be able to express it. Enter a third Gentleman. Here comes the lady Paulina's steward ; he can deli vet you more.— How goes it now, sir This news, which 1 L e. import, the thing imported. sc. 11.] VVINTKR'S TALK <19 UMW is called true, is so like an old tale, lUtat^tlvo- vi i ity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king found his heir ^ 3 Gent. Most true; if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear, you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of queen Hermione ; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus, found with it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the mother; the affection^ of noble¬ ness, which nature shows above her breeding,—and many other evidences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings ? 2 Gent. No. 3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one Joy crown another so, and in such manner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of them ; for their Joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with countenance of such distraction, that they were to be known by garment, not by favor." ^ Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for Joy of his found daughter; as if that Joy were now become a loss, cries, 0 thy mother, thy mother ! then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law ; then again worries he his daughter, with clipping^ her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by, like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns.'* I never heard of such another en¬ counter, which lames report to follow^ it, and undoes tl(!Scription to do it 2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child ? 3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an 1 In Shakspeare's time, to affect a thing meant, to have a tendency cs disposition to it The affections were the dispositions—aj)petitus animi. Favor here stands for mien, feature. •' i. e. embracing. * Conduits or fountains were frequently representations of the iiuman figure 100 WINTERS TALE. i^ACT V ear open. He was torn to pieces with a bear; this avouches the shepherd's son; w^ho has not only his innocence (which seems much) to justify him, but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina knoAvs. 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his followers.^ 3 Gent. AVrecked the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd ; so that all the instruments, which aided to expose the child, we:a even then lost, when it was found. But, O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt Joy and sorrow, was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband; another elevated that the oracle was ful¬ filled. She lifted the princess from the earth; and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. 1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the au¬ dience of kings and princes ; for by such was it acted. 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine eyes, (caught the water, though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) how attentive- ness wounded his daughter ; till, from one sign of dolor to another, she did, with an alas! I would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there, changed color; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have seen it, the woe had been universal. 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court 3 Gent. No; the princess, hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,—a piece nnny years in doing, and now newly performed by lliat rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had he himself eternity,' and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape; he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to her, and stand in 1 However misplaced the praise, it is no small honor to Julio Romano to be thus mentioned by the Poet By eternity Shakspeare only means irr.mortality. sc. II.] WINTER'S TALE. 101 liope of answer. Thither, with all greediness of affec¬ tion, are they gone; and there they intend to sup. 2 Gent. I thought she had some great matter there in hand ; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed ^ house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing ? 1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the benefit of access ? Every wink of an eye, some new grace will be born; our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. [Exeunt Gentlemen. Ant. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told him, I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not what; but he at that time, over-fond of the shepherd's daugh¬ ter, (so he then took her to be,) who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relished among my other discredits. Enter Shepherd and Clown. Here come those I have done good to against my will and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children; but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman^ born. See you these clothes? Say, you see thern not, and think me still no gentleman born; you were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie; do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. Aut. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born. Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these foui hours. 1 L e remote. 102 WINTERS TALE. [ACT V. Shep. And SO have I, boy. Clo. So you have;—but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the king's son took me by tiie handj and called me, brother; and then the two kings called my father, brother; and then the prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and there was the first gen tlemanlike tears that ever we shed. Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my master. Shep. 'Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. Clo.' Thou wilt amend* thy life ? Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. ' Clo. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the prince, thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman.? Let boors and franklins' sav it, I'll swear it. •/ ' Shep. How if it be false, son.? Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend.—And I'll swear to the prince, thou art a tall ^ fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no Jail fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk, but I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow. If 1 do not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, ' not being a tall fellow, trust me not.—Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see 1 i. e. yeomen. S i. e. a bold, courageous fellow. sc. Ill] WINTER'S TALE. 103 the queen's picture. Come, Ibllow us; we'll be tliv good masters.' [^Exeunt SCENE III. The same. A Room tn Paulina's Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords and Attendants. Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! I did not well, I meant well. All my services. You have paid home: hut that you have vouchsafed. With your crowned brother, and these your contracted Heirs of youi kingdoms, my poor house to visit. It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. Leon. O, Paulina, We honor you with trouble. But we came To see the statue of our queen: your gallery Have we passed through, not without much content In many singularities; hut we saw not That which iny daughter came to look upon. The statue of her mother. Paul. As she lived peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe. Excels whatever yet you looked upon. Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely,® apart. But here it is ; prepare To see the life as lively mocked, as ever Still sleep mocked death. Behold; and say, 'tis well, [Paul, undraws a curtain and discovers a statue 1 like your silence ; it the more shows off Your wonder. But yet speak ;—first, you, my liege, Comes it not something near ? House. Paul. What, sovereign sir, Leon Her natuml posture !— 1 Good masters. It was a common petitionary phrase ;o ask a superior to be tcood lord, or good master t:) «^he supplicant The old copy reads lovely. 104 WINTERS TALE. [ACT V, Cliide me, dear stone; that 1 may say, indeed, Thou art Hermioue; or, rather, thou art she, In thy not chiding; for she was as tender As inlancy and grace.—But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged, as this seems. Pol. O, not by much. Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence; \Vhich lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her As she lived now. Leon. As now she might have done So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even wdth such life of majesty, (warm life, As now it coldly stands,) when first I wooed her' I am ashamed. Does not the stone rebuke me. For being'more stone than it.^—O royal piece. There's magic in thy majesty; which has My evils conjured to remembrance ; and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits. Standing like stone with thee. Per. And give me leave ; And do not say, 'tis superstition, that I kneel, and then implore her blessing.—Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. Paul. O patience , The statue is but newly fixed; the color's Not dry. Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on. Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers, dry ; scarce any Joy Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, But killed itself much sooner. Pol. Dear my brother, Let him, that was the cause of this, have power To take off so much grief from you, as he Will piece up in himself. Paul. Indeed, my lord, If I bad thought the sight of my poor image sc. III.I WINTKK'S tale. 105 Would thus /lave wrought' jou, (for the stone is inine,) I'd not have showed it.® Leon. Do not draw the curtain. Paul. No longei shall jou gaze on't; lest your fancy May think anon it moves. Leon. Let be, let be. 'Would I were dead, but that, njethinks, already— What was he that did make it ?—See, my lord. Would you not deem, it breathed ? and that those veins Did verily bear blood Pol. Masterly done. The very life seems warm upon her lip. Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mocked with art.® Paul. I'll draw the curtain My lord's almost so far transported, that He'll think anon it lives. Leon. ' . O, sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together; No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. Paul. I am sorry, sir, 1 have thus far stirred you but 1 c-ould afflict you further. Leon. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort.—Still, methinks. There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. Paul. Good my lord, forbear. The ruddiness upon ner lip is wet; You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain.^ 1 Worked, igitated. 2 The folio reads, "iTrf not have showed it." In the late edition o! Malone's Shakspeare it stands, "TM not have showed it." But surely this is erroneous. As for as if. With has tlie force of by. VOL, III. 14 106 winter's tale. [act v. Leon. No, not these tw^enty years. Per. So long could I Stand by, a looker on. Paul. Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed ; descend. And take you by the hand ; but then you'll think (Which I protest against) I am assisted By wicked powers. Leon. What you can make her do, I am content to look on ; what to speak, I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak, as move. Paul. It is required. You do awake your faith. Then, all stand still. Or those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. Leon. Proceed ; No foot shall stir. _ - Paul. Music; awake her : strike. [Music 'Tis time; descend ; be stone no more ; approach; Stiike all that look upon with marvel. Come: I'll fill your grave up : stir; nay, come away; Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you.—You perceive she stirs : [hermione comes down.from the pedestal Start not: her actions shall be holy, as. You hear, my spell is lawful. Do not shun her. Until you see her die again ; for then You kill her doub!«!. Nay, present your hand. When she was young, you wooed her; now, in age. Is she become the suitor. Leon. O, she's warm! [Embracing hei If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. Pol. She embraces him. Cam. She hangs about his neck ; [f she pertain to life, let her speak too. KC rir winter s taj.r. Pol. Ay, and inake't manifest where she has li\'ed. Or, how stolen from the dead. ^ Paul. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale ; but it appears she lives, Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.— Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel. And pray your mother's blessing.—Turn, good lady, Our Perdita is found. \^Presentmg Per., icho kneels to Her Her. You gods, look down. And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head!—Tell me, mine own, W^here hast thou been preserved ? where lived ? how found Thy father's court For thou shalt hear, that I— Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope, thou wast in being—have preserved Myself to see the issue. Paul. There's time enough for that Lest they desire, upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together. You precious winners' all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle. Will wing me to some withered bough ; and there My mate, that's never to be found again. Lament till I am lost. Leon. O peace, Paulina; Thou shouldst a -husband take by my consent. As I by thine, a wife. This is a match. And made between's by vows. Thou hast fotind mine ; But how, is to be questioned; for 1 saw her. As I thought, dead; and have in vain said many A prayer upon her grave. Pll not seek far (For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee An honorable husband.—Come, Camillo, I You who by thia discovery liave gained what you desired. WLNTER'S TALE. [ACT V And take her by the hand ; whose ^ worth, and honesty, Is^^ichly noted; and here justified By us, a pair of kings.—I..et's from this place.— What!—Look^ upon, my brother.—Both your pardons, That e'er 1 put between your holy looks My ill suspicion.—This your son-in-law. And son unto the king, (whom ^ Heavens directing,) Is troth-plight to your daughter.—Good Paulina, Lead us from hence; whore we may leisurely Each one demand, and answer to his part Performed in this wide gap of time, since first We were dissevered. Hastily lead away ^Exeunt. 1 ffhose relates to Camillo, though Paulina is tlie immediate antece¬ dent. In the loose construction of ancient phraseology, whose is oflea used in this manner, where his would be more proper. Jl is erroneously printed for is here in the late Variorum Shakspeare. ^ IlOok upon, for look on. Thus in King Henry V. Part III. Act iL Sc. 3: " And look upon, as if the tragedy," &c. * HTunn is here used where him would be now employed. This play, as Dr. Warburton justly observes, is, with all its absurd¬ ities, very entertaining. The character of Autolycus is naturally con¬ ceived, and strongly represented. Johnson. *„* This is not only a frigid note of approbation, but is unjustly at¬ tributed to Warburton, whose opinion is conveyed in more enthusiastic terms. He must in justice be allowed to speak for himself. " This play tliroughout is written in the very spirit of its author. And in telling this homely and simple, though agreeable, country tale, ' Our su cetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warbles his native wood-notes wild. This was necessary to observe in mere justice to the play; as the mean¬ ness of the fable, and the extravagant conduct of it, had misled some of great name (i. e. Dryden and Pope) into a wrong judgment of its merit which, as far as regards sentiment and character, is scarce inferior to anj m the collection." % COMEBY OF ERRORS PRELIMINARY REMARKS. The general idea of this play is taken from the Meneechmi of Plautas, fciit the plot is entirely recast, and rendered much more diverting by the variety and quick succession of the incidents. To the twin brothers of Plautus are added twin servants, and though this increases the improba¬ bility, yet, as Schlegel observes, "when once we have lent ourselves to the tirst, which certainly borders on the incredible, we should not prob¬ ably be disposed to cavil about the second; and if the spectator, is to be entertained with mere perplexities, they cannot be too much varied." The clumsy and inartificial mode of informing the spectator by a prologue, of events, which it was necessary for him to be acquainted with in order to enter into the spirit of the piece, is well avoided, and shows the supe¬ rior skill of the modern dramatist over his ancient prototype. With how much more propriety is it placed in the mouth of .lEgeon, the father of the twin brothers, whose character is sketched with such skill as deeply to interest the reader in his griefs and misfortunes! Development of character, however, was not to be expected in a piece which consists of an uninterrupted series of mistakes and laughter-moving situations. Steevens most resolutely maintained his opinion that this was a play only retouched by the hand of Shakspeare; but he has not given the grounds upon which his opinion was formed. We may suppose the doggerel verses of the drama, and the want of distinct characterization in the dramatis personae, together with the farcelike nature of some of the inci¬ dents, made him draw this conclusion. Malone has given a satisfactory answer to the first objection, by adducing numerous examples of the same kind of long verse from the dramas of several of his contemporaries, and that Shakspeare was swayed by custom in introducing it into his early plays, there can be no doubt; for it should be remembered that this kind of versification is to be found in Love's Labor's Lost, and in The Taming of the Shrew. His better judgment made him subsequently abandon it The particular translation from Plautus which served as a model, has not come down to us. There was a translation of the Menaechmi, by W. W. (Warner), published in 1595, which it is possible Shakspeare may have seen in manuscript; but from the circumstance of the brothers being, in the folio of 1623, occasionally styled Antipholus Erotes or Errotis, and Antipholus Sereptus, perhaps for Surreptus and Erraticus, while in Warner's translation the brothers are named Mena^chmus Socicks and Menaichmus the traveller, it is concluded that he was not.the Poet's au- tnority. It is difficult to pronounce decidedly between the contending opinions of the critics; but the probability is, that the whole of the play is from tlie hand of Shakspeare. Dr. Drake thinks it " is visible throughout the entire play, as well in the broad exuberance of its mirth, as in the cast of its more chastised parts, a combination of which may be found in (109) "0 COMEDY OF ERRORS the character of Pinch, who is sketched in his strongest and most markea style." We may conclude witli Schlegel's dictum, that "this is tlie best of all written or possible Menaechmi; and if tlie piece is inferior in worth to otlier pieces of Shakspeare, it is merely because nothing more could be made of the materials." Malone first placed the date of this piece in 1593, or 1596, but lastly in 1592. Chalmers plainly showed tliat it should be ascribed to the early, date of 1.591. It was neither printed nor entered on tlie Stationc books until it appeared in the folio of 1023. PERSONS REPRESENTED. SoLiNUS, Dvke of Ephesus. iEoEON, a Merchant of Syracuse. . /-Ti 1 (twin-hrothcrs, and sons to ANT.pholuse/Lphesus, ^ Antipholus of Syracuse, | Dromio of Ephesus, ( twin-brothers, and Attendants on Dromio of Syracuse, ( the two Antipholuses. Balthazar, a Merchant. Anohlo, a Goldsmith. A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus q/"Syracuse. Pinch, a Schoolmaster and a Conjurer. AHmilia, Wife to .^geon, an Abbess at Ephesus. Adriana, Wife to Antipholus q/" Ephesus. Luciana, her Sister. Luce, her Se'rvant. A Courtesan. Jailer, Officers, and other Attendants SCENE. Ephesus COMEDY OF ERRORS, ACT I. SCENE I. A Hall in the Duke's Palace. Entei Duke, A^geon, Jailer, Officer, and other At¬ tendants. j^Egeon. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more; I am not partial, to infringe our laws. The enmity and discord, which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,— Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods,— Excludes all pity from our threatening looks. For, since the mortal and intestine jars 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us. It hath in solemn synods been decreed. Both by the Syracusans and ourselves. To admit no traffic to our adverse towns, Nay, more. If any, born at Ephesus, be seen At any Syracusan marts and fairs. Again, If any, Syracusan born, Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose, Unless a thousand marks be levied. To quit the penalty and to ransom him. Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, (111) 112 COMEUY OF ERRORS. PACT 1 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; Therefore by law thou art condemned to die. ^ge. Yet this my comfort; when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause Why thou departedst from thy native home; And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. ^ge. A heavier task could not have been imposed, Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable. Yet, that the world may witness that my end Was wrought by nature,' not by vile offence, I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. In Syracusa was I born; and wed Unto a woman, happy but for me. And by me too, had not our hap been bad. With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased By prosperous voyages I often made To Epidamnum, till my factor's death ; And the ® great care of goods at random left. Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse, From whom my absence was not six months old. Before herself (almost at fainting, under The pleasing punishment that women bear) Had made provision for her following me, And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. There she had not been long, but she became A joyful mother of two goodly sons; And, which was strange, the one so like the other. As could not be distinguished but by names. That very hour, and in the self-same inn, A poor,® mean woman was delivered Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. Those—for their parents were exceeding poor— I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 1 i. e. natural afF(3Ction. 2 The old copy reads he; the emendation is Malone's. The manner in which Steevens pointed this passage, gave to it a confused if not an absurd meaning 3 The word poor was supplied by the editor of the second folio. sc. 1 J COMEDY OK ERRORS. I 13 My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, Made daily nmtions for our home return; Unwilling I agreed; alas; too soon! We came aboard. A It-agjie from Epidamnum had we sailed, Before the always wind-obeying deep (jiave any tragic instance ' of our harm ; But longer did we not retain much hope; Eor what obscured light the heavens did grant Did but convey unto our fearful minds A doubtful warrant of immediate death; Which, though myself would gladly have embraced, Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, Weeping before, for what she saw must come, And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, That mourned for fashion, ignorant what to fear. Forced me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was,—for other means was none.— The sailors sought for safety by our boat. And left the ship, then sinking ripe, to us. My wife, more careful for the latter-born. Had fastened him unto a small, spare mast. Such as seafaring men provide for storms; To him one of the other twins was bound. Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. The children thus disposed, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixed. Fastened ourselves at either end the mast; And floating straight, obedient to the stream, Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, Dispersed those vapors that offended us; And, by the benefit of his wished light. The seas waxed calm, and we discovered Two ships from far, making amain to us. Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this. 1 Instance appears to be used here for sjimptom or prognostu 8has gpeare uses this word with very great latitude. VOL. til. 15 114 COMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT L But ere they came,—O, let rne say no more! Gather the sequel by that went before. Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break so For we may pity, though not pardon thee. O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily termed them merciless to us! For ere the ships could naeet by twice five leagues, We were encountered by a mighty rock; Which being violently borne upon,^ Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst, So that, in this unjust divorce of us. Fortune had left to both of us alike What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe. Was carried with more speed before the wind; And in our sight they three were taken up By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. At length, another ship had seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save. Gave healthful® welcome to their shipwrecked guests And would have rt>ft the fishers of their prey. Had not their bark been very slow of sail. And therefore homeward did they bend their course.— Thus you have heard me severed from my "bliss; That by misfortunes was my life prolonged. To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favor to dilate at full What hath befallen'of them, and thee, till now. jDge. My youngest boy,® and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother; and importuned me, 1" The first folio reads " borne upP 2 The second folio altered this to " helpful welcome;" but change waii » unnecessary. 3 It appesirs, from what goes before, that it was the eldest, and not the youngest. He says, "My wife, more careful of the latter-bom," &c sc. I ] COMEDY OF ERRORS. 1]5 That his attendant (for ^ his case was like, Reft of his brother, but ® retained his name) ^light bear him company in the quest of him; Whom whilst 1 labored of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom 1 loved. Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought. Or that, or any place that harbors men. But here must end the story of my life; And happy were I in my timely death. Could all my travels warrant me they live. Duke. Hapless jEgeon, whom the fates have marked To bear the extremity of dire mishap! Now, trust me, were it not against our laws. Against my crown, my oath, my dignity. Which princes, would they, may not disannul. My soul should sue as advocate for thee. But, though thou art adjudged to the death. And passed sentence may not be recalled. But to our honor's great disparagement. Yet will I favor thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day. To seek thy help by beneficial help. Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum. And live; if not,® then thou art doomed to die.— Jailer, take him to thy custody. Jail. I will, my lord. JEge. Hopeless and helpless doth iEgeon wend. But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [^Exeunt. 1 The first folio reads so, the second for. 2 The personal pronoun he is suppressed: such phraseology is not un- frequent in tlie writings of that age. 3 jVb which is the reading of the first folio, was, anciently, often used for not. The second folio reads not. lib comedy of errors. I SCENE II. A public Pltice. Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and o Merchant. Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnun* Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day, a Syracusan merchant Is apprehended for arrival here ; And, not being able to buy out his life, According to the statute of the town. Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep. Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinner-time; Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, And then return, and sleep within mine inn; For with long travel 1 am stiff and weary. Get thee away. Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit Dro. S. Ant. S. A trusty villain,^ sir; that very oft. When I am dull with care and melancholy. Lightens my humor with his merry jests. What, will you walk with me about the town. And then go to my inn, and dine with me ? Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants. Of whom I hope to make much benefit; I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock. Please you, I'll meet with you uywn the mart; And afterwards consort ® you till bed-time : My present business calls me from you now. • The word villain was ifhciently used in the sense of slave, or servasU ® L e. " accompany you." sc. 11.] COMEDY OF ERRORS. in Ant. S. Farewell till then. I will go lose mjself, And wand()r up and down, to view the city. Mer. Sir, 1 commend you to your own content. [Exit Merchant. Ant. S. He that commends me to my own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water, That in the ocean seeks another drop; Who, falling there to find his fellow forth. Unseen, inquisitive, confounds' himself. So I, to find a mother, and a brother. In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Here comes the almanac of my true date.^— What now! how chance, thou art returned so soon Dro. E. Returned so soon! rather approached too late. The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell. My mistress made it one upon my cheek. She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; The meat is cold, because you come not home. You come not home, because you have no stomach. You have no stomach, having broken your fast But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray. Are penitent for your default to-day. Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray Where have you left the money that I gave you ? Dro. E. O,—sixpence, that I had o' Weduesilay last, To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper;— The saddler had it, sir; 1 kept it not. Ant. S. 1 am not in a sportive humor now. Tell me, and dally not, where is the money.? 1 Confounded, here, does not signify destroyed, as Malone asserts; but ovei whelmed, mixe l confusedly together, lost. 2 They were both born in the same hour, and therefore the date of Dromir's birth ascertains tiiat of his master. iis COMEDY OF ERilORS. lACX 1 We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody ? Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner. I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed; For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock. And strike you home without a messenger. Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season; Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee ? Dro. E. To me, sir? \^'hy you gave no gold to me Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your Ibol- ishness. And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge. Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner. My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, In what safe place you have bestowed my money; Or I shall break that merry sconce ® of yours, That stands on tricks when I am undisposed. Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ? Dro. E. I have some marks of yours iijion my pate Some of my njistress' marks upon my shoulders. But not a thousand marks between you both.— If I should pay your worship those again, Perchance you will not bear them patiently. Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou ? Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner. And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. 1 The old copy reads cook. The emendation is Pooe's. ' So in Hamlet, Act v. Sc. 1:—" Why does he suffer tliis rude knave to knock him about tlie sconce f'" Sconce also signitied a fortificahon. CQCDmonly round, as well as tiie human l>ead. bc. i-l comedy of errors. 119 Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto mj lace, Being Ibrbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. [Strikes him. Dro. E. What mean you, sir.'' For God's sake, hold your hands; Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit Dromio F. Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other The villain is o'er-raught' of all my money. They say, this town is, full of cozenage As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye ; Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, Soul-killing witches, that deform the body; Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks. And many such like liberties of sin.^ If it prove, so, I will be gone the sooner. I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave; I greatly fear my money is not safe. ACT II. SCENE I. A public Place. Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave returned, That in such haste I sent to seek his master ! Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him. And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dimier- Good sister, let us dine, and never fret. A man is master of his lil)erty; 1 L e. overreached. 2 This was the character which the ancients gave of I'^.phesiuL 5 That is icenlious actions, sinful liljcrties. comedy of errolls. i act 11 Time is their master; and when they see time, Tiiey'll go, or come. If so, be patient, sister. Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be mere ? Imc. Because their business still lies out o'door , Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill hue O, know, he is the bridle of your will. Adr. There's none but asses, will be bridled so. Jjiic. Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.' There's nothing, situate under Heaven's eye, But hath his bound, in earth, in .sea, in sky. The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, Are their males' subjects, and at their controls. Men, more divine, the masters of all these. Lords of the wide world, and wild watery seas. Endued with intellectual sense and souls. Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, . Are masters to their females, and their lords. Then let your will attend on their accords. Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. hue. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed. Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. Imc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. Adr. How if your husband start some other where r ^ Tmc. Till he come home again, 1 would forbear. Adr. Patience, unmoved, no marvel though she pause;® They can be meek, that have no other cause.^ A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, ^Ve bid be quiet, when we hear it cry: But were we burdened with like weight of pain. As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: ">!) thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me. But, if thou live to see like right bereft. Phis fool-begged patience in thee will be left. Luc. Well, 1 will marry one day, but to try.— Here comes your man ; no\v is your husband nigh ' Steevens oroposes to leashed, L e. coupled. ® vau^e a to rest, to be quiet. 3 i, no cause to be otherwise. sc. I] comedy of errors. Enter Dromio of Ephosus. Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? Dro. E, Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ? Know'st thou his mind f Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. Hcshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Due. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feci his meaning ? Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them. Adr. But say, 1 pr'ythee, ia he coming home ? (t seems he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn- mad. Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ? Dro. E. 1 mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he's stark mad. When I desired him to come home to dinner. He asked me for a thousand marks in gold. Tis dinner-time., quoth I; My gold, quoth he: Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth he : Will you come home?^ quoth I; My gold, quoth he: HHiere is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain? The pig, quoth 1, is burned ; My gold, quoth he ; My mistress, sir, quoth 1; Hang up thy mistress ; f know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress I. Luc. Quoth who ? Dro. E. Quoth my master. I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress,— So that my errand, due unto my tongue, I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. ' Home is not in tlie old copy: it was supplied, to complete the verse, by Capell. V<»l.. Ill Iti 122 COMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT 1, Dr). E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ' For God's sake, send some other messenger. Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thj pate across. Dro E. And he will bless that cross with othei beating. Between you 1 shall have a holy head. Adr. Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy niastei home. Dro. E. Am I so round' with you, as you with me. That like a football you do spurn me thus ? You spurn .me hence, and he will spurn me hither. If 1 last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit. Luc. Fie, how impatience low'reth in your face ! Adr. His company must do his minions grace, Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. Hath homely age the alluring beauty took From my poor cheek ? Then he hath wasted it. Are my di.scourses dull F barren my wit F If voluhle and sharp discourse be marred, Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. Do their gay vestments his affections bait F That's not my fault; he's master of my state. What ruins are in me, that can be found By him not ruined F Then is he the ground Of my defeatures.^ My decayed fair ^ A sunny look of his would soon repair. But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale ^ 1 He plays upon the word roxmd, which signifies spherical, as applicc to himself; and iiiirtstrained, or free in speech or action, as reafard.s his mistress The King, in Hamlet, desires tlie Queen to be round with her son. ~ Defeat and defeature were used for disfigurement or alteration of (jjatures. Cotgrave has "Un visage desfiiict: Growne very leant, pule, tean, or decayed in featxire and color." Fair, strictly speaking, is not used here for fairness, as Steevcns supposed; but for beauty. Shakspeare has often employed it in this sense, without any relation to rrhiteness of skin or cotuplerion. The use of the adjective for the substantive, as in this instiiitce, is not peculiar to him, but is tlie common practice of his contemporaries. 4 Adriaua (liijfeably moans she is thrown aside,forgotten, cast of, b( co.aw tlale to him. sc. il.j comedy of errors. Luc Self-harming jealousy!—fie, heat it hence. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis¬ pense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; ' Or else, what lets' it but he would be here.^ Sister, you know he promised me a chain; 'Would that alone, alone he would detain. So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! 1 see, the jewel, best enamelled. Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still, That others touch, yet often touching will Wear gold; and so no man, that hath a name. But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! [^Exeunt SCENE II, The same. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave Is wandered forth, in care to seek me out. By computation, and mine host's report, I could not speak with Dromio, since at first I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. Enter Dro.mio of Syracuse. How now, sir ? is your merry humor altered ? As you love strokes, so'jest with me again. You know no Centaur ? you received no gold? Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? . My house was at the Phcenix ? Wast thou mad. That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a word ? 1 Hinders. 124 COMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT II Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. Dro. S. I did not see jou since you sent me hence, Home to' the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt; And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased. Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. What means this Jest F I pray you, master, tell me. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth ? Think'st thou 1 jest ? Hold, take thou that, and that [Beating him. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake. Now your jest is earnest; Upon what bargain do you give it me ? Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool, and chat with you. Your sauciness will jest upon my love. And make a common of my serious hours.' When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport, But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. If you will jest with me, know my aspect. And fashion your demeanor to my looks. Or I will beat this method in your sconce. Dro. S. Sconce, calj you it ? So you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head. An you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce® it too; or else 1 shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, 1 pray, sir, why am I beaten ? Ant. S. Dost thou not know ? Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten. Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? Dro. S.. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, (jvery why hath a wherefore. Ant. S. Why, first,—for flouting me ; and then wherefore,— For urging it the second time to me. . 1 i. e. intrude on them when you please. ® To insconce was to hide, to pntect as with a fort. sc. II.] COMEDY OF ERRORS. 125 Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season ? When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme nor reason ?— Well, sir, I thank you. Ant. S. Thank me, sir ? for what ? Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave ine for nothing. Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something But say, sir, is it dinner¬ time ? Dro. S. No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have. Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that."* Dro. S. Basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. Ant. S. Your reason ? Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric,' and purchase me another dry basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time There's a time for all things. Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric. Ant. S. By what rule, sir ? Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain, bald pate of father Time himself. Ant. S. Let's hear it. Dro. S. There's no time for a man to r(!covcr his hair, that grows bald by nature. Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery ? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and re¬ cover the lost hair of another man. Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair, be.ng, as it is, so plentiful an excrement.? Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows ou ' So in The Taming of the Shrew:— " I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away And I expressly am forbid to touch it, For it engenders choter, piantetli anger." 126 COMEDY or ERRORS. [act 11 heasts; and what he hath scanted men' in hair, he hath given them in wit. AnL S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit. Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath tli3 wit to lose his hair. AnL S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost. \ ci ne loselh it in a kind of jollity. Aiit. S. For what reason ? Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too. A7it. S. Nay, not sound, 1 pray you. Dro. S. Sure ones, then. A7U. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.® Dio. S. Certain ones, then. Ant. S. Name them. D/ o. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, there is no time for all things. Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, e'en® no time to recover hair lost by nature. A7it. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover. Dro. S. Tlius I mend it. Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have baid followers. Ant. S. 1 knew 'twould be a bald conclusiop. But soft! who wafts ^ us yonder! Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown ; Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects; I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. 1 The old copy reads them: tlie emendation is Theobald's, 2 To false, as a verb, has been long obsolete; but it was current in Bhalispeare's time. 3 The olil copy, by mistake, has in. * i. e. betkans us sc. II.J COMEDY OE ERRORS. The time was once, when thou unurgcd wouklst vow, That never words were music to thine ear, I'hat never olyect pleasing in thine eye, That never touch well welcome to thv hand. That never mt^at sweet-savored in thy taste, Unless I spake, looked, touched, or carved to thee How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, 'J hat thoii art then estranged from thyself? Thyself 1 call it, being strange to me, 'J'hat, undividahle, incorporate. Am better than thy dear self's better part. Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ; For know, my love, as easy rnayst thou fall * A drop of water in the breaking gulf. And take unmingled thenee that drop again, Without addition, or diminishing. As take from me thyself, and not me too. How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Shouldst thou but hear 1 were licentious! And that this body, consecrate to thee. By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, And hurl the name of husband in my face. And tear the stained skin off my harlot brow. And from my false hand cut the wedding ring. And break it with a deep, divorcing vow ? 1 know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it. lam possessed with an adulterate blot; My blood is mingled with the crinae of lust; For, if we two be one, and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; I live disstained, ^ thou undishonored Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know you not. In Ephesus 1 am but two hours old. As strange unto ydur town, as to your talk; ' l''aU 19 here a verb active. 3 1. o. unalaxnea. 128 COxMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT II Who, evexy word by all my wit being scanned, Want wit in all one word to understand. Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you! When were you wont to use my sister thus ? She sent lor you by Dromio home to dinner. Ant. S. By Dromio ? Dro. S. By me ? Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from him, That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows, Denied my house for his, me for his wife. Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewo¬ man ? What is the course and drift of your compact ? Dro. S. I, sir.? I never saw her till this time. Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names, Unless it be by inspiration ? Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity, To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ? Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,' But vvrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine. Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine; Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate If aught possess thee from me, it is dross. Usurping ivy, brier, or idle^ moss; Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves.me for her theme. What, was 1 married to her in my dream ? Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this ? What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? lie. separated, parted. ' L e. unfruitfuL 80. n.j COMEDY OF ERRORC. 129 Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered ' fallacy. Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for din-ner. Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner This is the fairy land ;—O, spite of spites!— We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; If we obey them not, this will ensue. They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. Luc. Why prat'st tliou to thyself, and answeresi not ? Dromio, thou drone,® thon snail, thou slug, thou sot! Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not 1 ? Ant. S. I think thou art, in mind, and so am I. Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my shape. Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. Dro. S. No, 1 am an ape Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass. Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I long for grass. 'Tis so, 1 am an ass; else it could never be. But I should know her as well as she knows me. Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool. To put the finger in the eye and weep. Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to scorn.— Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate.— Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day, And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. Sirrah, if any ask you for your master. Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter.— Come, sister.—Dromio, play the porter well. Ant S. Am I 'in eai^h, in heaven, or in hell ? Sleeping or waking ? mad, or well advised ? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! I'll say as they say, and persever so. And in this mist at all adventures go. 1 The old copy reads freed, which is evidently wrong; perhaps a corrup. tion of proffered or offered. 2 The old copy reads " Dromio, thou Dromio," The emendation v Theobald's. VOL. III. n 130 COMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT III 'Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest 1 break your pale. Iacc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dme too late. (" Exeunt ACT III. SCENE I. The same. Enter ANXiPHOLUS of Ephesiis, Dromio of Ephcsus, Angelo, arid Balthazar. Ant. E. Good seignior Angelo, you must e.vcuse us all; My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours. Say, that I lingered with you at your shop, To see the making of her carcanet, And that to-morrow you will bring it home. But here's a villain, that would face me down, He met me on the mart; and that I beat him, And charged him with a thousand marks in gold ; And that I did deny my wife and house.— Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know; That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show. • If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink. Your, own hand writing would tell you what I think. Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. I should kick, being kicked; and, being at that pass, You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass sc. I.] COMEDY OF ERHOKS. 131 Ant. E. You are sad, seignior liallliaziir 'PrayfJ^l, our cheer May answer uiy good will, and your good welcome here. Bui. i hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your vv el- come dear. Ant. E. O seignior Balthazar, either at flesh or tisu, A table lull of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; tliat every ciiuil aflbrds. Ant. E. And welcome more common; lor thai s nothing but words. Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a mer¬ ry feast. Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest. But though my cates be mean, take them in good j)art; Better cheer you may have, but not with lietter heart. But, soft; my door is locked. Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'! Dro. S. IfFithin.l Mome,' malt-horse, capon, cox¬ comb, idiot, patch ! Either get tiiee from the door, or sit down at the hatch. Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store. When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from the door. Dro. E. Wiiat patch is made our porter ? my mas¬ ter stays in the street. Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant E. Who talks within there ? ho, open the door. Dro. S. Bight, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me tvherefore. '■ A monie was a/oo/ or foolish jester. Momar is used by Flautus for a tool; ivlieiice the French inomneur. • 2 Palck was a term of contempt often applied to oersTns of low con¬ dition, and sonietiines ajiplied to a fool. 132 COMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT Hi Ant. E. Wherefore ? for my dinner; I have not dined lo-day. Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come agaiii; wheii you may. Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from tlje house I owe ? ' Dw. S. Tlui porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name; The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place. Thou wonldoL have changed thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. Luce. [Within.1 What a coil® is thereDromio, who are those at the gate ? Dro. E. Let my master in. Luce. Luce. 'Faith, no; he comes too late. And so tell your master. Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh.— Have at you with a proverb.—Shall I set in my staff,' Luce. Have at you with another; that's,—When ' can you tell ? Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast answered him well. Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion.? You'll let us in, I hope ? ^ I/uce. I thought to have asked you. Dro. S. And you said, no. Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was blow for blow. Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. Luce. Can you tell for whose sake f Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. Luce. Let him knock till it ache. ' I own. 2 Rustle, tumult 3 It seems probable that a line following this has been lost; in which Luce might be threatened with a rope; which would have furnished the rh'yme now wanting. In a subsequent scene Dromio is ordered to go and buy a rope's end, for the purpose of using it on Adriana and he» confederates. sc. I.] COMEDY Ol' ERRORS. 133 Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. Lmcc. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town ? Adr. [IViihin.'] Who is that at the dojr, that keeps all this noise ? Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. Ant. E. Are you th*.re, wife ? you might have come before. Adr. Your wife, sir knave! go, get you from the door. Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore. Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either. Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part' with neither. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold. It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold. ® Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate. Dro. S Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind; Ay, and break it in your face, so he brfiak it not behind Dro. S. It seems thou wantest breaking. On. upon thee, hind! > Have part ® A proverbial phrase, meaning to be so overreached by foul and •ecret practices. 134 COMEDY OF ERRORS [ACT 111 Dro. E. Heie is too much, out upon thee! I praj thee, let me in. Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin. Ant' E. Well, I'll break in. Go borrow me a crow. Dro E. A crow without feather; master, mean you so ? f or- a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather. If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow togelher Ant. E. Go, get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow. Bal. Have patience, sir. O, let it not be so ; Herein you war against your reputation. And draw within the compass of suspect The unviolated honor of your wife. Once' this; your long experience of her wisdom. Her sober virtue, years, and modesty. Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made ® against you. Be ruled by me ; depart in patience. And let us to the Tiger all to dinner; And, about evening, come yourself alone To know the reason of this strange restraint If by strong hand you offer to break in. Now in the stirring passage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made of it; And that-supposed by the common rout Against your yet ungalled estimation, That may with foul intrusion enter in. And dwell upon your grave when you are dead. For slander lives upon succession ; Forever housed, wliere it gets possession. Ant. E. You have prevailed; 1 will depart in quiet And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merr3\ I know a wench of excellent discourse,— Pretty aiid witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle — » Ontt uns, here means 07 :f fni- all; at once. 2 i. c. matle fast. Tlie expression is still in use in some counties. sc. II,J COjMEDY OF EHROKS 135 There will we dine: this woman that I mean, INIy wife (hut, 1 protest, without desert,) Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; To her will we to dinner.—Get you home. And fetch the chain ; by this,' I know, 'tis made. Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ; For there's the house; that chain will I bestow (Be it for nothing but to s])ite my wife) U pon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste . Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, ril knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. Aug. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence. Atit. E. Do so; this jest shall cost me some expense \_Exeunt SCENE II. The same. Enter Luciana, and Ajstipholus ^Syracuse. Luc. And may it. be that you have quite forgot A husband's office ? Shall Antipholus' hate. Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot.^ Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous ? ^ If you did wed my sister for her wealth. Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more kindness; ' Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; Muffle your false love with some show of blindness; Let not my sister read it in your eye ; Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, sjaeak fair, become disloyalty ; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger; I By this time. 3 In the old copy the first four lines stand thus:— « And may it be that you have quite forgot A husband's office ? Shall, Antipholus, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? Shall love in buildings grow so ruinate ? " The present emendation was proposed by Steevens, though he admitted Theobald's into his own text Love-springs are the buds of love, or rattier tlie young shoots. " The spring, or young shoots Uiat glow out of the stems or roots of trees."—Buret. 136 COMEDY OF ERRORS l\CT II] Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted , Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; Be secret-false; what need she be acquainted ? What simple thief brags of his own attaint ? 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed. And let her read it in thy looks at board. Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; 111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor women! make us but' believe. Being compact of credit,® that you love us, Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve, We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; Comfort my sister, cheer her ; call her wife; 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,® When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else. I know not. Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) Less, in your knowledge and your grace, you show not, Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthly, gross conceit. Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labor you. To make it wander in an unknown field ? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transform me, then, and to your power I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know. Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe ; Far more, far more to you do I decline.'' O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note. To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote. Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 1 Old copy, not. 2 i. e. beinw made altogether of credulity. 3 Vain is light of tongue, not veracious. t " To decline; to turne or hang toward some place or thing."—Brnet a'C. II.] COMRDY OF ERRORS. 131 And as a bed ' I'll take thee, and there lie; And, in that glorious sup[)osition, think fie gains by death, that hath such means to tie.— Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so.^ Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight. Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sister so. Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. Luc. That's my sister. Ant. S. No It is thyself, mine own self's better part; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim; My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim ® thee. Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. Give me thy hand. Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still; I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. \^Exit Lur Enter, from the House of Antipholus of Epiiesus Dromio ^Syracuse. Ant. S Why, how now, Dromio ? where run'st thou so fast ? Dro. S. Do you know me. siram I Dromioam 1 your man.^ am I myself.? 1 The first folio reads:— « And as a bud 111 take thee, and there lie." 2 The old copy reads, I am thee. The present reading is Steevenss. Others have proposed I mean thee; but aim, for aim at, was sometimes Msed. «e, for me to compass. Thither 1 must, although against my will, For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. \^ExU SCENE II. The same. Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he teinpt thee so ? Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye That he did plead in earnest, yea or no ? Looked he or red, or pale; or sad, or merrily'' What observation mad'st thou, in thi.« case, Uf his heart's meteors tilting in his laee ? Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right.' Adr. He meant, he did me none ,* the more my spite. Luc Then swore he, that he iVas a stranger here. Adr And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. Luc. Then pleaded I for you. Adr. ' And what said he ? Luc. That love I begged for you, he begged of me Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love ? Imc. With words, that in an honest suit might move First, he did praise my beauty; then my speech. Adr. Did'st speak him fair ? Luc. Have patience, I besciech. Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still; My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his «ill. He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere. Ill-faced, worse-bodied, shapeless every where ; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind ; Stigmatical in making,® worse in mind. Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one T No evil lost is wailed when it is gone. 1 This double negative had the force of a stronger asseveration in the phraseology of that age. - .'larked or xtigmathed by nature with defornuty. vol.. ni. 19 146 comedy of errors. [ACT IV Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say, And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. Far from her nest the lapwing cries away; ^ My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Here, go; the desk, the purse ; sweet now, make haste. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? Dro. S. By running fast Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio.^ Is he well ' Dro. S. No, he's in tartar limbo, worse than hell A devil in an everlasting garment^ hath him; One, whose hard heart is buttoned up with steel, \ fiend, a fairypitiless and rough; A wolf; nay, worse, a fellow all in bufif; A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that counter mands The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; * A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell.® Adr. Why, man, what is the matter.'' Dro. S. I do not know the matter; he is 'rested on the case. Adr. What, is he arrested.^ tell me at whose suit. 1 This expression, which appears to have been proverbial, is a£;ain alluded to in Measure for JMeasure, Act i. Sc. 5. 2 The bitff or leather jerkin of tlie sergeant, is called an everlasting garment, because it was so durable. ^ Theobald would read a funj; but. a fairy, in Shakspeare's time, some- times meant a malevolent sprite; and, coupled as it is with pitiless acd tough, the meaning is clear. * The first folio reads. Inns. 5 "To hunt or run counter, signifies that the hounas or beagles hunt it by the heel," i. e. run backward, mistaking the course of the game. Tc draw dry font was to follow the scent or track of the game. I'liero is ? qmbble upon counter, which points at the prison so called. 0 Hell W IS the c int term for pri.son. There was a place oi tins nnrtie imdrr tlie Cxclieuucr, where tlie king's debtors were ci niiutii. sc. ll.j comedy of ekrors. 147. Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; But is^ in a suit of buff, which 'rested him; thai can 1 tell. Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money ii his desk ? Adr. Go fetch it, sister.—This I wonder at, [Ezit Luciana That he, unknown to me, should be in debt. Tell me, was he arrested on a band.^® . Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; A chain, a chain; do you not hear it ring ? Adr. What, the chain ? Dro. S. No, no, the bell; 'tis time that I were gone." It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. Dro. S. O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, a' turns back for very fear. Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason! Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt^ and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he's a thief too. Have you not heard men say, Tliat time comes stealing on by night and day ? If he ^ be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the way, Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day ? . Enter Luciana. Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money; bear it straight; And bring thy master home immediately.— Come, sister; I am pressed down with conceit;'' Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. \^Excurd • Thus the old authentic copy. The omission of the personal pronouc was formerly very common; we should now write Ae's. 2 i. e. a bond. Shakspeare takes advantage of tlie old spelling to pro duce a quibble, a The old copy reads, " If 7," &c. t Fanciful conception. I4d comedy of errors. [ACT IV SCENE III. 77ie same. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. There's not a man I meet, but doth salute me As if I were their well-acquainted friend; And every one doth call me by my name. Some tender n^oney to me, some invite me; Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; Some offer me commodities to buy. Even now a tailor called me in his shop, And showed me silks that he had bought for me, And, therewithal, took measure of my body. Sure, these are but imaginary wiles. And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparelled ? ^ Ant. S. What gold is this ? What Adam dost thou mean ? Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison; he that goes in the calf's-skin that was killed for the jnodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you iorsake your liberty. Ant. S. I understand thee not. Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case. He that went like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, t\ hen gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of durance ; he that sets up 1 Theobald reads," What, have you got rid of the picture of old Adain ? * Tht emendation is approved and adopted by Malone Johnson tliinks tha the ext does not require interpolation SC III.] COMEDY OF ERRORS. 149 his rest' to do more exploits with his mace than a mor¬ ris-pike.'^ Ant. S. What! thou mean'st an officer Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, God give you good rest. Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth to-night? May we begone? Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and. then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for, to deliver you. Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am J; And here we wander in illusions. Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! Enter a Courtesan. Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. \ I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now; 's that the chain you promised me to-day? Ant. S. Satan, avoid! 1 charge thee, tempt me not Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan ? Ant. S. It is the devil. Dro. S. Nay, she is worse ; she is the devil's dam, and here she comes in the habit of a light wench ; and thereof comes, that the wenches say, God damn me, that's as much as to say, God make me a light ivench. It is written, they appear to men like angels of light. Light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn ; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her. Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. • Wjl. you go with ine ? We'll mend 'our dinner here 1 This is a metaphorical expression for being determined, or resoltitety bent to do a thing, taken from the game of Primero. 2 A morris-pike is a moorish pike, commonly used in the 16tb century. It was not used in the morris dance, as Johnson erroneously supposed 150 comedy of errors [act iv. Dro. S. Master, if jou do, expect spoon-meat, oi bespeak a long spoon. Ant. S. Why, Dromio.? Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon, that must eat with the devil. Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping ? Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress. I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised; And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail, A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, A nut, a cherry-stone; but she, more covetous, Would have a chain. Master, be wise ; an if you give it her. The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain, I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. Anf. S. Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, lei us go. Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock. Mistress, that you know. {^Exeunt Ant. and Dro Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad Else would he never so demean himself. A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats. And for the same he promised me a chain; Both one, and other, he denies me now. The reason that I gather he is mad, (Besides this present instance of his rage,) Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner. Of his own doors being shut against his entrance Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits. On purpose shut the doors against his way. My way is now, to hie home to his house. And tell his wife, that, being lunatic, lie rushed into my house, and took perforce My ring away. This course I fittest choose ; For forty ducats is too much to lose. {Extf 6U. IV 1 comedy of errors. 151 SCENE IV. The same. Enter Antipholus ©/"Ephesus, and an Officer. Ant E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break awaji I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. My wife is in a wayward mood to-day. And will not lightly trust the messenger. That I should be attached in Ephesus. I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.— Enter Dromio q/" Ephesus, with a rope'^ end. Here comes my man; I think he brings the money. How now, sir ? have you that I sent you for ? Dro. E. Here's that, 1 warrant you, will pay them all. Ant. E. But where's the money ? Dro. E. AVhy, sir, I gave the money for the rope. Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope ? Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home.'' Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir; and to that end am I returned. Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. [^Beating him. Off. Good sir, be patient. Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in ad¬ versity. Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his bands. Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows. • Ant. E. Thou art sensible 'n nothing but blows, and so is an ass. Dro. E. I am an ass indeed ; you may prove it by 152 COMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT IV tny long ears.' I have served him from the hour of mv nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for my service, but blows. When 1 am cold, he heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me with beating; I am waked with it, when I sleep; raised with it, when I sit; driven out of doors with it, when I go from home ; welcomed home with it, when I re¬ turn. Nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat; and, I think, when he hath lamed me, 1 shall beg' with it from door to door. Enter Adriana, Luciana, and the Courtesan, with Pinch,® and others. Ant. E. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder. Dro. E. Mistress, respice Jinem, respect your end ; or rather the prophecy, like the parrot. Beware the . ropers end. Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk ? [Beats him. Cour. How say you now ? is not your husband mad ? Adr. His incivility confirms no less.— Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; Establish him in his true sense again. And I will please you what you will demand. Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy! ® Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your L pul^. Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man, To yield possession to my holy prayers. And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight; 1 conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. 1 Long from frequent pulling. 2 In the old copy—" and a schoolmasltr, called Pinch." As learning was necessary for an exorcist, the schoolmaster was often employed. 3 This tremor was anciently tliought to be a sure indication of being possessed by the devil. RC IV .J COMEDY OF ERRORS. 153 Ant. E, Peac3, doting wizard, peace ; I am not mad. Adr. O that thou wert not, poor, distressed sioul! Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your custom¬ ers ? ^ Did this companion® with a saffron face Revel and feast it at my house to-day. Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut. And I denied to enter in my house ? Adr. O husband, God doth know you dined at home, Where 'would, you had remained until this time. Free from these slanders, and this open shame! Ant. E. Dined at home! Thou villain, what say'st thou ? Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. Ant. E. Were not my doors locked up, and I shut out Dro. E. Perdy,® your doors were locked, and you shut out. Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you there. Ant. E. Did not her kitchen maid rail, taunt, and scorn me ? Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal scorned you. Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thejice ? Dro. E. In verity you did;—my bon(;s bear wit¬ ness, I hat since have felt the vigor of his rage. Adr. Is't good to soothe him in these contraries ? Pinch. It is no shame ; the fellow finds his vein. And, yielding to him, humors well his frenzy. Ant. E. Thou hast suborned the goldsmnh to arrest me. 1 " A customer was a familiar, an intimate, a customary haunter of any place." 2 Companion is a word of contempt, anciently used as we now use fellotc. 3 A corruption of the common French oatii, par dieu. VOL. Ill 20 154 comedy of errors. [act iv Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. Dto. E. Money by me ! Heart and good-will you might. But, surely, master, not a rag of money. Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats ? Adr.' He came to me, and 1 delivered it. Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did. Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me witness, That 1 was sent for nothing but a rope! Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is possessed, I know it by their pale and deadly looks. They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day, And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? Adr.- I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no gold; But I confess, sir, that we were locked out. Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both. Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all; And art confederate with a damned pack, To make a loathsome, abject scorn of me ; But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes. That would behold in me this shameful sport. [Pinch and his Assistants bind Ant. and Dro Adr. O, bind him, bind him; let him not come near me. Pinch, More company;—the fiend is strong within him Luc. Ah me, poor man, how pale and M'an he looks! Ant. E. What, will you murder me ? Thou jailer thou, I am thy prisoner; wilt thou suffer them To make a rescue Off. Masters, let him go; He is m} prisoner, and you shall not have him. Pinch Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too sc iv.] comedy of errors. 155 Ailr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? Hast thou delight to see a wretched mnii Do outrage and displeasure to hinisell"? Off. H e is my prisoner ; if I let him po, The debt he owes will be rerjuired of mc;. Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee, Bear me forthwith unto his creditor. And, knowing how the debt grows, 1 will pay it. Good master doctor, see him safe conveyed Home to my house.—O most unhappy day ! Ant. E. O most unhappy" strumpet! Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond for you. Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! Wherefore dost thou mad me ? Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? Be mad. Good master; cry, the devil.— Due. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk ! Adr. Go, bear him hence.—Sister, go you with me.— [Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, with Ant. and Dro. Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith. Do you know him ? Adr. I knDw the man. What is the sum he owes ? Off. Two hundred ducats. Adr Say, how grows it due ? Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him. Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day Came to my house, and took away my ring, (The ring I saw upon his finger now,) Straight after, did 1 meet him with a chain. Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it.— Come, jailer, bring me where the goldsmith is; I "ong to know the truth hereof at large. I Unhappy for unlucky, i. e. mischievous. 156 comedy of errors. lACT V Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, %vith his rapier drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse. Lmc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again. Adr. And come with naked swords; let's call more help. To have them bound again. Off. Away, they'll kill us. [^Exeunt Officer, Adr., and Luc Ant. S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, now ran from you. Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuffs from thence. I long that we were safe and sound aboard. Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night; they will surely do us no harm; you saw, they speak us fair, give us gold. Methinks they are such a gentle nation, that but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here still, and turn witch. Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town; Therefore away, to get our stuflf aboard. [^Exeunt ACT V. SCENE I. The same. Enter Merchant and Angelo. Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hindered you, Dut, I protest, he had the chain of me, Tiiough most dishonestly he doth deny it. Mer. How is the man esteemed here in the city F i e. baggage. SliiP is the genuine old English word for all movables sc. I] COMEDY OF ERRORS. .51 Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir, Of credit inlinite, highly beloved. Second to none that lives here in the city , His word might bear my wealth at any time. Mer. Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks. . Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse. Ang. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. Good sir, draw near to me; I'll speak to him. Seignior Antipholus, I wonder much That you would put me to this shame and trouble ; And not without some scandal to yourself. With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny This chain, which now you wear so openly. Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment, You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; Who, but for staying on our controversy. Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day. This chain you had of me ; can you deny it.? Ant. S. I think I had; I never did deny it. Mer. Yes, that you did, sir; and forswore it too. Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it ? Mer. These ears of mine, thou know'st, did heai thee t le on thee, wretch! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st To walk where any honest men resort. Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus. I'll prove mine honor and mine honesty Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. [^They draw. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan, and others. Adr. Hold; hurt him not, for God's sake; he is mad :— Some get within him,' take his sword away; Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house 1 L e. close, grapple with him. 158 comedy of erkors. [A(;T V Dro. S. Run, master, run; for God's sake, take a house.' This is some priory;—in, or we are spoiled. [Exeu?it Antiph. and Dro. to the priory Enter the Abbess. Abb Be quiet, people ; wherefore throng you hither Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. Let us come in, that we may bind him fast. And bear him home for his recovery. Aug. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him. Abb. How long hath this possession held the man.^ Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, And much different from the man he was; But, till this afternoon, his passion Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea.' Buried some dear friend ? (^Hath not else his eye Strayed his affliction iii unlawful love ? A sin prevailing much in youthful men, 'WJio give their eyes the liberty of g^ing.) Which of these sorrows is he suiijecTtdT"^ Adr. To none of these, except it be the last; Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. Abb. You should for that have reprehended him. Adr. Why, so I did. Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. Abb. Haply, in private. Adr. And in assemblies too. Abb. Ay, but not enough. Adr. It was the copy ^ of our conference. In bed, he slept not for my urging it; At board, he fed not for my urging it; 1 i. e. go into a house: we still say that a dog ta/ces the water. 2 Copi/' in the present instance is probably copie, plenty, copious source, an old Latinism, many times used by Ben Jonson. The word is spelled copie in the folio; and in King Henry V., where it means pattern, example, it is spelled copy sc. I.] COMEDY OF ERRORS. 159 Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; In company; 1 often glanced it; Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was mad. ^he venom clamors of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.^ It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing; And thereof comes it that his head is light. Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings , Unquiet meals make ii! digestions, Thereof the raging fire of fever bred; And what's a fever but a fit of madness ? Thou say'st his sports were hindered by thy brawls • Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue, Bui moody and dull melancholy, (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,) And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life ^ In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest. To be disturbed, would mad or man or beast; The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits Have scared thy husband from tbe use of wits. Imc. She never reprehended him but mildly. When he demeaned himself rough, rude, and wildly. Why bi3ar you these rebukes, and answer not? Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof.— Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. Abb, No, not a creature enters in my house. Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband fortb Abb. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary, And it shall privilege him from your hands, Till I have brought him to his wits again. Or lose my labor in assaying it. Adr. 1 will attend my husband, be his nurse, Diet his sickness, for it is my office. And will have no attorney ^ but myself; And therefore let me have him home with me. Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir, Till 1 have used the approved means I have, 1 i. e. substitute. 160 COMEDY OF ERRORS. fACr V. With wholesome sirups, drugs, and holy prayers, To make of him a formal man again.^ It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, A charitable duty of my order; Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. Jdr. 1 will not hence, and leave my husband here; And ill it doth beseem your holiness. To separate the husband and the wife. Abb. Be quiet, and depart; thou shalt not have him. [Exit Abbess Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feet, And never rise until my tears and prayers Have won his grace to come in person hither, And take perforce my husband from the abbess. Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five. Anon, I am sure, the duke himself in person Comes this way to the melancholy vale; The place of death and sorry ® execution. Behind the ditches of the abbey here. Ang. Upon what cause? Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant. Who put unluckily into this bay Against the laws and statutes of this town. Beheaded publicly for his offence. Ang. See, where they come; we will behold his death. Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey. Enter Duke, attended; bareheaded; ivith the Headsman and other Officers. Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly. If any friend will pay the sum for him. He shall not die; so much we tender him. Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess I 1 L e. to bring him back to his senses, and the accustomed forms of sober behavior. In Measure for Measure, informal women" is used foi just the contrary. 2 L e. dismal:—" dismolde and sorrie, atrafuneshis." sc. I.] COMEDY OF ERRORS. 16] Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady; It cannot be, that she hath done thee wroiij^*. Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my hus¬ band,— Whom I made lord of me and all I had. At your important' letters,—this ill day A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; That desperately he hurried through the street, (With him his bondman, all as mad as he,) Doing displeasure to the citizens By rushing in their houses, bearing thence Rings, Jewels, any thing his rage did like. Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went. That here and there his fury had committed. Anon, I wot not by what strong escape. He broke from those that had the guard of him ; And with his mad attendant and himself. Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords. Met us again, and, madly bent on us. Chased us away; till, raising of more aid. We came again to bind them; then they fled Into this abbey, whither we pursued them ; And here the abbess shuts the gates on us. And will not suffer us to fetch him out. Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command. Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help. Duke. Long since, thy husband served me in. mv wars; And I to thee engaged a prince's word. When thou didst make him master of thy bed, To do him all the grace and good I could.— Go. some of you, knock at the abbey-gate. And bid the lady abbess come to me; I will determine this, before I stir 1 L e. xmportunate. VOL. III. 21 162 cr/medy of errors lACT V Enter a Servant Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! IVIy master and his man are both broke loose. Beaten the maids a-row,^ and bound the doctor. Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire ; And ever as it blazed they threw on him Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. My master preaches patience to him, and the while His man with scissors nicks him like a fool; And, sure, unless you send some present help. Between them they will kill the conjurer.- Adr. Peace, fool; thy master and his man are here And that is false, thou dost report to us. Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true ; 1 have not breathed almost, since I did see it. He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you. To scorch yjur face, and to disfigure you. [Cry withm Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, begone. Duke. Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds! Adr. Ah me, it is my husband I Witness you. That he is borne about invisible. Even now we housed him in the abbey here ; And now he's there, past thought of human reason. Enter Antifholus and Dromio of Ephesus. Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant rna justice! Even for the service that long since I did thee. When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. ^ge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. I i. e. successively, one after ano'Jier sc. IJ COMEDY OF ERRORS 163 Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there. She whum thou gav'st to me to be my wife ; That hath abused and dishonored me. Even in the strength and height of injury! Beyond imagination is the wrong. That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me Just. Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me. While she with harlot® ^ feasted in my house. Duke. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so ? Adr. No, my good lord;—myself, he, and my • sister. To-day did dine together. So befall my soul. As this is false he burdens me withal! Luc. Ne'er may 1 look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness simple truth! Ang. O perjured woman ! they are both forsworn. In this the madman Justly chargeth them. Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; Neither disturbed with the effect of wine. Nor heady rash, provoked with raging ire. Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman locked me out this day from dinner; That goldsmith there, were he not packed with her, Could witness it, for he was with me then ; Who parted with me to go fetch a chain. Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 1 went to seek him: in the street 1 met him; And in his company, that gentleman. There did this perjured goldsmith swear, me down. That I this day of him received the chain. Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which. 1 Harlot was a tenn anciently applied to a ro^e or base person amon^ men, as well as to wantons among women See Todd's Johnson. 164 COMEDY OF ERRORS. ^act V He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey; and sent my peasant home For certain ducats; he with none returned Then fairly I bespoke the officer, To go in person with me to my house. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates; along with them They brought one Pinch; a hungry, lean-faced villain A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller; A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, A living dead man. This pernicious slave. Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer; And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me, Cries out I was possessed. Then altogether They fell upon me,.bound me, bore me thence; And in a dark and dankish vault at home There left me and my man, both bound together, Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gained my freedom, and immediately Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech To give me ample satisfaction For these deep shames and great indignities. Aug. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him That he dined not at home, but was locked out. Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ? Ang. He had, my lord ; and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain about his neck. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine Heard you confess you had the chain of him. After you first forswore it on the mart; And thereupon I drew my sword on you ; And then you fled into this abbey here. From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls, Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me. 1 never saw the chain, so help me Heaven! And this is false, you burden me withal. sc. I.] COMED-l OF ERRORS. 165 Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this! I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. If here you housed him, here he would have been, If he wore mad, he would not plead so coldly.— i on say, he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying.—Sirrah, what say you Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por¬ cupine. Cour. He did; and from my finger snatched that ring. Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. Why, this is strange.—Go, call the abbess hither; I think you are all mated,' or stark mad. [Exit an Atlendar t. AEge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word; Haply I see a friend will save my life. And pay the sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. ^^ge. Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus f And is not that your bondman Drornio ? ^ Dro. E. Within this hour, I was his bondman, sir, Hut he, I thank him, gnawed in two my cords; Now am I Drornio, and his man, unbound. ^ge I am sure, you both of you remember me. Dro. E. Ourselves, we do remember, sir, by you. For lately we were bound as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir.'' .^ge. Why look you strange on me ? You know me well. Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. .^^e. Oh! grief hath changed me, since you saw me last; And careful hours, with Time's deformed ® hand, ' Confounded. See note on Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 1 " Ih formed ibr deforming. / 1G6 COMEDY Of ERRORS. [act v. Have written strange defeatures in my face: But tell rne yet, dost thou not know my voice '' . Ant. E. Neither. ^ge. Dromlo, nor thou ? Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. A^gp. 1 am sure, thou dost Dro. E. Ay, sir.? but I am sure, I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to be¬ lieve him.' f -rEge. Not know my voice! O, time's extrr mity! Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue. In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares.? Though now this grained^ face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up. Yet hath my night of life some memory. My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left. My dull, deaf ears a little use to hear ; All these old witnesses (I cannot err) Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. ■Alge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy Thou know'sj, we parted; but, perhaps, my son. Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. Ant. E. The duke and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so, I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years Have I been patron to Antipholus, During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa. 1 see, thy age and dangers make thee dote Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, and Dromio Syracusan. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wronged. [All gather to see him. 1 DriJinio delights in a quibble, and tlie word bound has before been the subject of his mirth. 2 Furrowed, lined. sc. l.J COMEDY or ERRORS. 161 Adr. 1 see two husbands, or mine eyes deceiv e me. Duke. One of these men is genius to the other; And so of these. Which is the natural man, .And which the spirit.? Who deciphers them Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay. Ant. S. .^geon, art thou not, or else his ghost ? Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him here ? Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds. And gain a husband by his liberty. Speak, old iEg«ion, if thou be'st the man That hadst a wife once called ^Emilia, That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. 0, if thou be'st the same iEgeon, speak, Aud speak unto the same ^Emilia ! -^Ege. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia; ^ [f thou art she, tell me, where is that son That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, And the twin Dromio, all were taken up, But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth By force took Dromio and my son from them, Aud me they left with those of Epidamnum. What then became of them, I cannot tell; 1, to this fortune that you see me in. Duke. Why, here begins'his morning story right.* These two Antipholuses, these two so alike, And these two Dromioes, one in semblance,— Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,— These are the parents to these children. Which accidentally are met together. Autipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. Ant. S. No, sir, not 1; I came from Syracusi;. Duke. Stay, stand apart; 1 know not which is which. 1 In the old copy, thia speech of .^Egeon, ar.d the sub3e

cnt one ot tiie abbess, follow the speech of the duke. It is evident tliat they were transposed by mistake. 2 "The morning story" is what JEgeon tells the duke in the first sce-w of tliis play. 168 COMEDY OF ERRORS. [ACT V Ant. E. I came from Corinth, mj most gracious lord Dro E. And I with him. Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous -warrior Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day ? Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. Adr. And are not you my husband ^ Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so; And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here. Did call me brother.—What I told you then, f hope, I shall have leisure to make good; If this be not a dream I see and hear. Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not. Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not. Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail. By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. No, none by me. Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you, And Dromio my man did bring them me. I see, we still did meet each other's man. And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. And thereupon these Errors are arose. Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Duke. It shall not need ,* thy father hath his life. Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer. Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains To go with us into the abbey here. And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes.— And all that are assembled in this place. That by this sympathized one day's error Have suffered wrong, go, keep us company. And we shall make full satisfaction.— Twenty-five years have 1 but gone in travail you, my sons, and till this present hour; sc. I.J COMEDY OF ERRORS. 169 My heavy b irden here delivered.' The duke, rny husband, and my children both, And you, the calendars of their nativity,® Go to a gossip's feast, and go ® with me ; After so long grief, such nativity! Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. [Exeunt Duke, Abbess, iEoEON, Courtesan, Merchant, Angf.lo, and Attendants. Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship¬ board ? Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em¬ barked ? . Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am j^our master, Dromio; Come, go with us ; we'll look to that anon. Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. [Exeunt Ant. S. and Ant. E., Adr. and Luc Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house. That kitchened me for you to-day at dinner; She now shall be my sister, not my wife. Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not mv brother: 1 see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth. Will you walk in to see their gossiping ? 1 The old copy reads, erroneously, thus:— " Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons; and till this present hour My heavy burden are delivered." Theobald corrected it in the following manner:— " Tu>enty-five years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons; nor till this present nour My heavy burdens are delivered." Malone, after much argument, gives it thus:— « Of you, my sons; until this present hour My heavy burden not delivered." Thirty-three years are an evident error for twenty-live; tins was corrected by Theobald. The reader will chocse between the simple emendation in tlie text, and those made by Theobald and Malone. 2 i. e. the two Dromioes. Antipholus of Syracuse has already called one of them " tlie almanac of my true date." See note on Act i. Sc. 2. Heath thought that we should read, " and joy with me." Warburton proposed gau /, but 'he old reading is probably right. no COMEDY OF ERR0E8. [ACT V. Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder, Bro. E. That's a question; how shall we try it ? Bro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior; till then, lead thou first. Bro. E. Nay; tlien thus. We came into the world, like brother and brother; And now let's go hand in hand, not one before an¬ other. [Exeunt. On a careful revision of the foregoing scenes, I do not hesitate to pronounce them the composition of two very unequal writers. Shaks- peare had undoubtedly a share in them; but that the entire play was no work of his, is an opinion which (as Benedick says) " fire cannot melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake." Thus, as we are in¬ formed by Aulus GeUius, Lib. III. C.ap. 3, some plays were absolutely ascribed to Plautus, which in truth had only been {retractutos ct expo- litm) retouched and polished by him. In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinction of character; and our attention is less forcibly engaged, because we can guess in great measure how the denouement will be brought about. Yet the subject appears to have been reluctantly dismissed, even in this last and unnecessary scene, where the same mistakes are contin- and, tUl the power of afibrding entertainment is entirely lust. ST£ETBNB. MACBETH PRELIMINARY REMARKS Da. JoHNsoy thought it necessary to prefix to this play an apology for Shahspeare's magic;—in which he says, «A poet who should cow make the whole action of his tragedy depend upon enchantment and prc»- duce the chief events by the assistance of supernatural agents, would be censured as transgressing the bounds of probability, be banished from the theatre to the nursery, and condemned to write fairy tales instead of tragedies." He then proceeds to defend this transgression upon the ground of the credulity of the Poet's age; when " the scenes of enchant¬ ment, however they may be now ridiculed, were, both by himself and his audience, thought awful and affecting." By whom, or when, (always ex¬ cepting French criticism,) these sublime conceptions were in danger of ridicule, he has not told us; and I sadly fear that tliis superfluous apolo¬ gy arose from the misgivings of the great critic's mind. Schlegel has jiistly remarked that, " Whether tlie age of Shakspeare still believed in witchcraft and ghosts, is a matter of perfect indifference for the justifica¬ tion of the use which, in Hamlet and Macbeth, he has made of preexist¬ ing traditions. No superstition can ever be prevalent and widely diffused through ages and nations, without having a foundation in human nature on this foundation tlie Poet builds; he calls up from their hidden abysses that dread of the unknown, that presage of a dark side of nature, and a world of spirits, which philosophy now imagines it has altogether ex- oloded. In t|ys manner he is in some degree both tlie portrajfer and tiie pnilosopher of a superstition; that is, not the philosopher who denies and turns into ridicule, but, which is still more difficult, who distinctly ex¬ hibits its origin to us in apparently irrational and yet natural cpinior^sj^ III anotlier place the same admirable critic says—" Since The Furies of iEschylus- nothing so grand and terrible has ever been composed. The Witches, it is true, are not divine Eumenides, and are not intei ded to be so; tliey are ignoble and vulgar instruments of hell. They discourse with one anotlier like women of the very lowest class; for this was the class It) which witches were supposed to belong. When, however, thev (171) n2 MACBETH. address Macbeth, their tone assumes more elevation; their predictions have all the obscure brevity, the majestic solemnity, by which oracles have in all times contrived to inspire mortals with reverential awe. We here see that the witches are merely instruments; tliey are governed by an invisible spirit, or the operation of such great and dreadful events would be above tlieir sphere." Their agenty was necessary; for natu¬ ral motives alone would have seemed inadequate to. effect such a change as takes place in the nature and dispositions of Macbeth. By tliis means the Poet " has exhibited a more sublime picture to us; an ambitious but noble hero, who yields to a deep-laid, hellish temptation; and all the t'.rimes to which he is impelled by necessity, to secure the fhiits of his first crime, cannot altogether eradicate in him the stamp of native hero¬ ism." He has, therefore, given a threefold division to the guilt of that crime. The first idea comes from that being, whose whole activity is guided by a lust of wickedness. The weird sisters surprise Macbeth in the moment of intoxication after his victory, when his love of glory has been gratified; they cheat his eyes by exhibiting to him as the work of fate, what can only in reality be accomplished by his own deed, and gain credence for their words by the immediate fulfilment of the first predic¬ tion. The opportunity for murdering the king immediately offers itself, Lady Macbeth conjures him not to let it slip; she urges him on with a fiery elotjuence, which has all tliose sophisms at command that serve to throw a false grandeur over crime. Little more than the mere exe¬ cution falls to the share of Macbeth; he is driven to it, as it were, in a state of commotion, in which his mind is bewildered. Repentance imme- diately follows; nay, even precedes the deed ; and the stings of his con¬ science leave him no rest either night or day. But he is now fairly entangled in the snares of hell: it is truly frightful to behold that Mac¬ beth, who once as a warrior could spurn at death, now that he dreads the prospect of the life to come, clinging with growlno- anxiety tn hia earthly existence, the more miserable it becomes, and pitilessly removing out of his way whatever to his dark and suspicious mind seems to threaten dan¬ ger. Howpver much we may abhor his actions, we camiot altogether refuse to sympathize with the state of his mind; we lament the ruin of so many noble qualities; and, even in his last defence, we are compelled to admire in him tlie struggle of a brave will with a cowardly conscience The Poet wishes to show^at the conflict of good and evil in this world can only take place by tliC permission of Providence, which converts the curse that individual mortals draw down on their heads, into a blessing to others^ T.ady Macbeth, who, of all the human beings, is the most guilty participator in the murder of the king, falls, through the horrors of her conscience, into a state of incurable bodily and mental disease; she dies PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 173 unlaiuented by her husband, with all the symptoms of reprobation. Mac¬ beth is still found worthy of dying the death of a hero on the field of oattle. Banquu atones for the ambitious curiosity which prompted him to wish to know his glorious descendants, by an early death, as he thereby rouses Macbeth's jealousy; but he preserved his mind pure from the bubbles of the witches; his name is blessed in his race, destined to enjoy for a long succession of ages that royal dignity which Macbeth could only hold during his own life. In the progress of the action, this piece is altogether the reverse of Hamlet; it strides forward with amazing rapid* ity from the fiist catastrophe (for Duncan's murder may be called a ca¬ tastrophe; to the last. Thought, and done! is the general motto; for, as Macbeth says, " The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it" In every feature we see a vigorous, heroic age, in jthe hardv Nnrth. which steels every nerve. The precise duration of the action cannot be ascertmned,—^years, perhaps, according to the story; but we know that vo the imagination the most "crowded time appears always the shortest Here we can hardly conceive how so very much can be compressed into so narrow a space; not merely external events—the very innermost re¬ cesses of the minds of the persons of the drama are laid open to us. It is as if the drags were taken from the wheels of time, and tliey rolled along without interruption in their descent. Nothing can equal the power of 'his picture m exciting horror. We need only allude to the circum¬ stances attending the murder of Duncan, tlie dagger that hovers before tlie eyes of Macbeth, the vision of Banquo at the feast, the madness of Lady Macbeth; what can we possibly say on the subject that will not rather weaken the impression ? Such scenes stand alone, and are to be found only in this Poet; otherwise the tragic muse might exchange lier mask for the head of Medusa." * Shakspeare followed the chronicle of Holinshed, and Holinshed bor¬ rowed his narration from the Uhronicles of Scotland, translated by John Bellenden, from the Latin of Hector Boethius, and first published at Edinburgh, in 1541. ^ " Malcolm the Second, king of Scotland, had two daughters. The eldest was married to rrynin, the father of Duncan, thane of the isles, and western parts of Scotland; and on the death of Malcolm without male issue, Duncan succeeded to the throne. Malcolm's second daughter was married to Sinel, thane of Glamis, the father of Macbeth. Duncan. * Lectures on Dftimutic LUeralU"e» by A. W.ScIilogel, translated by John Black, Londoii. l«15. vol. ii. D. 200. 174 MACBETH. ivho married the sister of Siward, earl of Northumberland, was murder ed by his cousiii-german Macbeth, in the castle of Inverness, about the year 1040 or 1045. Macbeth was himself slain by Macduff, according fj lioetliius in lOGl, according to Buchanan in 1057, at which time Edward the Confessor reigned in England. In the reign of Duncan, Banpuo having been plundered by the perple of Tiochaber of some of the king's revenues, which he had collected, and being dangerously wounded in the affray, the persons concerned in this outrage were summoned to appear at a certain day. But they slew the sergeant-at-arms who summoned them, and chose one Macdonwald as their captain. Macdonwald speedily collected a considerable body of forces from Ireland and tlie Western Isles, and in one action gained a victory over the king's army. In this battle Malcolm, a Scottish noble¬ man, (who was lieutenant to Duncan m Lochaber,) was slain. Afterwards Macbeth and Banquo were appointed to the conunand of the army; and Macdonwald, being obliged to take refuge in a castle in Lochaber, first slew his wife and children, and then himself. Macbeth, on entering the castle, finding his dead body, ordered his head to be cut off and carried to the king, at the castle of Bertha, and his body to be hung on a high tree. At a subsequent period, in the last year of Duncan's reign, Sueno, king of Norway, landed a powerful army in Fife, for the purpose of invad¬ ing Scotland. Duncan immediately assembled an army to oppose him and gave the command of two divisions of it to Macbeth and Banquo putting himself at the head of a third. Sueno was successful in one battle, but in a second was routed; and, after a great slaughter of his troops, he escaped with ten pereons only, and fled back to Norway. Though there was an interval of time between the rebellion of Macdonwald and the in¬ vasion of Sueno, Shakspeare has woven tfiese two actions together, and immediately after Sueno's defeat the present play commences. It is remarkable tliat Buchanan has pointed out Macbeth's history as a subject for the stage. " Multa hie fabulose quidam nostrorum afiinguntj sed quia theatris aut Milesiis fabulis sunt aptiora quam historise, ea omitto." —Rerum Scot. Hist. Lib. vii. Milton also enumerates the subject among those he considered well suited for tragedy, but it appears that he would have attempted to preserve the unity of time, by placing the relation of the murder of Duncan in the mouth of his ghost Macbeth is one of tlie latest and unquestionably one of tlie noblest, effnrta of Shakspeare's genius; equally impressive in tlie closet and on the stage, where to witness its representation has been justly pronounced " the first of all dramatic enjoyments." Malone places the date of its composition in PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 175 1006, and it has been supposed to convey a dexterous and delicate compli¬ ment to James the First, who derived his lineage from Banquo, and first united the threefold sceptre of England, Scotland, and Ireland. At the same time, the monarch's prejudices on the subject of demonology were flattered by tlie choice of the story. It was once thought that Shakspeare derived some hints for his scenes of incantation from the Witch, a tragi-comedy, by John Middleton, which, after lying long in manuscript, was published about thirty years since by Isaac Reed; but Malone* has with considerable ingenuity shown that Middleton's drama was most probably written subsequently to Macbeth. This tragedy has ever been regarded and criticised with distinguishing preference among Shakspeare's works; our own Schiller reproduced it, Schlegel spoke of. it with enthusiasm, Drake called it "the greatest effort of our author's genius, and the most sublime and impressive drama which the world has ever beheld." It has also obtained favor above the other pVoys of Shakspeare in lands peopled by other than the Teutonic race, either from its felt or perceived resemblance to ancient tragedy, or from its unity of design and the simple progress of its development, or from its distinct characterisa¬ tion, in which the poet has employed less mystery than usual; most of all, in¬ deed, from its pictorial charm and poetic coloring. If perhaps no other play of Shakspeare's can vie with Hamlet in(philosoDhical insipht into the nature and worth of the various powers at work in maifl if none can compete with Henry IV. in^fresh delight in a vast and active career.Jif none can compare with Othello infprofoundness of design and careful carrying out of the char- acters^if none with Lear in thefpower of cnntenrjinp- passion^and none with Cvmbeline infthe importance of moral principles^ Macbeth, in like manner, stands forth uniquely pre-eminent in(Ae splendor of poetic and picturesque diction and in the living representation of persons, times, and places.\ Schle¬ gel perceived the vigorous heroic age of the North depicted in it with power¬ ful touches, the generations of an iron time, whose virtue is bravery. How grandly do the mighty forms rise, how naturally do tljey move in an heroic style 1 What a different aspect is presented by this tyrant Macbeth by the side of the heroes Macduff, Banquo, and Siward, compared to that of the crook-back Richard amid a crooked generation ! Gervinus. 1 See the chronological order of the plays in the late Variorum Edition, by Mr. Boswell, ▼ol. ii. p. PERSONS REPRESENTED I Generals of the King's Army. Noblemen of Scotland. Duncan, King of Scotland. Malcolm, i T, > his bons. Donalbain, ) Macbeth, Banquo, Macduff, Lenox, Rosse, Menteth, Anous, ' Cathness, Fleance, Son to Banquo. SiwARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the Eo|^ lish Forces. Young Siward, his Son. Seyton, an Officer attending on Macbeth. Son to Macduff. An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. Lady Macbeth.' Lady Macduff. Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. Hecate, and three Witches.^ • Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attend¬ ants, and Messengers. The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Apparitions. SCENE, in the end of the Fourth Act, lies in England; through the rest of the play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth's Castle. » Lady Macbclh's name w'as Gruach fiHa Bodhe, according to Lord HaUes. Andrew ©f Winiown, in his Croiiykil, informs us that she was the widow of Duncan 5 a ci/cum* ftaiice with which Shakspeare was, of course, unacquaiiiied. ' Ss the play now stands, in Act v. Sc. i, three other witches make their appearance. (176) MACBETH. ACT I. SCENE I. An open Place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches. 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's done. When the battle's lost and won. 3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 1 Witch. Where the place ? 2 Witch. Upon the heath; 3 Witch. There to meet with INIacbeth. 1 Witch. I come, Grajmalkin ! All. Paddock calls;—Anon.^ Fair is foul, and foul is fair; Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Witches vanish SCENE II. A Camp near Fores. Alarum ivithin. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox,. loith Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier.® Dun. What bloody man is that.'' He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. 1 Upton observes, that, to uiidersta.id this passage, we should suppose one familiar calling with the voice of a cat, and another with the croaking of a load. A paddock most generally seems to have signified a toad, though it sometimes means a frog. What we now call a toadstool was anciently called a paddock-stool. 2 The first folio reads captain. VOL. III. 2-3 (177) 178 MACBETH. [Atri I Mttl. This is the sergeant,' Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 'Gainst my captivity.—Hail, brave friend ! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, As thou didst leave it. Sold. Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald AVorthy to be a rebel ; for to that® The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him) from the Western Isles Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied; ® And Fortune, on his damned quarry^ smiling. Showed like a rebel's whore.® But all's too weak, For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel. Which smoked with bloody execution. Like valor's minion. Carved out his passage, till he faced the slave; And ® ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him. Till he unseamed him from the nave to the chaps. And fixed his head upon our battlements. Dun. O valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman! Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break ;' 1 Sergeants, in ancient times, were men performing one kind of feuda military service, in rank next to esquires. 2 Vide Tyrwhitt's Glossary to Ciiaucer, v.for; and Pegge's Anecdotes of tlie English Language, p. 205. For to that means no more than for thai, or cause that. 3 i. e. supplied toith armed troops so named. Of and unth are indis* criminately used by our ancient writers. Gallowglasses were hea\y- armed foot-soldiers of Ireland and the Western Isles; Kernes were the lighter armed troops. 4 « Bui fortune on his damned qiuirry smiling."—Thus the old copies. It was altered at Johnson's suggestion to quarrel. But the old copy needs no alteration. (Quarry means the squadron (escadre), or square body, into which Macdonwald's troops were formed, better to receive the charge. 3 The meaning is, that Fortune, while she smiled on him, deceived him. 6 The old copy reads which. ' Sir W. D'Avenant's reading of tins passage, in his alteration of the play, is a tolerable comment on it:— " But then this daybrealt of our victory Served but to light us into other dangers. That spring from whence our hopes did seem to Tise." Brealc is not in the first folio. sc. ri.] MACBETH 179 So from that spring, whence comfort seemed to com(.', Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark; No sooner justice had, with valor armed, Compelled these skipping Kernes to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbished arms, and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. Dun. Dismayed not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? Sold. Yes; As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion. If I say sooth, I must report, they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks; So they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe , Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha,^ I cannot tell: But I am faint; my gashes cry for help. Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds; They smack of honor both.—Go, get him surgeons. [^Exit Soldier, attended Enter Rosse. Who comes here ? Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! S