...
(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! Sem, called Malcolm, prince of Cumberland, as it was thereby to appoint
him his successor in his kingdome immediatelie after his decease. Mac¬
beth sorelv troubled herewith, for that ne saw by this means his hope sort
hindered ("where, by the old laws of the realme the ordinance was, that if
he that should succeed were not of able age to take the charge upon him¬
self, he that was next of blood unto him should be admitted), he began to
take counsel how he might usurpe the kingdome by force, having a just
Ban
The harvest is your own.
Dun.
There if I grow.
My plenteous joys,
188
MACBETH.
[ACr I
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only.
But siejiis of nobleness, like stars, Shall sh.ne
On all deservers.—From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.
Macb. The rest is labor, which is not used for you
I'll .be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach ;
So, humbly take my leave.
Dun. My worthy Cawdor!
Macb. The prince of Cumberland !—That is a step,
Da which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,
\^Asid''
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!
Let not light see my black and deep desires.
The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be.
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Exit
Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant;
And in his commendations I am fed;
It is a banquet to me. Let us after him.
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome.
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's Castle.
Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.
Lady M. They met me in the day of success; and 1
have learned by the perfectest report, they hate more in
them than mortal kncnvledge. When I burned in desire
to question them further, they made themselves air, into
which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder
of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me.
Thane of Cawdor ; by which title, before, these weird
sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of
time, with. Hail, king that shalt be! This have I
thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of great-
quarrel so to doe (as he tooke the matter) for that Duncane did what in h. m
lay to defraud him all manner of title and claime, which he might ir
tLne to coiBe pretend unto the crowne."
sc. V J
MACBETH.
189
ness; that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicings
by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee.
Lay it to thy hearts and farewell.
Glatnis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be
What thou art promised.—Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness,
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great,
Art not without ambition; but without
The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst
highly.
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false.
And yet wouldst wrongly win; thou'dst have, great
Glamis,
That which cries. Thus thou must do, if thou have it;
And that which rather thou dost fear to do,
Than ivishest should be undone. Hie thee hither.
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;'
And chastise with the valor of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round.
Which fate and metaphysical ® aid doth seem
To have thee crowned withal.—What is your tidings *
Enter an Attendant.
Attend. The king comes here to-night.
Lady M. - Thou'rt mad to say it
Is not thy master with him.^ who, wer't so.
Would have informed for prejiaration.
Attend. So please you, it is true; our thane is
comiiJ^.
One of my fellows had the speed of him ;
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.
Lady M. Give him tending;
1 " That I may pour my spirits in tliine ear." So in Lord Sterlme i
Julius CiBsar, 1G07:—
" Thou in my bosom used lo pour thy spn^^y
2 "Which fate and metnphytical aid,"&-c.; i. e. supernatural aid. We
find metaphysics e,\plainc(i '^thiuffs supernatural" in the old diction\riea
"To have thee croivned" is to desire that you should be crowned
190 MACBETH [ACT 1
He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse,
[^Exit Attendant
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits
That tend on mortal ^ thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty ! Make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to remorse;
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect, and it.^ Come to my woman's breasts.
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers.
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night.
And palP thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,^
To cry. Hold, hold! Great Glamis ! worthy
Cawdor I
Enter Macbeth.
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
Thy letters have transported me beyond
1 "That tend on mortal thoughts." Mortal and deadly were sy¬
nonymous.
2 Lady Macbcth's purpose was to be effected by action. " To keep
peace between the effect and purpose," means "to delay the execution of
her purpose, to prevent its proceeding to effect." SirWm. Davenant's
strange alteration of this play sometimes affords a reasonably good com¬
mentary upon it. Thus in tlie present instance:—
" make thick
My blood, stop all passage to remorse;
That no relapses into mercy may
Shake my design, nor make it fall before
'Tis ripened to effect."
3 To pall, from the Latin pallia, to wrap, to invest, to cover or hide u
with a mantle or cloak.
< Drayton, in his Mortimeriados, 1596, has an expression resembling
tins.—
"The sullen night in mistie rugoe is wrapped^
And in his Polyolbion, which was not published till 1612, we again find
't:—
"Thick vapors that like riiggs still hang the troubled air."
On this passage there is a long criticism in the Rambler, No. 168; to w hich
Jolnson, in his notes, refers the rea i. e. "are you so obedient to the precept of the gospel, which tea;;.aeft
08 to pray for those who despitefully use us"
2 Shoughs are probably what we now call shocks; dogs bred oetwcco
wolves and dogs.
•' Cleped, called.
* The valued file is the descriptive list wherein their va'ue and peculuu
|iiahties are set down.
5 Particular adiliHon. title, description.
sc. l.j
MACBETH.
216
That I would set my life on any chance,
To mend it, or be rid on't.
Macb. Both of you
Know, Banquo was your enemy.
2 Mur. True, my lord
Macb. So is he mine; and in such bloody distance
That every rnijiute of his being thrusts
\ gainst my uear'st of life. And though I could
With baretacecl power sweep him from my sight,
And J)id my will avouch it, yet I must not.
For certain friends that are both his and mine.
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
Whom I myself struck down; and thence it is,
That I to your assistance do make love;
Masking the business from the common eye,
For sundry weighty reasons.
2 Mur. We shall, my lord.
Perform what you command us.
1 Mur. Though our lives
Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this
hour, at most,
I will advise you where to plant yourselves;
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,^
The moment on't: for't must be done to-night.
And something from the palace; always thought.
That I recjuire a clearness.^ And with him
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work)
Fleance, his son, that keeps him company.
Whose absence is no less material to me
Than Is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart;
I'll come to you ajion,
2 Mur. We are resolved, my loid.
Macb. I'll call upon you straight; abide within.
It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's Hight,
If it find heaven, must find it out to-niglit. [^Exeunl
1 i. e the exact time wher you may look out or lie in wait for liim.
2 " Always remembering tiat 1 must stand clear of s jspicion."
216
MACBETH.
[ACT liJ
SCENE II. The same. Another Room.
Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.
Lady M. Is fianquo gone from court ?
Serv. Ay madam, but returns again to-night.
Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his
leisure
I'or a few words.
Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit.
Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent.
Where our desire is got without content.
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy.
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.
Enter Macbeth.
How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone.
Of sorriest' fancies your companions making
Using those thoughts which should indeed have died
With them they think on Things without remedy
Should be without regard; what's done is done.
.Macb. We have scotched the snake, not killed it,
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint.
Both the worlds suffer.
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In ihe affliction of these terrible dreams
T'liat shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,
Wiiom we, to gain our place,® have sent to peace,
Mian on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy.® Duncan is in his grave;
Alter life's fitful fever, he sleeps well.
I'reason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,
1 Sorriest, most melancholy.
2 The first folio roads peace ; the second foho plare.
3 Ecstasy, in its general sense, signifies any violent emotion or alienaUon
nf tiie mind. The old dictionaries render it a trance, a dampe, a crampt.
sc. II.]
MACBKTH.
217
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further!
iMdy M. Come on, gentle my lord;
Sleek o'er your rugged looks ; be bright and jovial
Among your guests to-night.
Macb. So shall I, love ;
And so, I pray, be you. Let your remembrance
Apply to Banquo: present him eminence,^ both
With eye and tongue: unsafe, the while, that we
Must lave our honors in these flattering streams ;
And make our faces vizards to our hearts.
Disguising what they are.
Lady M. You must leave this.
Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife I
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's® not eterne.
Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable ;
Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
His cloistered flight; ere, to black Hecate's summons,
The shard-borne beetle,® with his drowsy hums.
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.
Lady M. What's to be done
• Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest
chuck.
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling * night,
Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;
And, with thy bloody and invisible hand.
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
1 Present him eminence, do him the highest honor.
® Ritson has observed, that " Nature's copy" alludes to copyhold tenure
in which the tenant holds an estate for l^e, having nothing but, the copy
of the rolls of his lord's court to show for it A lifehold tenure may well
be said to be.not eternal. The subsequent speech of Macbeth, in wliich
he says,
" Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond,"
confirms this explanation. Many of Shakspeare's allusions are to legal
customs.
3 That is, the beetle home along the air by its shards or scaly wings.
Steevens had the merit of first showing that shard or sherd was tiie ancient
word for a scale or outward covering, a case or sheatii.
^ L e. blinding: to sed up tlie eyes of a hawk was to close them by
sewing tlic eyelids together,
vol.. ill. 28
218
MACBETH.
[ACT III.
Which keeps me pale!—Light thickens; and the
crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood:
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse
Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still;
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill.
So, pr'ythee, go with me. \Exeunt
SCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn, loith a
Gate leading to the Palace.
Enter three Murderers.
But who did bid thee join with us.?
Macbeth
He needs not our mistrust; since he de
livers
Our offices, and what we have to do,
To the direction just.
1 Mur. Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day;
Now spurs the lated traveller apace,
To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.
3 Mur. Hark! I hear horses.
Ban. [ JVithin.'] Give us a light there, ho!
2 Mur. Then it is he ; the rest
That are within the note of expectation,'
Already are i' the court.
1 Mur. His horses go about.
3 Mur. Almost a mile ; but he does usually
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate-
Make.it their walk.
1 Mur.
3 Mur.
2 Mur.
* i. e. they who are set down in the list of guests, and expected iff
lupper.
sc. IV.]
macbeth.
219
Enter Banquo and Fleance, a Servant with a torch
preceding them.
2 Mur A light, a light!
3 Mur. - 'Tis he
1 Mur. Stand to't.
Ban. It will be rain to-night.
1 Mur. Let it come down.
[Assaults Banqoo.
Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly,
fly;
Thou mayst revenge. O slave I
[Dies. Fleance and Servant escape.^
3 Mur. Who did strike out the light ?
1 Mur. Was't not the way.^
3 Mur. There's but one down ; the son is fled
2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair.
1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much is done.
SCENE IV. A Room of State in the Palace. A
Banquet prepared.
Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox
Lords, and Attendants.
Macb. You know your own degrees; sit down: at
first®
And last, the hearty welcome.
Lards. Thanks to your majesty.
Macb. Ourself will mingle with society.
And play the humble host.
r Fleance, after the assassination of his father, fled into Wales, where,
by the daughter of the prince of that country, he had a son named W alter
who afterwards became lord high steward of Scotland, and from thence
assumed the name of sir Walter Steward. From him, in a direct line,
king James I. was descended; in compliment to whom, Shakspeare has
chosen to describe Banquo, who was equally concerned with Macbeth in
the murder of Duncan, as innocent of that crime.
2 " At ft-st and last" Johnson, with great plausibility, proposes to read,
* To first and last."
220
MACBETH.
[ACT III
Our hostess keeps her state;' but, iu best time,
We will require her welcome.
LiUdy M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends
For my heart speaks, they are welcome.
Enter first Murderer, to tlie door
Mach. See, they encounter thee with their hearts
thanks.
Both sides are even: Here Pll sit i' the midst:
Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure
The table round.—There's blood upon thy face.
Mur. 'Tis Banquo's, then.
Mach. 'Tis better thee without, than he within.®
Is he despatched ?
Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.
Mach. Thou art the best o' the cutthroats. Yet
he's good.
That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.
Mur. Most royal sir,
t leance is 'scaped.
Mach. Then comes my fit again. I had else been
perfect;
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock;
As broad and general as the casing air:
But now, I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ?
Mur. Ay, my good lord ; safe in a ditch he bides.
With twenty trenched ® gashes on his head;
The least a death to natun;.
Mach. Thanks for that.
There the grown serpent lies; the worm, that's fled,
Hath nature that in time will venom breed.
1 «Keeps her state," continues in her chair of state. A state was a
roysl chair with a canopy over it.
2 «'Tis better thee without, than he within;" that is, I am better please*,
that the blood of Banquo should be on thy face than he in this room.
3 "With twenty trenched gashes on his head;" from the French
Irarxher, to cut.
sc. IV ]
macbeth.
221
No teeth for the present.—Get thee gone; to-morrow
We'll hear ourselves again. [^Exit Murderer.
Lady M. Mj royal lord,
You do not give the cheer • the feast is sold,'
That is not often vouched while 'tis a making,
'Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.
Macb. Sweet remembrancer !—
Now, good digestion wait on appetite.
And health on both!
hen. May it please your highness, sit
[The ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in
Macbeth's place.
Macb. Here had we now our country's honor roofed,
Were the graced person of our Banquo present;
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness.
Than pity for mischance!
Rosse. His absence, sir,
Jjays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness
To grace us with your royal company
'Macb. The table's full.
Len. Here's a place reserved, sir.
Macb. Where.''
Len. Here, my good lord. What is't that moves
your highness ?
Macb. Which of you have done this.^
Lords. What, my good lord t
Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it: never shake
Thy gory locks at me.
Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well.
Lady M. Sit, worthy friends.—My lord is often thus,
And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep seat;
The fit is momentary; upon a thought
He will again be well. If much you note him.
You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; ®
Feed, and regard him not.—Are you a man.^
'That which is not g'ven cheerfully cannot be called a gift; it
Kxnething tliat must be paid for.
® L e. prolong his suffering, make his fit longer
^22
MACBETH.
[ACT 111
Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil.
Lady M. O proper stuff!
This is the verj painting of your fear;
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said.
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts
(Impostors to' true fear) would well become
A woman's story at a winter's fire,
Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces f- When all's done,
You look but on a stool.
Macb, Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how
say you ?
Why, what care I f If thou canst nod, speak too.—
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears.
Lady M. What! quite unmanned in folly }
Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady M. Fie, for shame!
Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden
time,
Ere human statute purged the general® weal;
Ay, and since, too, murders have been performed
Too terrible for the ear. The times have been.
That, when the brains were out, the man would die.
And there an end: but now, they rise again.
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns.
And push us from our stools. This is more strange
Than such a murder is.
Lady M. My worthy lord.
Your noble friends do lack you.
Macb. I do forget.—
Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends;
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health
to all;
' This was a form of elliptic expression, commonly used even at this
day, in the phrase " this is nothing to them," L e. in comparison to them.
3 The folio reads gentle.
sc. IV.]
MACBETH.
223
Then I'll sit down.—:—Give me some wine; fill full:
I drink to the general joy of the whole table,
Ghost rises.
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;
'Would he were here! To all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.^
Lords. Our duties, and the pledge.
Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth
hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation ® in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!
Lady M. Think of this, good peeis,
But as a thing of custom. 'Tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macb. What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear.
The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger.
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble. Or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword:
If trembling I inhabit® then, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
[Ghost disappears
Unreal mockery, hence !—Why, so;—being gone,
I am a man again.—'Pray you, sit still.
Lady M. You have displaced the mirth, broke tho
good meeting.
With most admired disorder.
Macb. Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our fecial wonder.'' You make me strange
Even to the disposition that, I owe,'*
1 That is, « we desire to drink'' all good wishes to all.
2 « Thou hast no speculation in those eyes." Bullokar, in Ws Expositor
'616, explains "speculation, the inward knowledge or beholding of a
ihing."
3 " Dare me to the desert with thy sword; if then I do not meet thee
there ; if, trembling, I stay in my castle, or any habitation ; if 1 then hide my
head, or dwell in any place through fear,—protest me the baby of a girl.'
4 i e. Dossess.
224
MACBETH.
'[ACT III
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep tlie natural ruby of your cheeks,
When mine are blanched with fear.
Rosse. What sights, my lord ^
Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse
and worse;
Question enrages him. At once, good night.—
Stand not upon the order of your going.
But go at once.
Len. Good night, and better health
Attend his majesty!
Lady M. A kind good night to all!
[Exeunt Lords and Attendants.
Mach. It will have blood; they say, blood will have
blood;
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;
Augures' and understood relations have.
By magot-pies,' and choughs, and rooks, brought forth
The secret'st man of blood.—What is the night ?
Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is
which.
Mach. How say'st thou,® that Macduff denies his
person.
At our great bidding ?
Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ?
Mach. I hear it by the way; but I will send:
There's not a one of them, but in his house
I keep a servant feed I will, to-morrow,
(And betimes I will,) to the weird sisters.
More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good.
All causes shall give way: I am in blood
^ U e. auguries, divinations; fonnerly spelled augures, as appears by ^^o-
no in voce augurio. By understood rdations, probably, connected circum¬
stances relating to the crime are meant In all the modem editions we
have it erroneously, augurs. Magot-pie is the original name of the mag¬
pie : stories, such as Shakspeare alludes to, are to be found in Lupton'a
riiousand Notable Things, and in Goulart's Admirable Histories.
2 i. e. what say'st thou to this circumstance ? Thus, in Macbeth's ad¬
dress to his wife, on the first appearance of Banquo's ghost:—
"Behold! look! lo! how say you
"Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!"
—Macbeth,
sc. V.J
macbeth.
225
Stepped in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
Which must be acted, ere they may be scanned.
Lady M. You lack the season' of all natures, sleep.
Macb. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self
abuse
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use.—
We are yet but young in deed.® \^ExeurU
SCENE V. The Heath. Thunder. *
Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches.
1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you look
angerly.
Hec. Have 1 not reason, beldames, as you are,
Saucy, and overbold ? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,
In riddles and affairs of death;
And I, the mistress of your charms.
The close contriver of all harms.
Was never called to bear my part.
Or show the glory of our art ?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now. Get you gone.
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' the morning; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
X « You stand in need of the time or season of sleep which all natures
require."
2 The editions previous to Theobald's read—
We're but young indeed.^
The initiate fear is the fear that always attends the first initiation into
guilt, before the mind becomes callous and insensible by hard use or fre¬
quent repetition of it.
vol.. III. 29
226
MACBETH.
fACT h.
your vessels, and your spells, provide,
Your charms and every thing beside ;
I am for the air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismtil and a fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound;*
I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that, distilled by magic sleights.
Shall raise such artificial sprights.
As, by the strength of their illusion.
Shall draw him on to his confusion.
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear;
And you all know, security
Is mortal's chiefest enemy.
Song. [PVii/nn.] Come .away, come awat/, 8ic.^
Hark. I ami called ; my little spirit, see,
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Cxit
1 fVitch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be
back again. \^Exeunt
SCENE VI. Fores. A Boom in the Palace
Enter Lenox and anolhelr Lord.
Len. My former speeches have but hit youi
thoughts.
Which can interpret further: only, I say.
Things have been strangely borne. The gracious
Duncan
Was pitied ol Macbeth:—marry, he was dead.—
And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late;
Whom you may say, if it please you, Fleance killed,
1 The vaporous drop profound seems to have been meant for the
same as the virus lunare of the ancients, being a foam which the moon
was supposed to shed on particular herbs, or other objects, when strongly
solicited by enchantment.
? This song is to be found entire, in The Witch, bv Middleton.
8C \'I.]
MACBETH.
221
For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot^ want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm and Donalbain, .
To kill their gracious father ? Damned fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth! Did he not straight,
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear,
That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep ^
Was not that nobly done ? Ay, and wisely too;
For, 'twould have angered any heart alive.
To hear the men deny it. So that, I say.
He has borne all things well; and I do think,
That, had he Duncan's sons under his key,
(As, an't please Heaven, he shall not,) they should find
What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.
But peace!—for from broad words, and 'cause he
failed
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself.?
Lord. The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth.
Lives in the English court; and is received
Of the most pious Edward with such grace,
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward ;
That, by the help of these, (with Him above
To ratify the work,) we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights:
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honors,®
All which we pine for now. And this report
Hath so exasperate^ the king, that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.
r «Who cannot want the thought," &c. The sense requires " who
*an want the thought;" but it is probably a lapse of the Poet's pen.
2 It has been sliown tbat free sometimes meant ptvre, chaste, consequently
Mnspotted, whicb may be its meaning here. Free also meant noble.
3 Exasperate, for exasperated.
228
MACBETH.
(ACT IV
Len. Sent he to ftlacduflF'
Lord. He did ; and with an absolute, Sir, not /,
The cloudy messenger turns me his hack,
And hums; as who should say. You'll rue the tinU
That clogs me with this answer.
Len. And that well might
Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come ; that a swift ^Jessing
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accursed!
Lord. I'll send my prayers with him! [Exeunt
ACT IV.
SCENE I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Caldron
boiling. Thunder.
Enter the three Witches.
1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.
2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined
3 Witch. Harper cries:—'Tis time, 'tis time.
1 U^tch. Round about the caldron go;
In the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad, that under coldest^ stone.
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Sweltered® venom, sleeping got.
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.
1 "Coldest stone." The old copy reads "cold stone;" the eincndatiOB
e Steeveiis's. Mr. Boswell tliinks ihal the alteration was unnecessary
2 Sweltered. This word is employed to signify that the animal was
moistened with its own cold exudations.
MACBKTH.
229
2 fVitch. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake •
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, ,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's^ sting.
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble.
Like a bell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.
3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf;
Witch's mummy; maw and gulf®
Of the ravined^ salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock, digged i' the dark ;
Liver of blaspheming Jew ;
Gall of goat; and slips of yew.
Slivered in the moon's eclipse ;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe.
Ditch-delivered by a drab,—
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chawdron,®
For the ingredients of our caldron.
All. Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.
2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood.
Then the charm is firm and good.
^ The blind-worm is the slow-worm,
® Gulf, the throat
3 To ravin, according to Minshew, is to devour, to eat greedily.. Bavined,
tnerefore, may be glutted with prey; unless, with Malone, we suppose tliat
Shakspeare used ravined for ravenous, the passive participle for tlie ad¬
jective. In Horman's Vulgaria, 1519, occurs "Thou art a ravenar of
oelycatis."
* Sliver is a common word in the north, where it means to cut apiece or
slice.
5 i. e. entraUs ; a word formerly in common use in books of cookery
in one ot which, printed in 1597, is a receipt to make a pudding of a calf's
AawdroK.
230
MAC.'BETH.
[act iv;
Enter Hecate and the other three Witches
Hec. O, well done! I commend your pains;
And every one shall share i'the gains.
And now about the caldron sing,
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
SONG.i
Black spirits and whiter
Red spirits and gra$ .
Mingle, mingle, mingle,
You that mingle may.
2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs,*
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks, whoever knocks.
Enter Macbeth.
Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight
hags ?
What is't you do ?
jlll. A deed without a name.
Mach i conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Tlowe'er you come to know it,) answer me.
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches; though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up,
Though bladcd corn be lodged, and trees blown down ,
Though castles topple on their warders' heads ;
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope
1 " Black spirits and white." The original edition of this play only can-
'nins the two first words of this song; the entire stanza is found in The
Witch, by Middleton, and is there called " A charme Song about a VesseL"
2 « By the pricking of my thumbs." It is a very ancient superstition,
that all sudden pains of the body, and other sensations which could not
naturally be accounted for, were presages of somewhat that was shortly to
happ'^n.
sc. I.] MACBETH.
231
Tlieir heads to their foundations; though the treasure
01' nanire's germins' tumble all together,
Even till destruction sicken,—answer me
To what I ask you.
1 Witch. Speak.
2 Witch. Demand.
3 Witch. We'll answej
1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from oui
mouths.
Or from our masters' ?
Macb. Call them ; let me see them.
1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
Her nine farrow; grease, that's sweaten
From the murderer's gibbet, throw
Into the flame.
All. Come, high, or low;
Thyself and office deftly® show.
Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises.^
Mach. Tell me, thou unknown power,
1 Witch. He knows thy thought;
Hear his speech, but say thou nought.
App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware
Macduff;
Beware the thane of Fife.—Dismiss me.—Enough.
\^Descends.
Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution,
thanks;
Thou hast harped^ my fear aright.—^But one word
more;—
1 Witch. He will not be commanded. Here's
another.
More potent than the first.
1 Germins, «eeds which have begun to sprout or germinate.
® DeJUy is adroitly, dexterously.
3 The armed head represents, symbolically, Macbeth's head cut off and
brought to Malcolm by Macduff. The bloody child is Macduff, untimely
ripped from his mother's womb. The child, with a crown on his head and
a bough in his hand, is the royal Malcolm, who ordered his soldiers to hew
them down a bough, and bear it before them to DunsLnane.
Harped, touched on a passion as a harper touches a string.
232
MACBETH.
[ACT IV
Thunder. An Ajiparition of a bloody Child rises.
App. Macbeth ! Macbeth! Macbeth !—
Mach. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.
App. Be bloody, bold,
And resolute; laugh to scorn the power of man,
For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.^
[Descends.
Macb. Then live, Macduff; what need I fear of
thee ?
But yet I'll make assurance double sure.
And take a bond of fate. Thou shalt not live,
That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies.
And sleep in spite of thunder.—What is this.
Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a
Tree in his Hand, rises.
That rises like the issue of a king;
And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty.^®
All. Listen, but speak not to't.
App. Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are;
Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill ®
Shall come against him. [Descends
Macb. That will never be ;
Who can impress the forest; * bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root ? Sweet bodements! good!
Rebellious head,® rise never, till the wood
1 " For none of woman bom shall harm Macbeth." So Holinshed:—
" And surely hereupon he had put Macduflf" to death, but that a certeine
witch, whom he had in great trust, had told him, that he should never be
slaino with man home of anie woman, nor vanquished till the wood of
Bemane came to the castle of Dunsinane. This prophecy put aU fear out
ol" his heart."
2 The round is that part of a crown which encircles the head: thi toy
is the ornament which rises above it.
3 The present accent of Dunsinane is right. In every subsequent in
stance the accent is misplaced.
4 L e. command it to serve him like a soldi jr impressed.
5 "Rebellious heai" The old copy reaj dead; the emendation u
Theobald's
sc. I.T
macbeth.
233
Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
To time, and mortal custom.—Yet my heart
Yhrobs to know one thing: Tell me, (if your art
Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever
Reign in this kingdom
All. Seek to know no more
Macb. I will be satisfied. Deny me this.
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know:—
Why sinks that caldron ? and what noise is this ?
[Hautboyt.
1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show'
All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart,
Come like shadows, so depart.
Eight Kings appear, and pass over the stage in order,
the last with a glass in his hand; Banquo following.
Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo
down!
Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs;—and thy hair.
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.—
A third is like the former.—Filthy hags!
Why do you show me this ?—A fourth ?—Start, eyes!
What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ?
Another yet.^—A seventh.^—I'll see no more.—
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass.
Which shows me many more ; and some I see.
That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry;'
Horrible sight!—Now, I see, 'tis true ;
b or the blood-boltered ® Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.—What, is this so.?
1 " That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry." This was intended
as a compliment to James the First: he first united the two islands and
the tliree kingdoms under one head, whose house too was said to be de¬
scended from Banquo, who is therefore represented not only as innocent,
but as a noble character; whereas, according to history, he was confede
rate with Macbeth in the murder of Duncan.-
2 In Warwickshire, when a horse, sheep, or other animal, perspires much,
and any of the hair or wool, in consequence of such perspiration, or any
redundant humo*, becomes matted into tufls with grime and sweat, he is
VOL. Ill 30
234 macbeth. fact iv
1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so.—But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly.?—
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,*
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound.
While you perform your antique ® round ;
That this great king may kindly say.
Our duties did his welcome pay.
\^Music. The Witches dance, and vanish
Macb. Where are they.? Gone.?—Let this per
nicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!—
Come in, without there!
E7iter Lenox.
Len. What's your grace's will!
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters.?
Len. No, my lord.
Macb. Came they not by you.?
Len. No, indeed, my lord
Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ;
And damned all those that trust them!—I did hear
The galloping of horse. Who was't came by.?
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you
word,
Macduff is fled to England.
Macb. Fled to England.?
Len. Ay, my good lord.
Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st ^ my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook.
Unless the deed go with it. From this momenv
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now,
caid to be boltered; ana whenever the blood issues out and coaguiatM-
forming the locks into hard, clotted bunches, the beast is said to be blood
loitered.
1 i. e. spirits. It should seem that spirits was almost always pronounced
tprights or sprites by Shakspeare's contemporaries.
2 Antique was the old sjielling for aiUic.
3 L t. preventest them, by taking away the opportunity.
sc. II.]
MACBETH.
235
To cro^vn ipy thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.
The castle of Macduff I will surprise;
Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o'the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace ' him in his line. No- boasting like a fool:
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool.
But no more sights!—Where are these gentlemen ?
Come, bring me where they are. [^Ext iini
SCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.
Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse,
L. Mood. What had he done, to make him fly the
land ?
Rosse. You must have patience, madam.
L. Macd. He had none;
1 lis flight was madness. When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
Rosse. You know not.
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his
babes.
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch:®—for the poor wren.
The most diminutive of birds, will fight.
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.
Rosse. My dearest coz',
I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o' the season.® I dare not speak much further:
i L e. follow^, succeed in it. 2 J^Tutural Urudi, natural affection.
3 Some commentators consider this expression as equivalent to the
' violent disorders of the time;" others insist tliat it means " what is most
fitting to be done in every conjuncture."
236
macbeth
[act iv.
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumor
From what we fear, yet know not what we feai ;^
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
Each way, and move.—1 take my leave of you.
Shall not be long but I'll be here again ;
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before.—^My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!
L. Macd. Fathered he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort.
I take my leave at once. [Exit Rosse
L. Macd. Sirrah,® your father's dead ;
And what will you do now ? How will you live ?
Son. As birds do, mother.
L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ^
Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net,
nor lime.
The pit-fall, nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother} Poor birds they arc
not set for. '
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a
father ?
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet
i' faith.
With wit enough for thee.
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother ?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor ?
1 " When we are led by our fears to believe every rumor of danger
we hes appear.
There is nor fljing hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun.
And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.—
Ring the alarum-bell. Blow, wind ! come, wrack!.
At least we'll die with harness' on our back. [^Exeunt
SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.
Enter, with drums and colors, Malcolm, Old
siward, Macduff, ^c. and their Army, with
boughs.
Mai. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw
down.
And show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right noble son,
Lead our first battle; worthy Macduff, and we,
Shall take upon us® what else remains to do.
According to our order.
Siio. Fare you well.—
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night.
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all
breath.
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
f Exeunt. Alarums continued
* Harness, armor. ^ The first folio reads upon's.
vol. iii. 33
258
macbeth.
[ACT ?
SCENE VII. The same. Another Part of the Plain
Enter Macbeth.
Mach. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bearlike, 1 must fight the course."—What's he,
That was not born of woman ? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.
Enter Young Siward.
Yo. She. What is thy name ?
'Much. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Yo. Snv. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter
name
Than any is in hell.
Macb. My name's Macbeth.
Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a
title
More hateful to mine ear.
Macb. No, nor more fearful.
Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my
sword
I'll prove the lie thou-speak'st.
[They fight, and Young Siward is slain.
Macb. Thou wast born of woman.—
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
-Brandished by man that's of a woman born. [Exit
Alarums. Enter Macduff.
Macd. That way the noise is.—Tyrant, show thy
face:
K thou be'st s ain, and with no stroke of mine.
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. i
1 " But, bearlike, I must fight the course." This was a phrase at bear-
baiting. " Also you shall see two ten dog courses at the great bear
Aittifodes, by Brome.
sc. VII.]
macbeth.
259
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms
Are hired to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbattered edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited.' Let me find him, fortune!
And more i beg not. \^Exit. Alarum
Enter Malcolm and Old Siward.
Siw. This way, my lord.—The castle's gently ren¬
dered :
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
The day almost itself professes yours.
And little is to do.
Mai. We have met with foes
That strike beside us.
Siw. Enter, sir, the castle.
\^Exeunt. Alarum
Re-enter Macbeth.
Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword ? Whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.
Re-enter Macduff.
Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.
Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee;
But get thee back ; my soul is too much charged
With blood of thine already.
Macd. I have no words;
My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out! [Theyfight
Macb. Thou losest labor
As eas}' may'.ot thou the intrenchant air®
1 Bruited is reported, noised abroad ; from bruit (Fr.).
® " The intrenchant air," the air which cannot be cut
260
MACBETH.
■ACT V.
With thy keen sword impress, as makt me bleeo
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.
Macd. ^ Despair thy charm
And let the angel, whom thou still hast served.
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripped.
Mach. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so.
For it hath cowed my better part of man :
And be these juggling fiends no more believed
That palter' with us in a double sense;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope.—I'll not fight with thee
Macd. Then yield thee, coward.
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are.
Painted upon a pole; and underwrit.
Here may you see the tyrant.
Mach. I'll not yield
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet.
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou opposed, l)eing of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last. Before my body
throw my warlike shield ; lay on, Macduff;
And damned be him that first cries. Hold, enough.
[^Exeunt, fighting.
Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colors,
Malcolm, Old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus,
Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers.
Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe arrived
Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
* "That palter with us in a double sense," that sht^e with ambig®
ous expressions.
8C. Vll.]
MACBETH.
261
Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt
He only lived but till he was a man;
The which no sooner had his prowess confirmed
In the unshrinking station where he fought.
But like a man he died.
Siw Then he is dead ?
Rosse. Ay, and bro jght off the field; your cause
of sorrow
Must not be measured by his worth, for then
It hath no end.
Siw. Had he his hurts before ?
Rosse. Ay, on the front.
Siw. Why, then, God's soldier be he
Had I as many sons as 1 have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death.'
And so his knell is knolled.
Mai. He's worth more sorrow,
And that I'll spend for him.
Siw. He's worth no more ;
They say, he parted well, and paid his score;
And so, God be with him!—Here comes newer
comfort.
Re-enter Macduff, ivith Macbeth's head on a pole.^
Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art. Behold, where
stands
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free :
i see thee compassed with thy kingdom's pearl,®
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,—
Hail, king of Scotland!
I " When Siward, the martial earl of Northumberland, understood that
his son, whom he had sent against the Scotchmen, was slain, he demanded
whether his wounds were in the fore part or hinder part of his body.
When it was answered,' in the fore part,' he replied, '7 am right g'kd;
neither unsh I any other death to me or mine.'"—Camden's Rcmaines.
® These words, " on a pole" Mr. Steevens added to the stage direction
from the Chronicle. The stage directions of the players are often incor¬
rect, and sometimes ludicrous.
3 « Thy kingdom's pearl" thy kingdom's wraith or ornament Rowe
alte-ed this to peers, without authority.
262
MACBETH.
[ACl- V
All. Hail, king of Scotland !
\^Flounsh
Mai. We shall not spend a large expense ol time,
Before sve reckon with jour several loves,
\nd make us even with jou. Mj thanes and kinsmen,
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honor named.' What's more to do.
Which would be planted newlj with the time,—
x\s calling home our exiled friends abroad.
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher, and his fiendlike queen,
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took ofiT her life;—this, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place ;
So thanks to all at once, and to each one.
Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone.
\^Flourish. ExeunU
' " Malcolm, immedmtely after his coronation, called a parliament at
Korfair; in the which he rewarded them with lands and livings that had
assisted him against Macbeth. Manie of them that were before thanes
were at this time made earles; as Fife, Menteith, Atholl, Levenox, Mur¬
rey, Caithness, Hosse and Angus."—Holiiished's History of Scotland
p. 17(J.
Phis piay is oeservedly celebrated for the propriety of its fictions,
and solemmty, grandeur, and variety of its action; but it has no nice dis-
cnminations of character: the events are too great to admit the influence
of particular dispositions, and tJie course of the action necessarily deter¬
mines tlic conduct of the agents.
The danger of ambition is well described; and I know not whetlier
li may not be said, in defence of some parts which now seem improbable,
that in Shakspeare's time it was necessary to warn credulity against vain
and illusive predictions.
The passions are directed to their true end. Lady Macbeth is merely
detested; and though the courage of Macbeth preserves some esteem, yet
every reader rejoices at his fall.
Johnson.
KING JOHN.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
This historical play was founded on a former drama, entitled " The
Troublesome Raigne of John, King of England, with the Discoverie of
King Richard Cordelion's base Son, vulgarly named the Bastard Fawcon-
bridge: also the Death of King John at Swinstead Abbey. As it was
sundry times) publikely acted by the Q,ueenes Majesties Players in the
lonorable Cittie of London." This piece, which was in two parts, was
• printed at London for Sampson Clarke, 1591," without the author's name:
jvas again republished in 1611, with the letters W. Sh. in the title-page ;
and afterwards, in 1623, with the name of WUliam Shakspeare at length.
It may be found by the curious reader among the "Six Old Plays on
which Shakspeare founded," &c., published by Mr. Steevens and Mr.
Nichols some years since.
Shakspeare has followed the old play in the conduct of its plot, and
nas even adopted some of its lines. The number of quotations from Horace,
and similar scraps of learning scattered over this motley piece, ascertain it
to have been the work of a scholar. It contains likewise a quantity of
rhyming Latin and ballad metre; and, in a scene where the Bastard is
represented as plundering a monastery, there are strokes of humor, which,
from their particular turn, were most evidently produced by another hand
llian tliat of Shakspeare. Pope attributes the old play to Shakspeare and
Rowley conjointly; but we know not on what foundation. Dr. Farmer
thinks there is no doubt that Rowley wrote the old play ; and when Sliak-
speare's play was called for, and could not be procured from the players, a
piratical bookseller reprinted the old one under his name.
Though, as Johnson observes. King John is not" written with the
utmost power of Shakspeare," yet it has parts of preeminent pathos and
beauty and characters highly interesting, drawn with great hirce and
truth. The scene between John and Hubert is perhaps one of the inos*
(2GS)
264
KING JOHN.
masterly and striking which our Poet ever penned. The secret work ingi
of tlie darjt and turbulent soul of the usurper, ever shrinking from the full
development of his own bloody purpose; the artful expressions of grateful
attachment by which he wins Hubert to do the deed; and the sententious
brevity of the close, manifest that consummate skill and wonderful knowl¬
edge of human character which are to bo found in Shakspeare alone. But
what shall we say of that heart-rending scene between Hubert and Arthur
—a scene so deeply affecting the soul with terror and pity that even the
sternest bosom must melt into tears; it would perhaps be too overpowering
for the feelings, were it not for the " alleviating influence of the innocence
and artless eloquence of the poor child." His death afterwards, when he
throws himself from the prison walls, excites the deepest commiseration
for his hapless fate. The maternal grief of Constance, moving the haughty,
unbending soul of a proud queen and affectionate mother to the very con¬
fines of the most hopeless despair, bordering on madness, is no less finely
conceived, than sustained by language of the most impassioned and vehe¬
ment eloquence. How exquisitely beautiful are the following lines 1—
' " Grief fills the room up of my absent child.
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me.
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words.
Remembers me of all his gracious parts.
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.
Then have I reason to be fond of grief."
Shakspeare las judiciously preserved the character of the Bastard
Faulconbridge, which was furnished him by the old play, to alleviate by
his coinic humor the poignant grief excited by the too painful events of
the tragic part of the play. Faulconbridge is a favorite with every one
lie is not only a man of wit, but an heroic soldier; and we lean toward
hirn from the first for the good humor he displays in his litigation with his
brother respecting the succession to his supposed father
" Ho hath a trick of Coeur-de-hon's face.
The very spirit of Plantagi^net!"
Tl.is bespeaks our favor toward him: his courage, his wit, and his frank
nesj secure it.
Schlegel has remarked that, in this play, " tne political and warlike
events are dressed out with solemn pomp, for the very reason that tliey
pusse.ss but little true grandeur. The falsehood and selfishness of the
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
2G5
monarch are evident in the style of the manifesto; conventional dignity is
most indispensable when personal dignity is wanting. Faulconbridge ridi¬
cules the secret springs of politics without disapproving thepi, but frankly
confesses that he is endeavoring to make his fortune by silnilar means, and
wishes rather to belong to the deceivers than the deceived." Our comirtiser-
ation is a little excited for the fallen and degfaded monarch toward the close
of the play. The death of the king and his previous suffering are not among
the least impressive parts; they carry a pointed moral.
Malone places the date of the composition in 1596.
Throughout this play Shakspeare has softened for the better the traits
of the pripcipal political characters, and has much obliterated the bad. His
John; his Constance, his Arthur, his Philip Augustus, even his Elinor, are
better people than they are found in history. The ground of this treatment,
which is not usual to him, is not merely that in this instance he did not draw
directly from the sources of the Chronicle; his design in it was also, as will
appear in the course of our considerations, that the vehicles of the political
story should be merely men of ordinary stamp, deriving the motives for their
actions from no deep-lying passions; men neither of a very noble nor of a
very ignoble sort, but, as is generally the case in the political world, men
acting from selfishness and common interest. The base previous history of
Elinor and Constance is touched upon only in cursory insinuations, or is en¬
tirely overlooked; the older, active Arthur of history is transformed into an
inactive, innocent boy; King John himself is kept greatly in the background,
and even his historical character is softened and refined by Shakspeare. As
he appears at the commencement, he is like a vigorous man prepared for
everything, resolved with a strong hand to defend his possession of the
throne against every assault. He is "great in thought," as Faulconbridge
subsequently reminds him, referring to this early period; in the thought, he
means, of maintaining with all his power against every pretension that Eng¬
lish land which actually is on his side and has sworn allegiance to him, and
of identifying the kingdom with his country as the straightforward Bastard
ever does. He is not the image of a brutal tyrant, but only the type of the
hard manly nature, without any of the enamel of finer feelings, and without
any other motives for action than those arising from the instinct of this same
inflexible nature and of personal interest. Severe and earnest, an enemy to
cheerfulness and merry laughter, conversant with dark thoughts, of a restless,
excited temperament, he quickly rises to daring resolves; he is uncommuni¬
cative to his best advisors, laconic and reserved; he does not agree to the
good design of his evil mother that he should satisfy Constance and her
claims by an accommodation; it better pleases his warlike manly pride to
bear arms against the threatened arms; in his campaigns against Constance
and her allies the enemy himself feels that the "hot haste," managed with so
foresight, and the wise order in so wild a cause, are unexampled.
Gerviniw.
vol. hi. 3-1
PERSO]^ REPRESENTED
King John.
Prince Henry, his Son; aftenoards King Henry III.
Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, Son of Geffrey, late Duke of
Bretagne, the elder Brother of King John.
William Mareshall, Earl ^Pembroke.
Geffrey Fitz-Peter, Earl of Essex, chief Justiciary of
England.
William Longsword, Earl q/" Salisbury.
Robert Bigot, Earl q/" Norfolk.
Hubert de Burgh, Chamberlain to the King.
Robert Faulconbridge, Son of Sir Robert Faulcon-
bridge.
Philip Fauloonbridgf., his Half-brother, Bastard Son
to King Richard tlie First.
James Gurney, Scriant to Lady Faulconbridge.
Peter of Pomfret, a Prophet.
Philip, King q/France.
Lewis, the Dauphin.
Archduke of Austria.
Cardinal Pandulph, the Popds .Legate.
Melun, a French Lord.
Chatillon, Ambassador from France to King Joha
Elinor, the Widow of King Henry II. and Mother of
King John.
Constance, Mother to Arthur.
Blanch, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and
Niece to King John.
Lady Faulconbridge, Mother to the Bastard and
Robert Faulconbridge.
Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
SCENE, sometimes in England, and sometimes in France.
(266)
KING JOHN
ACT I.
SCEN E I. Northampton. A Room of State tn the
Palace.
Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Es¬
sex, Salisbury, and others, loith Chatillon.
King John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France
with us ?
Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of
France,
In my behavior,' to the majesty,
The borrowed majesty of England here.
Eli. A strange beginning ;—borrowed majesty !
K. John. Silence, good mother ; hear the embassy,
Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
To this fair island, and the territories ;
To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine ;
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword.
Which sways usurpingly these several titles.
And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
Tliy nephew, and right royal sovereign.
« K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this ?
Chat. The proud contiol of fierce and bloody war
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
' In my behavior probably means "In tlie words and action I am now
ffoiaff to use."
® (2673
2G8
king john.
[act i.
K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood for
blood,
(/ontrolment for controlment; so answer France.
Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my mouthy
The furthest limit of my embassy.
K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
For ere thou canst report I will be there.
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.
So, hence! be thou the trumpet of our wrath,
And sullen' presage of your own decay.-
An honorable conduct let him have ;—
Pembroke, look to't. Farewell, Chatillon.
[^Exeunt Chatili.on and Pembrokf.
Eli. What now, my son have I not ever said,
How that ambitious Constance would not cease.
Till she had kindled France, and all the world,
Upon the right and party of her son ?
This might have been prevented and made whole.
With very easy arguments of love !
Which now the manage ® of two kingdoms must
With fearful, bloody issue arbitrate.
K. John. Our strong possession, and our right,
for us.
Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your
right;
Or else it must go wrong with you, and me.
So much my conscience whispers in your ear;
Which none but Heaven, and you, and 1, shall hear.
Enter the ShcrilT of Northamptonshire, who whisperi
Essex.
Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy,
' Come from the country to be judged by you,
That e'er I heard. Shall I produce the men ?
K. John. Let them approach.— [^Exit Sherifl
Our abbeys, and our priories, shall pay
1 i e. gloomy, dismal.
3 L e. conduct, administration
sc. i.j
KING JOHN.
2C9
Re-enter ShorifT, with Robert Faulconbridge, and
Philip, his bastard Brother}
This expedition's charge.—What men are jou ?
Bast. Your faithful subject, I, a gentleman.
Born in Northamptonshire ; and eldest son.
As I suppose,to Robert Faulconbridge;
A soldier, by the honor-giving hand
Of Coeiir-de-lion knighted in the field.
K. John. VVhat art thou ?
Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge
AT. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir ?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.
Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king;
That is well known ; and, as I think, one father;
But, for the certain knowledge of that truth,
I put you o'er to Heaven, and to my mother;
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.
Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame th
mother.
And wound her honor with this diffidence.
Bast. I, madam ? no, I have no reason for it;
That is my brother's plea, and none of mine.
The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year.
Heaven guard my mother's honor, and my land !
K. John. A good blunt fellow.—Why, being young
er born, ,
Doth he la}' claim to thine inheritance ?
1 Shakspeare, in adopting the character of Philip Faulconbridge from
the old play, proceeded on the following slight hint:—
" Next them a bastard of the king's deceased,
A hardie wild-head, rough and venturous."
The character is compounded of two distinct personages. « Sub illius
temporis curriculo Falcasixis dt Brcnte, Neusteriensis, et spurius ex parte
matria, atqne Bastardus, qui in vili jumento manticato ad Re^is paulo
ante clientelam descenderat. Mathew Paris.—Holinshed says that
" Richard 1. had a natural son named Philip, who, in the year following,
killed the Viscount de Limoges to revenge the death of his father." Per¬
haps the name of Faulconbridge was suggested by the following passage
in the c.onlimiation of Harding's Chronicle, 154."J, fol. 24, ti:—" One Paid
tonbridge, th' erle of Kent his hasiarde, a str ite hearted man."
270
king john.
[act i.
Bast. I know not whj, except to get the Innd.
But once he slandered me with bastardy
But whe'r' I he as true begot, or no,
That still I lay upon my mother's head ;
But, that I am as well begot, my liege,
(P'air fall the bones that took the pains for me !)
Compare our faces, and be judge yourself.
If old sir Robert did beget us both.
And were our father,* and this son like him;—
(), old sir Robert, father, on my knee
I give Heaven thanks, I was not like to thee.
K. John. Why, what a madcap hath Heaven lenl
us here!
Eli. He hath a trick ® of Coeur-de-lion's face
The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
Do you not read some tokens ol" my son
In the large composition of this man ?
K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts.
And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak.
What doth move you to claim your brother's land.?
Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father;
With that half face would he have all my land.
A half-faced groat^ five hundred pound a year!
Rob. JNIy gracious liege, when that my father lived,
Vour brother did employ my father much ;—
Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land;
Your tale must be how he employed my mother.
Rob. And once despatched him in an embassy
To Germany, there, with the emperor.
To treat of high affairs touching that time.
The advantage of his absence took the king.
And in the mean time sojourned at my father's ,
Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak.
But truth is truth ; large lengths of seas and shores
1 Whether.
2 Shakspeare uses the word triclt generally in the sense of "a peciilio/
air, or cast of countenance or feature."
3 The Poet makes Faulconbridge allude to the silver groats of Henry
VII. and Henry VIII., which had on them a half-face or profile. In the
reign of John, there were no groats at all the first being coined in the
reign of Kdward III.
8C. I.J
KING JOHN.
Between my father and my mother lay,
(As I have heard my father speak himself,)
vVhen this same lusty gentleman was got.
IJ pon his death-bed he by will bequeathed
His lands to me; and took it, on his death.
That this, my mother's son, was none of his;
And, if he were, he came into the world
Full fourteen weeks before the eourse of time.
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
My father's land, as was my father's will.
K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate ;
Four father's wife did after wedlock bear him:
And, if she did play false, the fault was hers ;
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands .
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son.
Had of your father claimed this son for his ?
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world.
In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother's,
My brother might not claim him ; nor your father.
Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes,'—
My mother's son did get your father's heir;
Four father's heir must have your father's land.
Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force.
To dispossess that child which is not his ?
Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir.
Than was his will to get me, as I think.
Eli. Whether hadst thou rather,—be a Faulcon
bridge.
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ;
Or the reputed son of Cceur-de-lion,
liord of thy presence,® and no land beside ?
Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape.
And I had his, sir Robert his,® like him ;
1 i. e. " this is a decisive argument,"
2 Lord of thy presence means possessor of thy own dignified and manly
appearance, resembling thy great progenitor.
a Sir Robert his, for " Sir Robert's;" his, according to a mistaken notion
formerly received, being the sign of the genitive case.
KING JOHN.
[ACT I
And if mj lo^s were too such riding-rods;
Mj arms such eel-skins stuffed ; my face so thin,
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose,
Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings'
goes !
And, to ® his shape, were heir to all this land,
'Would, I might never stir from off* this place,
I'd give it every foot to have this face ;
1 would not be sir Nob ® in any case.
Eli. 1 like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy
fortune.
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ^
I am a soldier, and now bound to France.
Bast. Brother, take you my land; I'll take my
chance.
Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year;
Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear.—
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.
Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither
Bast. Our country manners give our betters way
K. John. What is thy name ?
Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun,
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.
K. John. From henceforth bear his name whoso
form thou bear'st.
Kneel thou down, Philip, but arise * more great.
Arise, sir Richard, and Plantagenet.®
Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your
hand;
My father gave me honor, yours gave land.
1 Queen Elizabeth coined threepenny, threehalfpenny, and tbreefar-
thing pieces ; these pieces all had her head on the obverse, and some of them
a rose on the reverse. Being of silver, they were extremely thin; and hence
tlie allusion. The roses stuck in the ear, or in a lock near it, were gene¬
rally of riband; but Burton says that it was once the fashion to stick real
flowers in the ear. Some gallants had tlieir ears bored, and wore theii
mistresses' silken shoestrings in them.
2 To his shape, i. e. in addition to it. 3 Robert.
* The old copy reads rise.
5 Planiaffertei was not a family name, but a nickname, by which a
grandson of Geoffrey, the first earl of Anjou, was distinguished, from his
wearing a hroomstalk in his bonnet.
sc. IJ
KING JOHN.
273
Now blessed be the hour by night or day,
When I was got, sir Robert was away.
Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet!—
I am thy grandame, Richard; call me so.
Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth. What
though
Something alwut, a little from the right,
In at the window, or else o'er the hatch :'
Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night;
And have is have, however men do catch.
Near or far off, well won is still-well shot;
And I am I, "howe'er 1 was begot.
K. John. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy
desire;
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.—
Come, madam, and come, Richard; we must speed
For France, for France ; for it is more than need.
Bast. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee !
For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.
[^Exeunt all hut the Bastard
A foot of honor better than I was ;
But many a many foot of land the worse.
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.—
Good den,^ sir Richard,—God-a-mercy, fellow ;—
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter:
1 or new-made honor doth forget men's names ;
'Tis too respective,^ and too sociable.
For your conversion.^ Now your traveller,®—
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess ; ®
1 These expressions were common in the time of Sliakspe&re for being
oom out of wedlock.
2 Good evenin*.
3 Respective does not here mean respectful, as the commentators have
explained it, but considerative, regard/id.
* Change of condition.
5 It is said, in All's Well that Ends Well, that "a traveller is a good
thing after dinner." In that age of aewly-excited curiosity, one of the
entertainments at great tables seems to have been the discourse of a trav¬
eller. To use a toothpick seems to have been one of the characteristics
of a travelled man who affected foreign fashions.
6 " At my worship's mess" means at that part of the table where I, as
a knight, shall be placed.—" Your worship " was the regular address to a
knight or esquire, in Shakspeare's time, as " your honor " was to a lord,
t OL. III. 35
274
KING JOHN.
[ACT I
And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
Why then I suck my teeth, and cateciiize
My picked man of countries '—My dear sir
(Thus, leaning on my elbow, 1 begin,)
I shall beseech you—That is question now;
And then comes answer like an A B O-book.—'
0, sir, says answer, at your best command;
At your employment; at your service, sir.—
No, sir, says question, I, sweet sir, at yours;
And, so, ere answer knows what question would,
(Saving in dialogue of compliment;
And talking of the Alps, and Apennines,
The Pyrenean, and the river Po,)
It draws towards supper in conclusion T:
But this is worshipful society.
And fits the mounting spirit, like myself.
For he is but a bastard to the time.
That doth not smack of observation;®
(And so am I, whether I smack, or no;)
And not alone in habit and device, •
Exterior form, outward accoutrement;
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth ;
Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.—
But who comes in such haste, in riding robes ?
What woman-post is this ? Hath she no husband,
1 hat will take pains to blow a horn before her ?
Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurnli
O me! it is my mother.—How now, good lady ?
What brings you here to court so hastily.?
^■My picked man of countries may be equivalent to my traveUea J op
picked generally signified affected, overnice, or curious in dress.
2 An A B C or absey-book, as it was then called, is a catechism.
3 i. e. he is accounted but a mean man, in the present age, who does not
show by his dress, deportment, and talk, that he has travelled and made
observations in foreign countries.
sc. I.]
king john.
Lady F. Where is that slave, thj brother ? \V here
is he,
That holds in chase mine honor up and down ?
Bast. My brother Robert ? old sir Roliert's son ?
C-olbrand the giant,^ that same mighty man ?
Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek, so?
Lady F. Sir Robert's son! ay, thou unreverend
boy.
Sir Robert's son ! Why scorn'st thou at sir Robert ?
lie is sir Robert's son; and so art thou.
Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave
awhile ?
Gur. Good leave, good Philip.
Bast. Philip ?—sparrow ! ®—James,
There's toys abroad;® anon I'll tell thee more.
\^Exit Gurney
Madam, 1 was not old sir Robert's son;
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his fast.
Sir Robert could do well; marry, (to confess !)
Could he get me ? Sir Robert could not do it;
We know his handy-work.—Therefore, good mother.
To whom am 1 beholden for these limbs ?
Sir Robert never hoip to make this leg.
Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine
honor ?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave ?
Bast. Knight, knight, good mother,—Basilisco-like.'*
1 Colbrand was a Danish giant, whom Guy of Warwick discomfited in
(lie presence, of king Athelstan. The History of Guy was a popular
book in the Poet's age. Drayton has described • tiie combat very pom¬
pously in his Polyolbion.
2 The Bastard means " Philip! Do you take me for a spnirow ? " The
sparrow was called Philip from its note, which was supposed to have some
resemblance to that word, "phip phip the sparrows as tliey fly.";—
Mother Bombie.
3 i. e. rumors, idle reports.
4 This is a piece of satire on the stupid, old drama of Soliman and Per-
seda, printed in 1.599, which had probably become the butt for stage sarcasm.
In this piece there is a bragging, cowardly knight called Basilisco. His
pret« nkion to valor is so biown and seen tlirough, that Piston, a buffoon
servant in tlie play, jumps upon his back, and will not disengage him till
276
KING JOHN.
[ACT I
What! I am dubbed; I have it on my shoulder,
ibit, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ,
I have disclaimed sir Robert, and my land ;
Legitimation, name, and ail is gone :
Tlien, good my mother, let me know my father.
Some proper man, I hope ; who was it, mother ?
Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge i
Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil.
Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy
father;
By long and vehement suit I was seduced
To make room for him in my husband's bed.—
Heaven, lay not my transgression to my charge!
Thou art the issue of my dear offence.
Which was so strongly urged, past my defence.
Bast. Now, by this light, were 1 to get again,
Madam, I would not wish a better father.
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth.
And so doth yours ; your fault was not your folly:
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,—
Subjected tribute to commanding love,—
Against whose fury and unmatched force
The aweless lion could not wage the fight.
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts,'
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother.
With all my heart 1 thank thee for my father!
Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
he makes Basilisco swear upon his dagger to the contents, onu u tha
terms he dictates; thus:—
Bos, O, I swear, 1 swear.
Fist. By the contents of this blade,—
Bas. By the contents of this blade,—
Fist. I, tlie aforesaid Basilico—
Bas, I, the aforesaid BasiUco,—knight, good fellow, knighi.
Fist. Knave, good fellow, knave.
1 Shakspeare alludes to the fabulous history of king Richard I. wliich
says tliat he derived his appellation of Caur-de-lion from having pluckea
out a lion's heart, to whose fury he had been exposed by the duke of
Austria for having slain his son with a blow of his fist. The story is
related in several of the old chronicles, as well as in tlie old metrical ity
mance.
sc. i.]
king john
277
Como, lady, 1 will show thee to my kin ;
And they shall say, when Richard me begot,
if thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin.
Who says it was, he lies; 1 say, 'twas not.
\ Exeunt
ACT II.
SCENE 1. France. Before the Walls of Angiers
Enter, on one side, the Archduke of Austria,' and
Forces; on the other, Philip, King of France, and
Forces; Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and Attend¬
ants.
Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.—
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
Richard, that robbed the lion of his heart.
And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
By this brave duke came early to his grave ;
And, for amends to his posterity.
At our importance,® hither is he come.
To spread his colors, boy, in thy behalf;
And to rebuke the usurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.
Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death.
The rather, that you give his offspring life.
Shadowing their right under your wings of war.
I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
1 Leopold, duke of Austria, by whom Richard had been thrown into
prison in 1193, died in consequence of a fall from his horse, 1195, some
years before the date of the events upon which this play turns. The cause
of the enmity between Richard and the duke of Austria is variously
related by the old chroniclers. Shakspeare has been led into this anacn
ronism by the old play of King John.
8 Importunity.
278
KLNG JOHN.
[ACT II
But with a heart full of unstained love.
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.
iiCM'. A noble boy! who would not do thee right ^
Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
As seal to this indenture of my love;
That to my home I will no more return,
Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-faced shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her islanders,—
Even till that England, hedged in with the main.
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,—
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee foi' her king. Till then, fair boy.
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
- Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widovi's
thanks.
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength.
To make a more^ requital to your love.
Aast. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their
swords
In such a just and charitable war.
K. Phi. Well, then, to work; our cannon shall be
bent
Against the brows of this resisting town.
Call for our cfiiefest men of discipline.
To cull the plots of best advantages.®—
We'll lay before this town our royal bones.
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood.
But we will make it subject to this boy.
Const. Slay for an answer to your embassy.
Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood.
My lord Chatillon may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war;
And then we shall repent each drop of blood,
That hot, rash haste so indirectly shed.
1 L e. greater.
2 To mark tJie best stations to overawe the town
SC l.J
Kir«G JOHN.
279
Enter Chatillon.
K. Phi. A wonder, lady!—lo, upon thy wish.
Our messenger Chatillon is arrived.—
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak.
Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege,
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds.
Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as 1;
His marches are expedient' to this town.
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother-queen,
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ;
With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain ;
With them a bastard of the king's deceased ;
And all the unsettled humors of the land,—
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries.
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens,—
Have sold theii fortunes at their native homes.
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits.
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er.
Did never float upon the swelling tide.
To do oflence and scathin Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums [^Drums beat
Cuts oir more circumstance; they are at hand.
To parley, or to fight; therefore, prepare.
K. Phi. How much unlooked for is this expedition
Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake endeavor for defence ;
F^or courage mounteth with occasion.
Let th e. ; fmiu tlie verb to fear, to make afraid.
so. 11]
KING JOHN
291
Bast. O prudent discipline ! from north to south,
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth.
\^Aside
I'll stir them to't.—Come, away, away!
1 Cit. Hear us, great kings! vouchsafe a while
to stay.
And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league;
Win you this city without stroke or wound ;
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds.
That here come sacrifices for the field.
Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings.
K. John. Speak on, with favor; we are bent to
hear.
I Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady
Blanch,'
Is near to England; look upon the years
Of Lewis the dau|)hin, and that lovely maid.
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty.
Where should he find it fairer than in jJlanch.?
If zealous® love should go in search of virtue.
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch ?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch ^
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth.
Is the young dauphin every way complete.
If not complete, O say, he is not she;
And she again wants nothing, to name want.
If want it be not, that she is not he.
He is the half part of a blessed man.
Left to be finished by such a she,
And she a fair, divided excellence.
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
(), two such silver currents, when they join,
l>o glorify the banks that bound them in;
- And two such shores to two such streams made one.
Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings.
To these two princes, if you marry them.
1 The lady Blanch was daughter to Alphonso, the nintJi king of Cas¬
tile and was nipce to king John by his sister Eleanor.
' Zfalous for pious. *
292
KING JOHN.
[ACT n
This Union shall do more than battery can,
To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match,
With swifter spleen ^ than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope.
And give you entrance; but, without this match,
The sea enraged is not half so deaf,
Lions more confldent, mountains and rocks
More free from motion; no, not death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory,
As we to keep this city.
Bast. Here's a stay,®
That shakes the rotten carcass of old death
Out of his rags ! here's a large mouth, indeed.
That spits forth death,. and mountains, rocks, and
seas!
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs !
What cannonier begot this lusty blood ?
He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce
He gives the bastinado with his tongue ;
Our ears are cudgeled ; not a word of his.
But buffets better than a fist of France.
Zounds ! I was never so bethumped with words.
Since I first called my brother's father, dad.
Eli. Son, list to this conjunction ; make this match
Give with our niece a dowry large enough ;
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsured assurance to the crown.
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
1 see a yielding in the looks of France ;
Mark, how they whisper. Urge them, while tlieir
souls
Are capable of this ambition !
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
1 Spleen is used by Shakspeare for any violent hurry or tumultuoua
speed. In a Midsummer Night's Dream he applies spleen XoXhelightning.
2 A stay here seems to mean a supporter of a cause. " Here's an ex¬
traordinary partisan or maintainer that shakes," &c. It has been proposed
to read, " Here's a say," i. e. a speech; Johnson and Mason readjlais.
sc. II.]
KING JOH.-*.
293
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse.
Cool and congeal again to what it was.
1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesti< doing the act The criminal act, therefore, which
thou hast sworn to do, is not amiss, will not be imputed to you as a crime,
if it be dene truly, in the sense I have now affixed to truth; that is, if you
do not do it
vol.. III. 39
30G
KING JOHN.
[ACT III
Is, lo mistake again ; though indirect,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct.
And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire,
Within the scorched veins of one new burned.
It is religion, that doth make vows kept;
But thou hast sworn against religion ;
By what thou swear'st,' against the thing thou swear'st
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath. The truth thou art unsure
To swear, swear only not to be forsworn,
'Else, what a mockery should it be to swear ?
But thou dost sn ear only to be forsworn ;
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear
Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first,
Is iii thyself rebellion to thyself;
And better conquest never canst thou make,
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against those giddj', loose suggestions;
Upon which better part our prayers come in.
If thou vouchsafe them : but, if not, then know,
The peril of our curses light on thee;
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off,
But, in despair, die under their black weight.
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion !
BasL Will't not be ?
Will not a calf-skin stop that mouth of thine ?
Lew. Father, to arms!
Blanch. Upon thy wedding day t
Against the blood that thou hast married ?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men }
Shall braying trumpets, and loud, churlish drums,—
Clamors of hell,—be measures to our pomp ?
O, husband, hear me !—Ah, alack! how new
Is husband in my mouth ! Even for that name.
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.
1 By what thou ^icear'st, &c. " In sweanng by relijrion against religion,
Ihou hast sworn by what thou swear'st; L e. in tliat which thou hast swor^
at> ainst the thins^ thou su earest by; i. e. religion."
I.]
KING JOHN.
307
Const. O, upon my knee,
Mdoe hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee.
Thou virtuous dauphin, alter not the doom
Forethought by Heaven.
Blanch. Now shall 1 see thy love. What motive
may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ?
Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,
His honor. O, thine honor, Lewis, thine honor!
Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold,
When such profound respects do pull you on.
Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head.
K. Phi. Thou shalt not need.—England, I'll fall
from thee.
Const. O fair return of banished majesty!
Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy!
K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within
this hour. .
Bast. Old time, the clock-setter, that bald sexton
time.
Is it as he will.? Well, then, France shall rue.
Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood. Fair day^
adieu!
Which is the side that I must go withal.?
I am with both : each army hath a hand;
And in their rage, I having hold of both.
They whirl asunder, and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose;
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine;
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive. .
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose;
Assured loss, before the match be played.
Lew. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies.
Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there ni)'
life dies.
K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.—
\^Exit Bastard
France, I am burned up with inflaming wrath;
A rage; whose heat hath this condition.
308
King john.
[ACT ill
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood.
The blood, and dearest valued blood, of bfance.
K. Fhi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou
shalt turn
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire.
i.iOok to thyself; thou art in jeopardy.
K. John. No more than he that threats.—To arms
let's hie! \_Exetint
SCENE II. The same. Plains near kngxers. Alar
urns; Excursions.
Enter the Bastard, with Austria's head.
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous
hot;
Some airy devil hovers in the sky, ,
And pours down mischief. Austria's head, lie there.
While Philip breathes.
Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert.
K. John. Hubert, keep this boy.—Philip,' make up;
My mother is assailed in our tent.
And ta'en, I fear.
Bast. My lord, I rescued her;
Her highness is in safety ; fear you not.
But on, my liege; for very little pains
Will bring this labor to a happy end. \^Exeunt.
I Here the king, who had knighted hini by the name of «r Richard,
caila him by his former name. Shakspeare has followed the old plays,
and the best authenticated history. The queen mother, whom king John
bad made regent in Anjou, was in possession of the town of Mirabeau, in
that province. On the approach of the French army, with Arthur at tlieir
head, she sent letters to king John to come to her relief, which he imme¬
diately did. As he advanced to the town, he encountered the army that
lay before it, routed them, and took Arthur prisoner The queen, in the
mean while, remained in perfect security in^e castl; of Mirabeau
sc. 111.1
(ING JOHN.
309
SCENE III. The same. Alarums; Excursions
Retreat.
Enter King John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard
Hubert, and Lords.
K John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay be¬
hind, [7*0 Elinor
So strongly guarded.—Cousin, look not sad;
[To Arthur
Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was.
Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief.
K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for Eng
land. Haste before;
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels ^
Set thou at liberty; the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon.
Use our commission in his utmost force.
Bast. Bell, book, and candle,® shall not drive me
back.
When gold and silver becks me to come on.
I leave your highness.—Grandam, I will pray
Of ever I remember to be holy)
For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin.
K. John. Coz, farewell.
[Exit Bastard.
Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word.
[SZie takes Arthur aside
K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle
Hubert,
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
1 Gold coin of that name.
2 It appears from Johnson's Ecclesiastical Lawi that sentence of ex
communication was to be " explained in order in English, witli bells toll
\ng and candles lighted, that it may cause the greater dread; for laymen
have greater regard to this solemnity than to the effect of such sentences.*
310
KING JOHN.
[ACT in
There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love;
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearlv cherished.
. 'J
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,—
But I will fit it with some better time.
By Heaven, Hubert, ham almost ashamed
To say what good respect I have of thee.
Huh, I am much bounden to your majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say
so yet
But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow,
Tet it shall come, for me to do thee good.
I had a tiling to say,—but let it go;
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day.
Attended with the pleasures of the world.
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds.
To give me audience.—If the midnight-bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto' the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a churchyard where we stand.
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs,
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy.
Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy, thick,
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes.
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes;)
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes.
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit® alone.
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;—
Then, in despite of brooded,^ watchful c
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.
1 The old copy reads into. The emendation is Theobald's.
2 Conception.
3 Pope proposed to read broad-eyed, instead of brooded. The alteration,
it must be confessed, is elegant, but unnecessary. The allusion is to the
vigilance of animals while brooding, or with a brood of young ones undci
tlieir protection
sc. .ll.j
KING JOHN.
311
But, ah, I will not:—yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act.
By Heaven, I'd do't.
K. John. Do not I know, thou wouldst '-
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend.
He is a very serpent in my way;
And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread.
He lies before me. Dost thou understand me ?
Thou art his keeper.
Hub. And I will keep him so.
That he shall not offend your majesty.
K. John. Death.
Hub. My lord ?
K. John. A grave
Hub. He shall not live
K. John. Enough
I could be merry now. Hubert, 1 love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee;
Remember. Madam, fare you well.
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee !
K. John. For England, cousin :
Hubert sfiall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty.—On toward Calais, ho!'
[^Exeunt.
1 King John, after he had taken Arthur prisoner, sent him to the town
of Falaise, in Nonnandy, under the care of Hubert, his chamberlain,
from wlipuce he was afterwards removed to Rouen, and delivered
to the custody of Robert de Veypont. Here he was secrcitly put to
death. "This is one of those scones (says Steevens) to which may be
nromised a lasting commendation. Art could add little to its poi fer tion ;
no change in dramatic taste can injure it; and time itself can s ibiract
notliing from its beauties."
312
KING JOHN.
[ACT III
SCENE IV. The same. 7%e French King's
Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and At-
' tendants.
K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
A whole armado ^ of convicted ® sail
Is scattered and disjoined from fellowship.
Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well.
K. Phi. What can go. well, when we have run
so ill.?
Are we not beaten.? Is not Anglers lost.?
Arthur ta'en prisoner.? divers dear friends slain ?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France.?
Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified.
So hot a speed with such advice disposed.
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,®
Doth want example. Who hath read, or heard,
Of any kindred action like to this.?
K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this
praise.
So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Enter Constance.
Look, who comes here! a grave unto a soul;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will.
In the vile prison of afflicted breath."*—
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.
C(rist. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace !
K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Con
stance!
Jinnado is a fleet of war; the word is adopted from the Spanisii, and
tiie recent defeat of the Spanish armado had made it familiar.
Convicted is vanquisned, overcome. To convince and convict were
synonymous.
3 A yJrrce cattse is a cause conducted with precipitation.
4 " the vile prison of afflicted breath " is the body; tlie same vile
prison in which the breath's conflnod.
sc. IV.]
KING JOHN.
313
Const. No, 1 dotj' all counsel, all redress.
But that which ends all counsel, true redress,
Death, death.—O amiable, lovely death !
Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness!
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night.
Thou hate and terror to prosperity.
And I will kiss thy detestable bones;
And put my eyeballs in thy vanity brows;
And ring these fingers with thy household worms;
And stop this gap of breath ® with fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monster like thyself. *
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smil'st.
And buss thee, as thy wife ! Misery's love,
O, come to me!
K. Phi. O, fair affliction, peace.
Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry.—
0 that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth!
Then with a passion would 1 shake the world;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice.
Which scorns a modern® invocation.
Pand. Lady, you utter madness," and not sorrow.
^ Const. Thou art not holy to lielie me so.
1 am not mad: this hair I tear is mine;
My name is Constance : I was Geffrey's wife ;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost.
I am not mad ;—I would to Heaven I were I
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself.
O, if I could, what grief should I forget!—
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief.
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be delivered of these woes.
And teaches me to kill or hang myself.
If I were mad, I should forget my son.
1 To defy formerly signined to refuse, to reject.
^ Ml do defy thy commiseration."—Romeo and Juliet
2 i. e. this month. 3 i. e. common,
vol.. 111. 40
314
KhNG JOHN.
[ACT 111
Or madly think a babe of clouts were he.
•I am not mad; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.
K. Phi. Bind up those tresses ; O, what love 1 note
fn the fair multitude of those her hairs!
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen,
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glue themselves in sociable grief;
Ijike true, inseparable, faithful loves;
Sticking together in calamity.
Const. To England, if you will.'
K. Phi. Bind up your hairs
Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will 1 do it'
I tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud,
0 that these hands could so redeem my son,
As they have given these hairs their liberty!
But now I envj' at their liberty.
And will again commit them to their bonds.
Because my poor cliild is a prisoner.
And, father cardinal, 1 have heard you say.
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven.
If that be true, 1 shall see my boy again ;
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child,
To him that did but yesterday suspire,^
There was not such a gracious® creature born.
Biit now will canker sorrow eat my bud.
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost;
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit;
And so he'll die; and, rising so again.
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
1 shall not know him. Therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief...
Const. He talks to me, that never had a son.
1 Probably Constance, m despair, means to apostrojiliize tlie absec
Idng John:—"TaUe my son to England if vou will."
2 To suspire, ShaJjspeare uses for to breathe.
3 Gracious i.s u.sed by Sh.ikspeare ollen in the sense of heaiUtful, cotnel
graceful.
sc. IV.]
KING JOHN.
315
K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child.
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remismbers me of all his gracious parts.
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
P are you well; had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.—
1 will not keep this form upon my head,
[Tearing off her head-dress.
When there is such disorder in my wit.
O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure ! [Exit
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her
[EMt
Lew. There's nothing in this world can make me joy
Life is as tedious as a twice-told t'hie.
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ;
.\nd bitter shame hath spoiled the sweet world's' taste,
That it yields nought, but shame, and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease.
Even in the instant of repair and health.
The fit is strongest; evils that take leave.
On their departure most of all show evil.
What have you lost by losing of this day ?
Lew. AH days of glory, joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had.
No, no; when fortune means to men most good.
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
'Tis strange, to think how much, king John hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won.
Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner.?
Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit;
1 The old copy reads word's. The alteration was made by Pope
Malone thinks that it is unnecessary ; and that by the swett word, life ifl
meant. Sleevens pi ifers Pope's emendation.
316
KING JOHN.
fACT III
For even the breath of what 1 mean to speak
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne ; and, therefore, mark.
John hath seized Arthur; and it cannot be.
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplaced John should entertain an hour.
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest.
A sceptre, snatched with an unruly hand.
Must be as boisterously maintained as gained ;
And he that stands upon a slippery place.
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up.
That John may stand, then Arthur needs must faill;
So be it, for it cannot be but so.
Leio. But what shall 1 gain by young Arthur's fall
Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch, your wife
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old world
John lays you plots;' the times conspire with you;
For he that steeps his safety in true blood.
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal;
That none so small advantage shall step forth.
To check his reign, but they will cherish it;
No natural exhalation in the sky.
No scape ® of nature, no distempered day.
No common wind, no customed event.
But they will pluck away his natural cause.
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs,
Al)ortives, presages, and tongues of Heaven,
IMainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Leio. May be, he will not touch young Arthui's life,
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach,
1 " John lays i/ou plots." A similar phrase occurs in the First Part oi
King Henry VI.:—
" He writes, me here."
8 1'he old copy reads scope. The emendation is Pope's.
sc. l.J
king john
an
If that young Arthur be not gone already,
Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts
Of all his people shall revolt from him,
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ;
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath.
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks I see this hurly' all on foot;
And, O, what better matter breeds for you.
Than I have named !—The bastard Faulconbridge
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity. If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a calP
To train ten thousand English to their side ;
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about.
Anon becomes a mountain. O, noble dauphin.
Go with me to the king. 'Tis wonderful.
What may be wrought out of their discontent.
Now that their souls are topfull of offence.
For England go; I will whet on the king.
Lew. Strong reasons make strong^ actions. Let
us go;
If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [^Exeunt
ACT IV.
SCENE I. Northampton.* A Room in the Castle.
Enter Hubert and tivo Attendants.
Huh. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou
stand
1 Hiirhj is tumult.
2 The linage is taken from the manner in'which birds are sometimes
caught; one being placed for the purpose of drawing others to the net by
his note or call.
3 The first folio reads strange; the second folio strong.
< T1 ere is no circumstance, either in the original play or in this ol
318
king john.
[act IV
Within the arras.' When I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
And hind the boy, which you shall find with me.
Fast to the chair. Be heedful: hence, and watch.
1 Atten. I hope your warrant will bear out the
deed.
Huh Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you; lool;
to't.— [Exeunt Attendanis
Voung lad, come forth; I have to say with you.
Enter Arthur.
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good morrow, little prince
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince) as may be.—You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, 1 have been merrier.
Arth. Mercy on me
Methinks nobody should be- sad but I;
Yet I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night.
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,®
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me:
He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to Heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Shakspeare, to point out the particular castle in which Arthur is supposed
to be confin(!d. The castle of Northampton has been mentioned, merely
because, in the first act, king John seems to have been in that town. It
has already been stated that Arthur was in fact confined at Falaise, and
afterwards at Rouen, where he was put to death.
1 Tapestry.
2 i. e. by my baptism. The use of this wofd for christening or baptism
is not peculiar to Shakspeare; it was common in his time. Hearne has
published a Prone from a MS. of Heniy the Seventh's time, in the glos¬
sary to Robert of.Gloucester, in a note on the word midewinter, by which
it appears that it was the ancient orthography. "The childer ryzt
Bchape & chrysiyndome." It is also used by Lyly, Fanshaw, Harington
ind Fairfaxe.
sc. I.]
KING JOHN.
319
Huh. If 1 talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy,'which lies dead.
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. \Aiide
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert You look pale to -day.
In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
'J hat 1 might sit all night, and watch with you.
1 warrant I love you more than you do me.
Hub. His words do take possession of my bosuin.—
Head here, young Arthur [^Showing a paper.'] How
now, foolish rheum ! \_A.side.
Turning dispiteous torture out of door !
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender, womanish tears
Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writ ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effeet.
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you ?
Hub And I will.
Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did
but ache,
1 knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had; a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head ;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour.
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ;
Saying, What lack you f and, Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you ?
Many a poor man's soia would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love.
And call it cunning ; do, an if you will;
If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill.
Why, then you must.—Will you put out mine eyes ?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you ?
Hub. I have sworn to do it,
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
320
KING JOHN.
[ACT IV
Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it!
The iron of" itself", though heat' red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench his fiery indignation
Even in the matter of mine innocence;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron t
An if an angel should have come to me,
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed him; no tongue, but Hu¬
bert's.
Huh. Come forth. [^Stamps.
Re-enter Attendants, ivith cords, irons, &c.
Do as I bid you do.
Art/i. O, save me, Hubert, save me; my eyes are
out.
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Huh. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous-rough.^
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound '
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away.
And 1 will sit as quiet as a lamb.
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly:
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you.
Whatever torment you do put me to.
Huh. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him.
1 Atten. 1 am best pleased to be from such a deed.
[^Exeunt Attendants
Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ,
i I e hath a stern look, but a gentle heart.—
1 The participle heat, though now obsolete, was in use in Shakspeare's
lime. " He commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven tiniea
more than it was- wont to be heat."—Daniel iii. 19
sr /
KING JOHN.
321
Ijet him r,ome back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.
Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself
Arth. Is there no remedy ?
Hub None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth O Heaven!—that there were but a mote in
yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair.
Any annoyance in that precious sense!
Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there.
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
Hub. Is this your promise ^ Go to, hold your
tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes.
Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert!
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue.
So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes.
Though to no use, but still to look on you!
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold.
And would not harm me.
Hub. 1 can heat it, boy.
Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief,
Being create for comfort, to be used
In undeserved extremes.^ See else yourself;
There is no malice in this burning coal;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out,
And strewed repentant ashes on his head.
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush.
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ;
And, like a dog that is compelled to fight.
Snatch at his master that doth tarre ® him on.
All things, that you should use to do me wrong.
Deny their office ; only you do lack
I « The fire being created, not to hurt, but to comfori, is dead with grief
for finding itself used in acts of cruelty, which, being innocent, I luive not
deserved."
3 i. e. stirmdate, set him on.
VOL. III. 41
322
king john.
[ACT IV
That men.y, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.
Huh. Well, see to live; 1 will not touch thine eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes;'
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy,
With this same very iron to burn them out.
Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while
You wore disguised.
Huh. Peace ; no more. Adieu ;
Your uncle must not know but you are dead :
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure,
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world,
Will not offend thee.
Arth. O Heaven !—1 thank you, Hubert
Huh. Silence ; no more. Go closely ® in with me
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [^Exeunt
SCENE 11. The same. A Room of State in the
Palace.
Enter John, crowned; Pembroke, Salisbury,
and other Lords. The king takes his state.
K. John. Here once again we sit, once again
crowmed.
And looked upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
'Pem. This once again, but that your highness
pleased.
Was once superfluous.^ You were crowned before.
And that high royalty was ne'er plucked off";
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land,
■ With any longed-for change, or better state
Sal. Therefore, to be possessed with double pomp.
1 Owns. 2 i. e. secretly.
3 L e. this one time more, was one time more than enough. It should
be rememhced that king John was now crowned for the fourth time.
sc. II.]
KING .TOIIN.
323
To guard' a title that was rich before.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perl'ume on the violet,
To smooth tlie ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
(s wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done,
1 his act is as an ancient tale new told;
And, in the last repeating, troublesome,
Being urged at a time unseasonable.
Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face
Of plain, old form is much disfigured ;
And', like a shifted wind unto a sail.
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about;
Startles and frights consideration ;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected,
For putting on so new a fashioned robe.
Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well,
They do confound their skill in covetousness
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault.
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse;
As patches, set upon a little breach ;
Discredit more in hiding of the fault.
Than did the fault before it was so patched.
Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crowned,
We breathed our counsel: but it pleased your highne.ss
To overbear it; and we are all well pleased ;
Since all and every part of what we would.
Doth make a stand at what your highness will.
K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation
I have possessed you with, and think them strong,
And more, more strong (when lesser is my fear)
I shall endue you with. Mean time, but ask
What you would have reformed, that is not well;
And well shall you perceive, how willingly
I will both hear and grant you your requests.
1 To guard is to ornament.
* i. e. not by their avarice, but ip •<.n eager desire of excelling.
324
KING john.
[ACT IV
Pern. Then J, (as one that am the tongue of these
To sound' the purposes of all their hearts,)
Both for myself and them (but, chief of all,
Your safety, for the whijh myself and them
Bend their best studies,) heartily request
The enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint
Uoth move the murmuring lips of discontent
To break into this dangerous argument,—
If what in rest you have, in right you hold.
Why then your fears (which, as they say, attend
The steps of wrong) should move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth
The rich advantage of good exercise
That the time's enemies may not have this
To grace occasions, let it be our suit.
That you have bid us ask his liberty;
Which for our goods we do no further ask,
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending,
Counts it j-oiir weal, he have his liberty.
K. John. Let it be so; I do commit his youth
Enter Hubert.
To your direction.—Hubert, what news with you.''
Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed;
He showed his warrant to a friend of mine
The image of a wicked, heinous fault
Lives in his eye, that close aspect of his
Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast;
And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done,
\Vhat we so feared he had a charge to do.
Sal. The color of the king doth come and go.
Between his purpose and his conscience,^
1 To declare, to publish the purposes of all, &c.
2 In the middle ages, the whole education of princes and noble youths
consisted in martial exercises, &.c. Mental improvement might have been
had in a prison as well as any whei-e else.
3 The purpose of tlie king, to which Salisbury alludes, is that of putting
Art! ur to death, which he consideis as not yet accomplished, and there¬
fore tupposes that tliere n)ight be still a conflict in tlie king's mind—
'• Between his puroose and his conscience*
sc. II.]
KING JOHN.
325
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set.
His passion is so ripe it needs must break.
Pern. And when it breaks, I fi;ar, will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand.—
Good lords, although my will to give is living.
The suit which you demand is gone and dead.
He tells us, Arthur is deceased to-night.
Sal. Indeed, we feared his sickness was past cure.
Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was.
Before the child himself felt he was sick.
This must be answered, either here, or hence.
K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on
me ^
Think you, I bear the shears of destiny ?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life ?
Sal. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame,
That greatness should so grossly offer it.
So thrive it in your game! and so farewell.
Pern. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee.
And find the inheritance of this poor child.
His little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood, which owed' the breadth of all this isle,
Three foot of it doth hold. Bad world the while!
This must not be thus borne; this will break out
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt.
[Exeunt Iiords
K. John. They burn in indignation; I repent;
There is no sure foundation set on blood;
No certain life achieved by others' death.—
Enter a Messenger.
A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood.
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm.
Pour down thy weather;—how goes all in France ?
1 i. e. " owned the breadth of all this isle." The two last variorum
editions erroneously read "breath for breadth" which is found in the old
copy
326
KING JOHN.
[ACT IV
3fe<{s. From France to England.'—^Never such ^
power
For any foreign preparation,
Was levied in the body of a land!
The copy of your sjieed is learned by them;
For, when you should be told they do prepare,
The tidings come that they are all arrived.
K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk
Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's care ^
That such an army could be drawn in France,
And she not hear of it?
Mess. My liege, her ear
Is stopped with dust; the first of April, died
Your noble mother; and, as I hear, my lord,
The lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before: but this from rumor's tongue
I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not.
K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion!
O, make a league with me, till I have pleased
My discontented peers,!—'What! mother dead ?
How wildly then walks my estate in France I ®—
Under whose conduct came those powers of France,
That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ?
Mess. Under the dauphin.
Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.
K. John. Thou hast made me giddy
With these ill tidings.—Now, what says the world
To your proceedings ? Do not seek to stuff
My head with more ill news, for it is full.
Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst.
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
K. John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amazed'
U nder the tide; but now I breathe again
1 The king asks how all ^oes in France; the messenger catches the
«^ord goes, and answers, that whatever is in France goes now mto England
2 i. e. how ill my afFairs go in France.
' Astonied, t unned, confounded, are the ancient sy lonymes of aniazea,
')b8tupesco.
»c. ii.j
king john.
327
Aloft the flood ; a.id can give audien'*'*
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen,
The sums I have collected shall express.
Bui, as 1 travelled hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasfed;
Possessed with rumors, full of idle dreams;
Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear.
And here's a prophet,' that J brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
With many hundreds treading on his heels;
To whom he sung, in rude, harsh-sounding rhymes.
That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon.
Your highness should deliver up your crown.
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou
so ?
Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.
K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison him •
And on that day at noon, whereon, he says,
[ shall yield up my crown, let him be hanged.
Deliver him to safety,® and return.
For I must use thee.—O, my gentle cousin,
\^Exit Hubert, loith Peter.
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arrived ?
Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full
of it.
Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury,
(With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,)
And others more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, who, they say, is killed to-night
On your suggestion.
K. John. Gentle kinsman, go,
And thrust thyself into their companies.
1 This n an was a hermit, in great repute with the common people.
Notwithstanding the event is said to have fallen out as he prophesied, tne
poor fellow was inhumanly dragged at horses' tails through the streets of
Warham, and, together w ith his son, who appears to have been even mora
innocent than his father, hanged, afterwards, upon a gibbet—Holtnshed, in
anno 1213.—Speed says that Peter the hermit was suborned by the Dope's
legate, the Fr(mch king, and the barons, for this purpose.
2 i. e. lo safe custody.
king john.
[act iv.
1 have a way to win their loves again;
Bring them before me.
Bast. I will seek them out.
K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot
before.
0, let me have no subject enemies,
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion !—
Be Mercury ; set feathers to thy heels;
And fly, like thought, from them to me again.
Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
[Exit.
K. John. Spoke like a spriteful, noble gentleman.—
Go after him ; for he, perhaps, shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers;
And be thou he.
Mess. With all my heart, my liege.
[Exit
K. John. My mother dead!
Re-enter Hubert.
Huh. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to¬
night ;
Four fixed ,* and the fifth did whirl about
The other four, in wondrous motion.
K. John. Five moons.?
Huh. Old men, and beldams, in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously.
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths;
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And whisper one another in the ear ;
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist;
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action,
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus.
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool.
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste
sc. 11
KING JOHN.
329
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,)'
Told of a iliany thousand warlike French,
That tiere embattailed and ranked in Kent.
Another lean, unwashed artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess ine with these
fears ?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ?
Thy hand hath murdered him; I had a mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did not pro¬
voke me F
K. John. It is the curse of kings to be attended
By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant
To break within the bloody house of life;
And, on the winking of authority.
To understand a law; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns
More upon humor than advised respect.®
Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.
K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt Heaw»a
and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation !
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds.
Make'deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature marked.
Quoted,® and signed, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind;
But, taking note of thy abhorred aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany.
Apt, liable, to be employed in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,
IVIade it no conscience to destroy a prince.
Hub. My lord,
1 This passage, which called forth the antiquarian knowledge of so
many learned commentators, is now, from the return of the fashion of ivaJ
vnd left shoes, become intelligible witliout a note.
2 Deliberate consideration. 3 To qwU is to note or mark
VOL. in. 42
KING JOHN.
[ACT IV
K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made
a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purposed;
Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face,
And^ bid me tell my tale in express words;
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break ofl"
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me.
But thou didst understand me by my signs.
And didst in signs again parley with sin ;
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,
And, consequently, thy rude hand to act
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name —
Out of my sight, and never see me more!
My nobles leave me; and my state is braved,
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers,
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land.
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath.
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies;
I'll make a peace between your soul and you
Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand.
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood
Within this bosom never entered j'et
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought.
And you have slandered nature in my form;
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly.
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.
K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the
peers.
Throw this report on their incensed rage.
And make them tame to their obedience!
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind.
And foul, imaginary eyes of blood
• The old copy retds " Jls bid me," &.c, Malone made the correctioa
ts, however, frequently is used for thai, whuX.
kc. ill.j
KING JOHN.
331
Presentetl the fee bled here.
That in your chambers gave you chastisement ?
No ;—know, the gallant monarch is in arms ;
And like an eagle o'er his eyry * towers.
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.—
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts.
You bloody Neroes, ripjjing up the wound
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
For your own ladies, and pale-visaged maids,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums;
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change.
Their neelds® to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.
Lew. There end thy brave,® and turn thy face in
peace.
We grant, thou canst outscold us ; fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.
Pand Give me leave to speak.
- The old copies read unheard. The emendation is Theobald's. It
should be remarked tliat hair was often spelled hear,
2 To take, for to leap. Hunters still say to take a hedge or gate^
meaning to leap over thena. Baret has " to take horse, to leap on horse¬
back."
3 i. e. the crowing of a cock; Gallus being both a cock and a French
man.
■* Nest. 5 Needles. 6 Boast
bc. 111.]
king john.
345
Bast. No, I will speak.
Lew. We will attend to neither.—
Strike up the drums; and let the-tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here.
Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out
And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start
An echo with the clamor of thy drum.
And even at hand a drum is ready braced.
That shall reverberate all a« loud as thine;
Sound but another, and another shall.
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear.
And mock the deep-mouthed thunder; for at hand
(Not trusting to this halting legate here,
Whom he hath used rather for sport than need)
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribbed death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out
Bast. And thou shaft find it, dauphin, do not doubt
\_Exeunt
SCENE III. The same. A Field of Battle. Alarums
Enter King John and Hubert.
K. John. How goes the day with us ? O, tell me
Hubert.
Bub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty F
K. John This fever, that hath troubled me so long
Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
Desires your majesty to leave the field;
And send him word by me, which way you go.
K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey
there.
Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply,'
Supply is here used as a noun of multitude, as it is again in Scene V
VOL. HI. 44
346
KING JOHN.
FACT V.
That vv as expected by the dauphin here,
Are wrecked three nights ago on Goodwin Sands.
This news was Irought to Richard' but even now
The French figh; coldly, and retire themselves.
K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up,
And will not let me welcome this good news.
Set on toward Swinstead. To my litter straight;
Weakness possesseth me, and 1 am faint. [^Exeunt
«
SCENE IV. The same. Another part of the same.
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others
Sal. I did not think the king so stored with friends.
Pem. Up once again ; put spirit in the French ;
. f they miscarry, we miscarry too.
Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge.
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the
field.
Enter Melun, wounded., and led hy Soldiers.
Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here.
Sal. When we were happy, we had other naimes.
Pem. It is the count Melun.
Sal. Wounded to death.
Mel. Fly, noble English ; you are bought and sold
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion.
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out king John, and fall before his feet;
For, if the French be lords of this loud day,
He^ means to recompense the pains you take.
By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me.
Upon the altar of Saint Edmund's Bury ;
I The king hal not long since called him by his original name of PkHif
»ut the messenger could not take the same liberty,
s The Frenchman, L e. Lewis, means, &c.
t5C. I V.J
KING JOHN.
347
Even on that altar, where we swore to jou
Dear amity and everlasting love.
Sal. May this be possil)le.^ may this he true ?
Mel. Have 1 not hideous d(^ath within my view,
Retaining but a quantity of life ;
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolveth' from his figure 'gainst the fire?
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ?
Why should I then be false, since it is true
That 1 must die here, and live hence by truth ?
1 say again, if Lewis do win the day,
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east;
But even this night,—whose black, contagious breath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,—
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire;
Paying the fine of rated treachery.
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubertj with your king;
The love of him—and this respect besides.
For that my grandsire was an Englishman—
Awakes my conscience to confess all tiiis.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence
From forth the noise, and rumor of the field :
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.
Sal. We do believe thee,—and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favor and.the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will untread the steps of damned flight;
And, like a bated and retired flood.
Leaving our rankness® and irregular course,
1 i. J. dissolveth.
^ £t inkness, as applied to a river, here signifies e,xvberaivt, ready lo over'
ffoie ; as applied to the actions of tiie speaker and his party, it signifies
wanton wUiineos.
348
KING JOHN.
[ACT V
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlooked,
And calmly run on in obedience,
Even to our ocean, to our great king John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right^ in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight
And happy newness,® that intends old right.
[^Exeunt, leading off Melun.
SCENE V. The same. The French Camp.
Enter Lewis and his Train.
Leio. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set
But staid, and made the western welkin blush.
When the English measured backward their own ground
In faint retire. O, bravely came we off.
When with a volley of our needless shot.
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tottering ® colors clearly up,
liast in the field, and almost lords of it!
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin ?
Lew. Here :—What news
Mess. The count Melun is slain ; the English lords
By his persuasion, are again fallen off;
And your supply, which you have wished so long,
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin Sands.
Leio. Ah, foul, shrewd news!—Beshrew thy very
heart!
1 did not think to be so sad to-night.
As this hath made me.—Whcwas he, that said.
King John did fly, an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers F
1 Immediate. 2 Innovation.
3 Totlerinfr colors is the reading of the old copy, which was altered to
tattered by Johnson, who is followed by the subsequent editors. To totter
in old language, was to waver, to shake with a tremulous motion, as colors
would do in the wind. "To toitre (says Baret), nutare, vacillare, see
shake and wagge.'
sc. Vi.j
king john.
349
Mess Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lew. Well; keep good quarter,' and good care to¬
night ;
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-moriow. [Kxeimt
SCENE VI. An open Place in the Neighborhood of
Svvinstead Abbey.
Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting.
Hub. Who's there ? speak, ho! speak quickly or
i shoot.
Bast. - A friend.—What art thou ?
Hub. Of the part of England
Bast. Whither dost thou go.
Hub. What's that to thee ? Why may not I demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ?
Bast. Hubert, I think.
Hub. Thou hast a perfect® thought!
I will, upon all hazards, well believe.
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.
Who art thou ?
Bast. Who thou wilt; an if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much, as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night®
Have done me shame :—Brave soldier, pardon me.
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue.
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news
abroad ?
Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night.
To find you out.
Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news :
Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night.
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
1 1. e. keep in your allotted posts or stations.
2 i. e. a well-informed one.
3 The old copy reads " endless night" The emendation was made bj
Theobald.
350
king john.
[act v
Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news:
I am no woman ; I'll not swoon at it.
Hub. The king, I fear, is poisoned by a monk.'
1 left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time.
Than if you had at leisure® known of this
Bast. How did he take it ? Who did taste to him'
Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The king
Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty.^
Hub. Why, know you not ? The lords are all come
back.
And brought prince Henry in their company;
At whose request the king hath pardoned them,
And they are all about his majesty.
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty Heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night.
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide;
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
Away, before! conduct me to the king;
I doubt he will be dead, or ere I corhe. [^Exeuni
SCENE VH. The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey.
Enter Prince Henry,^ Salisbury, and Bigot.
P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood
Is touched corruptibly ; and his pure brain
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house)
1 Not one of the historians who wrote within sixty years of the event
Gicntions this improbable story. The tale is, that a monk, to reveng-e
himself on the king for a saying at which he took offence, poisoned a cup
of ale, and having brought it to his majesty, drank some of it himself, to
induce the king to taste it, and soon afterwards expired. Thomas Wylkes
is the first who mentions it in his Chronicle as a report. According to th«
best accounts, John died at Newark, of a fever.
'•i i. e. less speedily, ntter so,ne ilelay.
J Prince Henry was only nine yeais oid when his fatlier died
sc. VII.]
KING JOHN.
351
Doih, by the idle comments that il makes,
Foretell the ending of mortality
Enter Pembroke.
Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and holds heliel,
That, being brought into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here
Doth he still rage ? \_Exil Bioox
Pem. He is more patient
Than when you left him; even now he sung.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes
In their continuance,' will not feel themselves.
Death, having preyed upon the outward parts.
Leaves them insensible; ^ and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies ;
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold.
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should
sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale, faint swan.
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in King
John in a chair.
K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
I ( would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom.
That all my bowels crumble up to dust.
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.
1 Continuance here means continuity. Bacon uses it in that sense also
2 The old copy reads invisible. Sir T. Hanmer proposed the reading
admitted into the text.
KING JOHN.
LACT V
P. Hen. How fares your majesty ?
K. John. Poisoned,—ill fare; dead, forsook, cast off
And none of you will bid the winter come,
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burned bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,
And comfort me with cold.—I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort: and you are so strait,^
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
P. Hen. O that there were some virtue in my tears
That might relieve you!
K. John. The salt in them is hot.—
Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize
On unreprievable, condemned blood
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent emotion,
And spleen of speed to see your majesty.
K. John. O, cousin, thou art come to set mine eye
The tackle of my heart is cracked and burned;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail.
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, .
Which holds but till thy news be uttered;
And then all this thou seest, is but a clod.
And module ® of confounded royalty.
Bast. The dauphin is preparing hitherward ;
Where, Heaven he knows, how we shall answer him,
For, in a night, the hest part of my power.
As I upon advantage did remove.
Were in the washes, all unwarily.
Devoured by the unexpected flood.® [The King dies
r Narrow, avaricious.
2 Module and model were only different modes of spelling the same word.
Model signified, not an archetype, after which something was to be formed,
out the thing formed after an archetype, a copy. BuUukar, in his Expositor
1616, explains " model, the platform, or form of any thing."
3 This untoward accident really happened to king John himself. As
he passed fromJ.iynn to Lincolnshire, he lost, by an inundation, all his
irrasure, carriages, baggage, and regalia.
sc. Vll.]
KINO JOHN.
353
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.—
My lieee ! my lord!—But now a king,—now thus.
P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
VVliat surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay!
Bast. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge;
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven.
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,
Where be your powers.^ Show now your mended faiths
And instantly return with me again.
To push destruction and perpetual shame
Out of the weak door of our fainting land.
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;
The dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It seems you know not then so much as we
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest.
Who half an hour since came from the dauphin;
And brings from him such offers of our peace
As we with honor and respect may take.
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath despatched
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal;
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords.
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.
Bast. Let it be so;—and you, my noble prince.
With other princes that may best be spared.
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interred ;'
For so he willed it.
1 In crastino S. Lucae Johannes Rex Anglite in castro de Newark obiit.
at sejjultus est in ecclesia Wigorniensi inter corpora S. Oswaldi et saiicti
rWol.stani] Chronic, sive Annal. Prioratus de Dunstable, edit, a T. Heame,
t. i. p. 173. A stone coffin, containing the body of king .lohn, wtis dvs-
covered in the cathedral church of Worcester, July 17, 1797.
vol.. III. 45
354
KING JOHN.
[ACT V
Bast. Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we maKc,
To rest withi jt a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you
thanks,
And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been befor ihand with our griefs.'—
This England never did (nor never shall)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again.
Come the three corners of the world in arms.
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true. [^Exeunt.
1 " As previously we have found sufficient cause for lamentation, .et us
not waste the time in suporiiuous sorrow."
The tragedy of King John, though not written with the utmost powci
of Shakspeare, is varied with a very pleasing interchange of incidents and
characters. The lady's grief is very affecting; and the character of the
Bastard contains that mixture of greatness and levity which this author
delighted to exhibit. Johnson.
To these remarks of Johnson, it may be added, that the grief of Con¬
stance for the loss of Arthur is probably indebted for much of its charac¬
teristic trutli to the calamity which Shakspeare had himself sustained, by
the death of his only son, who had attained the age of twelve, and die<
llie year this play was produced.
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING RICHARD THE SECOND.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
In the construction of^is play, Shakspeare has followed Holinshed, lus
nsual historical authority. Some passages of the Chronicle are transplanted
into the drama with very little alteration.
It has been suspected that there was an old play on the subject of
King Richard II. which the Poet might have seen. Sir Gillie Merrick,
who was concerned in the harebrained business of the earl of Essex, is
accused of having procured to be played before the conspirators " the play
of the deposing of Richard the Second: when it was told him by one of
the players that the play was old, and tliey should have loss in playing it,
because few would come to it, there was forty shillings extraordinary given
to play, and so thereupon played it was!" It seems probable, from a
passage in the State Trials, quoted by Mr. Tyrwhitt, that this old play
bore the title of King Henry IV., and not King Richard II., and it could
not be Shakspeare's King Henry IV., as that commences a year after the
death of King Richard. "It may seem strange (says Malone) that tliis
old play should have been represented after Shakspeare's drama on the
same subject had been printed. The reason undoubtedly was, that, in the
old play, the deposing of King Ricnard II. made a pait of the exhibition;
but in the first edition of Shakspeare's play, one hundred and fifty-fou?
bnes, describing a kind of trial of the king, and his actual deposition in
parliament, were omitted; nor was it probably represented on the stage
Merrick, Cufie, and the rest of Essex's train, naturally preferred tiie play
in which his deposition was represented, their plot not aiming at the life
of the queen. It is, I know, commonly thought that the parliament scene
as it is called, which was first printed in the 4to of 1608, was an addition
made by Shakspeare to this play after its first representation; but it seems
to me more probable that it was wr tten witli the rest, and suppressed in
(355)
356 KING RICHARD. 11.
the printed copy of 1597, from tlie fear of offending Elizabeth; againsi
whom the pope had published a bull in the preceding year, exhorting her
subjects to take up arms against her. In 1599, Hayward published his
History of the first year of King Henry IV., which is in fact nothing more
than a history of the deposing of King Richard II. The displeasure
which that book excited at court sufficiently accounts for the omitted
lines not being inserted in the copy of this play r/hich was published
in 1G02.* Hayward was heavily censured in the Stir Chamber, and
committed to prison. In 1608, when James was quietly and firmly set¬
tled on the throne, and the fear of internal commotion, or foreign in¬
vasion, no longer subsisted, neither the author, the managers of the
theatre, nor the bookseller,_ could entertain any apprehension of giving
offence to the sovereign: the rejected scene was therefore restored without
scruple, and from some playhouse copy probably found its way to the
press." f
Malone places the date of its composition in 1593; Mr. Chalmers in
1596. The play was first entered on the Stationers' books by Andrew
Wise, August 29, 1597; and there were four quarto editions published
during the life of Shakspeare, viz. in 1597,1598, 1608, and 1615.
This play may be considered the first link in the chain of Shakspeare's
historical dramas, which Schlegel thinks the Poet designed to form one
great whole, " as it were an historical, heroic poem, of which the separate
plays constitute the rhapsodies."
" In King Richard the Second, the Poet exhibits to us a noble, kingly
nature, at first obscured by levity and the errors of unbridled youth, and
afterwards purified by misfortune, ind rendered more highly splendid and
illustrious. When he has lost the love and reverence of his subjects, and
IS on the point of losing also his throne, he then feels with painful inspi¬
ration the elevated vocation of the kingly dignity, and its prerogatives
over personal merit and changeable institutions. When the earthly crown
has fallen from off his head, he first appears as a king whose innate no¬
bility no humiliation can annihilate. This is felt by a poor groom: he is
shocked that his master's favorite horse should have carried the proud
Bolingbroke at his coronation; he visits the captive king in his prison, and
shames the desertion of the great The political history of the deposition
.'s represented with extraordinary knowledge of the world,—the ebb of
fortune on the one hand, and the swelling tide on the other, which carries
every thing along with it: while Bolingbroke acts as a king, and his ad-
* This is a mistake of Mr. Malone's There is no quarto copy of the date of 16U2. lU
probably meant the edition of 1598.
f Maloiie^s Chronology of Siiakspeare's plays.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
357
herents behave towards him as if he really were so, he' still continues to give
out that he comes with an armed band, merely for the sake of demanding
his birthright and the removal of abuses. The usurpation has been long
completed before the word is pronounced, and the thing publicly avowed.
John of Gaunt is a model of chivalrous truth: he stands there like a pillar of
the olden time which he had outlived." t
This drama abounds in passages of eminent poetical beauty; among which
every reader will recollect the pathetic description of Richard's entrance into
London with Bolingbroke, of which Dryden said that "he knew nothing
comparable to it in any other language;" John of Gaunt's praise of England,
" Dear for her reputation through the world;"
and Mowbray's complaint at being banished for life.
Richard II. must be read in a series with Henry IV. and V. in order thor¬
oughly to understand it. The finest touches for the explanation of characters
and actions in the first play of the series are to be met with in passages of the
third and fourth plays of the series, and we might almost say are intentionally
concealed in them. The principal character of the fourth piece, Henry V.,
is already mentioned in the first, that is in Richard H., and his wild youth is
pointed out at a period when he was only twelve years old. The character
of the Duke of Aumerle, who plays no brilliant part in Richard H. after his
mother has saved him from the punishment of high treason, and has prayed
to God to make "her old son new," is again silently brought forvvard by the
poet in Henry V., a new man indeed, who has become great with the heroic
age, and dies the death of a hero at Agincourt. Thus the most delicate
threads entwine around the four plays, uniting them together; other allusions
equally delicate place this Lancastrian tetralogy iu an opposite relation to
that of York. The similarity of the historical events in the rise and fall of
the two houses did not escape the poet; had he handled the history of the
House of York, later in point of time, after instead of before the history of
that of Lancaster, he would have had the opportunity of marking these simi¬
larities and relations even more sharply in both cases. Richard II. appears
in this tetralogy, as Henry VI. did in the York.
Gervinus.
1 Schlegel's Lectures on Dramatic Literature, vol. ii. p. 294.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Richard the Second.
Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, ) Uncles to the
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, ) King.
Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, Sot%
to John ^ Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.
Duke of Aunierle, Son to the Duke of York.
Mowbray, Duke ^Norfolk.
Duke of Surrey.
Earl .>f Salisbury. Earl Berkley.
Bushy, ^
Bagot, V Creatures to King Richard
Green, j
Earl of Northumberland
Henry Percy, his Son.
Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitzwater.
Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster.
Lord Marshal; and another Lord.
Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop
Captain of a band of Welshmen.
Queen to King Richara.
Duchess of Gloster.
Duchess of York.
Lady attending on the Queen.
I/Ords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keeper,
Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants
SCENE, dispersedly in England and Wales
(3o8)
KING EICHARD II.
ACT I.
SCENE I. Londcn. A Room in the Palace
Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt, and!
other Nobles with him
King Richard. Old ' John of Gaunt, time-honored
Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,®
Brought hither Henry Hereford,^ thy bold son ;
tJere to make good the boisterous late appeal.
Which then our leisure would not let us hear.
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.
K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
if he appeal the duke on ancient malice,
Or worthily, as a good subject should.
On some known ground of treachery in him ?
1 " Old John of Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster." Our ancestors, in
their estimate of old age, appear to have reckoned somewhat difierently
from us, and to have considered men as old whom we should now esteem
as middle-aged. With them, every man that had passed titty seems to have
been accounted an old man. John of Gaunt, at the period when the com¬
mencement of this play is laid (1398), was only fifty-eight years old: ho
died in 13L>9, aged fifly-nine. This may have arisen from its being cus¬
tomary in former times to enter life at an earlier period than we do now.
Those who married at fifteen, had at fitly been masters of a house and
family for thirty-five years.
2 When these public challenges were accepted, each combatant found a
pledge for his appearance at the time and place appointed. Band and bond
were fonneily synonymous.
3 In the old play, and in Harding's Chronicle, Bolingbroke's title is
wnttcn Herford and Harford. This was tlie pronunciation of our Poet's
time, ar d he therefore uses this word as a dissyllable.
(3o9)
360
king richard 11.
fact .
Gaunt. As nea. as I could sift him on that ars^n-
ment,—
On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aimed at your highness; no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. 1 hen call them to our presence; face to
face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak.—
\^Exeuni some Attendants
fligh stomached are they both, and fiill of ire.
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Re-enter Attendants, loith Bolingbroke^ and Nor
folk.
. Baling. Many years of happy days befall
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness.
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap.
Add an immortal title to your crown !
K. Rich. We thank you both ; yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.—
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbra); I
Baling. First, (Heaven be the record to my speech !)
In the devotion of a subject's love.
Tendering the precious safety of my prince.
And free from other misbegotten hate.
Come I appellant to this princely presence.—
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do 1 turn to thee ;
And mark my greeting well; for what I sptak,
My body shall make good upon this earth.
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
' Drayton asserts that Henry Plantagenet, Uie eldest frjr of John of
fiannt, was not distinguished by the name of Bolingbroke tili iJler he had
assumed the crown. He is called earl of Hereford by tJ o old historians,
and was surnamed Bolingbroke Irom having been born at die town of that
name in Lincolnshire, shout l.'Kifi.
2 i. e. " by the cause you come on." The suj)pressioi, of the prepositioa
►•as been shown to have been frequent with Shakspeare.
BO. I.]
KING RICHARD H.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant,
Too good to be so, and too bad to live,
Since, the more fak and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move,
What my tongue speaks^ my right-drawn sword' mav
prove.
Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war.
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues.
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain.
The blood is hot that must be cooled for this;
Yet can 1 not of such tame patience boast.
As to be hushed, and nought at all to say.
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
Which else would post, until it had returned
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty.
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and 1 spit at him ;
Call him—a slanderous coward, and a villain ;
Which to maintain, 1 would allow him odds;
And meet him, were 1 tied to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,®
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,—
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Baling. Pale, trembling coward, there 1 throw m^
gage.
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king;
And lay aside my high blood's royally.
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
' My ng'Iit-rfroipn sword is rny sword rawTj ii a right or just cause
* i. e. uninhabitable.
v^L 111.
362
KliNG RICHARD II.
[ACT I
As to take up mine honoi's pawn, then stoop,
By that, and all the rites of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm.
What I have spoke, or thou canst worst devise.
Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree.
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;
And, when I mount, alive may 1 not light.
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight!
K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray s
charge ?
It must be great, that can inherit ^ us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.
Baling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it
true;—
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles,
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers ;
The which he hath detained for lewd ® employments,
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove,—
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge
That ever was surveyed by English eye,—
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land.
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring
Fitrther I say,—and further will maintain
Upon his bad life, to make all this good,—
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death
Suggest ^ his soon-believing adversaries ;
And, consequently, like a traitor coward.
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries.
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth.
To me for justice, and rough chastisement;
' To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare, is to possess.
2 Lewd formerly signified knavish, ungracious, naughty, idle, beside its
Qow general acceptation.
3 Thomas of Woodstock, the youngest son of Edward 111., wlm was
murdered at Calai:^ in
■» L. e. prompt tliem, set tlierr on by injurious hints.
so l.J
KING KICHARD II.
363
And by the gloiious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
K Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars!~
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ?
Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face.
And bid his ears a little while be deaf.
Till I have told this slander of his blood,'
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.
AT. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears
Were he my brother, nay^ my kingdom's heir,
(As he is but my father's brother's son,)
Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow.
Such neighbor-nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.
He is our subject, Mowbray ; so art thou;
Free speech, and fearless, 1 to thee allow.
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest!
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers:
The other part reserved I by consent;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt.
Upon remainder of a dear account.
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen.®
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's death,—
I slew him not, but, to my own disgrace.
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.—
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honorable father to my foe.
Once did I lay in ambush for your life—-
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;
But, ere I last received the sacrament,
I Reproach tx) his ancestry.
® The duke of Norfolk was joined in commission with lOdwara, eari ot
Rutland (the Aumerle of this play), to go to France in the year 1395, to
demand in marriage Isabel, eldest daughter of Charles VI., then between
seven and eight years of age. Richard was married to his young consort
in November, 1396, at Calais ; his first wife, Anne, daughter of Charles IV.,
emperor of Germany, died at Shene, on Whit Sunday, 1394. His marriage
with Isabella was merely political: it was accompanied with an agiee-
IIlent for a truce between France and England foi thirty years.
364
KING RICHARD TI.
[ACT 1
I did confess it; and exactly begged
Your grace's pardon, and, 1 hope, i had it.
This is my fault. As for the rest appealed,'
It issues from the rancor of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor;
Which in myself I boldly will defend ;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot.
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me
Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician; ^
Deep malice makes too deep incision :
Forget, forgive ; conclude, and be agreed;
Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.—
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son.
Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age.
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage.
K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.
Gaunt. When, Harry? when?®
Obedience bids, 1 should not bid again.
K.Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is
no boot.^
Nor. Myself 1 throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name
(Des])ite of death, that lives upon my grave)®
'Vo dark dishonor's use thou shalt not have.
1 Charged.
2 Pope tliought tliat some of the rhyming verses in this play were noi
from the hand'of Shakspeare.
3 This abrupt elliptical exclamation of impatience is again used in the
Taming of the Shrew:—" Why, when, I say ! Nay, good, sweet Kate, be
merry." It appears to be equivalent to " when will such a thing be
done ? "
* " There is no boot," or it hooteth not, is as much as to say resistance
would be proJUless.
5 L e. my name hat lives on my grai-e in despite of death.
king richard ii.
305
I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled ' here ,-
Pierced to the soul with slander's venomed spear;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.
K. Rich Rage must be withstood
Give me his gage;—Lions make leopards ® tame.
Nor. Yea, but not change their® spots ; take but m;^
shame.
And I resign my gage. My dear, dear lord.
The purest treasure mortal times afford,
Is^-spotless reputation ; that away.
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten times barred up chest
Is—a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honor is my life ; both grow in one;
Take honor from me, and my life is done.
Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try,
In that I live, and for that will I die.
K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you
begin.
Baling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin!
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight ?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dared dastard ! Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parie, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear ;
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace.
Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray's face
lExit Gaunt.
K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com¬
mand ;
Which since we cannot do to make you friends.
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
' Baffled, in this place, signifies " abused, reviled, reproached in base
terms;" which was the ancient signification of" the word, as well as to
deceive or circumvent.
2 There is an allusion here to the crest of Norfolk, which was a golden
leopard.
« The old copies have "his spots." The alteration was made by Pope
3GG
kixq eich.vkd ii.
[act i,
At Coveiifry, upon Saint Lambert's day;
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate.
Since we cannot atone' vou, we shall see
1 • • .
Justice design® the victor's chivalry.—
Lord marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to diiect these home alarms. [Extnnt
SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Duki! of
Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster.®
Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lieth in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct.
Put we our quarrel to the will of Heaven ;
Who, wffien he sees ® the hours ripe on earth.
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one.
Were as seven jihials of his sacred blood.
Or seven fair branches springing from one root.
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
Some of those branches by the destinies cut;
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,—
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood.
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,—
Is cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt;
Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded,
1 i. e. make them friends, reconcile them.
2 To design is to mark oui, to show by a token. It is the sense of the
Latin designo.
3 The duchess of Gloster was Eleanor Bohun, widow of duke Thoniaa
■on of Edward III.
* i. e. my relationship of consanguinity to Gloster.
5 The old copj' erroneously eads " Who, when they see."
6C. II.J KING RICHARD 11. 3G1
By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that
womb,
That mettle, that self-mould, that fashioned thee,
Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and
breath'st.
Yet art thou slain in him; thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die.
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience. Gaunt, it is despair ,
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughtered.
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life.
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle—patience.
Is pale, cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life.
The best way is—to 'venge my Gloster's death.
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for Heaven's sub¬
stitute.
His deputy anointed in his sight.
Hath caused his death ; the which, if wrongfully.
Let Heaven revenge ; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.
Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself?'
Gaunt. To Heaven, the widow's champion and de¬
fence.
Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight;
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear.
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career.
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom.
That they may break his foaming courser's back.
And throw the -rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff, recreant to my cousin Hereford!
1 To complain is commonly a verb neuter; but it is here used an a
verb active. It is a literal translation of the old French phrase me com-
Vl4i{nilre, and is not peculiar to Shakspeare.
3G8
king richard 11.
[ACT 1
Farewell, old Gaunt; thj sometime brother's wife,
With her companion grief must end her life.
Gaunt. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry
As much good stay with thee, as go with me!
Duck. Yet one word more,—Grief boundeth where
it falls.
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.
I take my leave before I have begun;
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all.—Nay, yet depart not so:
Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
I shall remember more. Bid him—O, what ?—
With all good speed at Flashy' visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see,
But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls,''
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ?
And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans
Therefore commend me; let him not come there.
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
Desolate, desolate, will 1 hence, and die;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists
set out, and a throne.. Heralds, ^c. attending.
Enter the Lord Marshal, and Admerle."
Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed ^
Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.
1 Her house in Essex.
2 In our ancient castles the naked stone walls were only covered wiUi
tapestry or arras, hung upon tenterhooks, from which it was easily taken
down on every removal of the family.
3 The duke of Norfolk was earl marshal of England; but being him¬
self one of the combatants, tire duke of Surry (Thomas Holland) officiated.
Shakspeare has made a slight mistake by introducing that nobleman as a
distinct person from the marshal in the present drama, Edward, duke of
.Aumerle (so created by his cousin-german, Richard II., in 139^, was the
oldest son of Edward, duke of York, fifth son of Edward III., ofiiciated as
high constable at the lists of Coventry. He was killed at the battle of
Agincourt, in 1415.
SC III,
KING RICHAED II.
369
Mar, The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold.
Stays but the sunnnons of the appellant's trumpet.
Aum. Why then, the champions are prepared, and
stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach.
Flourish of trumpets. Enter King Richard, ivho
takes his seat on his throne; Gaunt, and several
Noblemen, ivho take their places. A trumpet is
sounded, and answered by another trumpet within.
Then enter Norfolk, in armor, preceded by a
Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms.
Ask him his name; and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who" thou
art.
And wh)- thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms ?
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel ?
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath;
As so defend thee Heaven, and thy valor!
Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor-
. folk;'
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
nVhich Heaven defend a knight should violate!)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth.
To God, my king, and my® succeeding issue.
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me;
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm.
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me :
And, as I truly fight, defend me Heaven!
IHe takes his seat.
1 The duke of Hereford, being the appellant, entered the lists first, ac¬
cording to the histoiians.
2 "His succeeding issue" is the reading of the first folio: the quarto*
*11 read my.
VOL. m. 47
S70
KING RICHARD 11.
[ACT 1
Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in armory
preceded by a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war;
And formally, according to our law.
Depose him in the justice of his cause.
Mar What is thy name ? and wherefore com'st
thou hither.
Before king Richard, in his royal lists
Against whom com'st thou ? and what's thy quarrel
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee Heaven !
Baling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby
Am I; who ready here do stand in arms.
To prove, by Heaven's grace, and my body's valor,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me :
And, as I truly fight, defend me Heaven!
Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold.
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists;
Except the marshal, and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.
Baling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign s
hand.
And bow my knee before his majesty;
For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave.
And loving farewell, of our several friends.
iliar. The appellant in all duty greets ytur highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his 'eave.
K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right.
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed.
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Baling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear;
sc. Ill.j
KING RICHARD 11,
371
As confident, as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do 1 with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, [To lord marshal.] I take m\' leave
of you;—
Of you, my noble, cousin, lord Aumerle;—
Not sick, although I have to do with death;
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,—
[To Gacnt,
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate.
Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,—
Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point.
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat.
And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,
Even in the lusty 'havior of his son.
Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee pros
perous!
Be swift like lightning in the execution ;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, •
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse, pernicious enemy.
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and li\e.
BoUng. Mine innocency, and Saint George to thrive!
[He takes his seat.
Nor. [Rising.1 However Heaven, or fortune, cast
my lot.
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's th -one,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off" his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden, uncontrolled eniVanchisement,
More than my dancing soul t^th celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.—
Most mighty liege,—and my companion peers,—
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.
372
KING RICHARD II.
I ACT' I
As gentle and as jocund as to jest,*
Go I to fight; truth hath a quiet breast.
K. Rich. Farewell, iny lord ; securely I espy
Virtue with valor couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.
[The King and the Lords return to their seats.
Mar. Harry of Hereford, L.ancaster, and Derby,
lleceive thy lance; and God defend the right!
Baling. [Rising.^ Strong as a tower in hope, I cry—
Amen.
Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.] to Thomas
duke of Norfolk.
1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant.
To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his king, and him, '
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of
Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant.
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Flenry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal.
Courageously, and with a free desire.
Attending but the signal to begin.
Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combat¬
ants. [A charge sounded.
Stay; the king hath thrown his warder - down.
K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and theii
spears.
And both return back to their chairs again.
Withdraw with us;—and let the trumpets sound,
Whih; we return these dukes what we decree.
[A long fiouriih.
1 To jest in old language sometimes signified to ■play apart in a mask.
2 A warder was a kind of truncheon or staff earned by persons who
presided at these single combats; the throwing down of which seems to
have been a solenan act of prohibition to stay proceedings. A different
movement of the warder had an opposite effect.
HC. Ill ]
KING RICHARD i..
373
Draw near, [To the Combatants
A.n(l list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
f)f civil' wounds ploughed up with neighbors' swords
[And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, ,
With rival-hating envy, set you on
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet, infant breath of gentle sleep; .
Which so roused up with boisterous, untuned drums,
With harshi resounding trumpets' dreadful bray.
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms.
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace.
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood; —
Therefore, we banish you our territories.
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death.
Till twice five summers have enriched our fields.
Shall not regreet our fair dominions.
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Baling. Your will be done. This must my rom-
fort be,—
That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams, to you here lent.
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.
K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce.
The fly-slow ® hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile ,~
The hopeless word of—never to return.
Breathe 1 against thee, upon pain of life.
r Capel's copy of the quarto edition of this play "reads, "Of cruel
wounds," &c. Malone's copy of the same edition, and all the otlier
editions, read " Of civil woun^," &,c.
2 The five lines in brackets are omitted in the folio.
3 The old copies read « sly-slow hours." Pope reads "Jly-slow hours,"
which has been admitted into the text It is, however, remarkable that
Pope, In the fourth book of his Essay on Man, v. 226, has employed the
epiphet which, in the present instance, he has rejectedL
* IVord, for sentence ; any short phrase was called a word.
KING RICHARD II.
l\CT I
iW. A heavy sentence, niy most sovereign liege,
And ah unlooked for from your highness' mouth*
A deart r merit,' not so deep a maim
As to bj cast forth in the common air.
Have I deserved at your highness' hand
The language I have learned these forty years.
My native English, now I must forego:
And now^ my tongue's use is to me no more.
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up.
Or,, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue.
Doubly portcullised, with my teeth, and lips;
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my jailer to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse.
Too far in years to be a pupil now;
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death.
Which robs my tongue from breathing nanve brenth '
K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate ; ®
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light .
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
[Retiring
K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee
Lay on our royal sword your banished hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to Heaven
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves)
To keep the oath that we administer.—
You never shall (so help you truth and Heaven!)
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never look upon each other's face ;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate;
1 Shakspeare uses merU, in this place, in the sense of reward. The
word is used in tlie same sense by Prior.
2 Compassionale is apparently here used in the sense of complaining
vlainlive ; but no other instance of the word in tliis sense has occurred to
the commentators. Ala" it not be an error of the press, for" «o paa
si'.nate?
sc iii.]
king richard 11.
375
Nor nei er by advised' purpose meet,
To plot contrive, or complot any ill,
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
Boling. I swear.
Nor. And I, to keep all this.
Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine eiiemy.®—
By this time, had the king permitted us.
One of our souls had wandered in the air,'
Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banished from this land.
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.
Nor. No, Bolingbroke ; if ever 1 were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life.
And I from heaven banished, as from hence!
But what thou art, Heaven, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.—
Farewell, my liege.—Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world's my way. [Exit,
K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banished years
Plucked four away.—Six frozen winters spent.
Return [To Boling.] with welcome home from banish¬
ment.
Boling. How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs.
End in a word; such is the breath of kings.
Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me.
He shortens four years of my son's exile.
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend.
Can change their moons, and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light,
1 Premeditated, deliberated.
2 The first folio reads "So fare." This line seems to be addressed by
way of caution to Mowbray, lest he should think that Bolingbroke wae
about to concilia ,e him.
3 The duke of Norfolk went to Venice, « where for thought and melan
eholy he decease i."—Holinsked.
376
KING RICHARD II
[ACT
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me sec my son.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live
Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give.
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow ; .
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death ;
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
K. Rich. Thy son is banished upon good-advice.
Whereto thy tongue a party' verdict gave.
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower?
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour
You urged me as a judge; but I had rather.
You would have bid me argue like a father.—
O, had it been a stranger, not my child.
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild;'
A partial slander® sought I to avoid.
And in the sentence my own life destroyed.
Alas, I looked, when some of you should say
I was too strict, to make mine own away ;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do myself this wrong.
K. Rich. Cousin, farewell;—and, uncle, bid him so
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
[^Flourish. Exeunt K. Rich, and Train
Aum. Cousin, farewell; what presence must nol
know.
From where you do remain, let paper show.
Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.
Gaunt. O. to what purpose dost thou hoard thy
words,
ITiat thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ?
BoUng. I have too few to take my leave of you,
1 Had a part or share in it
2 This couplet is wanting in the folio.
3 i e. the reproach of partiality.
sc. lll.J
KING RICHARD II.
371
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart.
Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
Gaunt. What is six winters.^ they are quickly gone
Baling. To men in joy ; but grief makes one hou:
ten.
Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure.
Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home-return.
Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make'
Will but remember me, what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages ; and in the end.
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else,
But that I was a journeyman to grief.?
Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven ® visits.
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the king did banish thee ;
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say—I sent thee forth to purchase honor.
And not—the king exiled thee; or suppose.
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air.
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st.
Suppose the singing birds, musicians ;
The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence
strewed; ®
' Tills speach and that which follows are not in the folio.
2 i. e. the -sun.
3 We have other allusions to the practice of strewing rushes over the
loor of the presence-chnmber, in Shakspeare.
VOL. 111. 48
378
king richard ii.
[ACT 1.
The flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps, no nior<'
Than a delightful measure, or a dance ;
For gnarliiig sorrow hath less power to bite
I'he man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
Boling. O, who can hold a fire in liis hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite.
By bare imagination of a feast ?
Or wallow naked in December snow.
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat ?
O, no! the apprehension of the good,
Gi ves but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy
way:
Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweei
soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears mo yet!
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,—
Though banished, yet a trueborn Englishman.'
[^Exeunt
SCENE IV. The same. A Room in the King's Castle
Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green ; AuMEULf
following.
K. Rich. We did observe.®—Cousin Aunierle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way ?
Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
Bnt to the next highway, and there I left him.
K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were
shed ? «
1 Dr. Johnson thou]»ht that the first act should end here.
2 The king here addressed Green and Bagot, who, we may suppose, had
been talkiag to him of Bolingbroke's "courtship to the common people,"
at the time of his departure, " Yes,'' says Richard, » we did observe it.»
sc. IV.]
KING RICHARD II.
379
j4um. 'Faith, none' by' me; except the north-eas*
wind,
Which then b ew bitterly against our faces,
Awaked the sleeping rheum; and so, by chance.
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
.fir. Jitch. What said our cousin, when you parted
with him F
Aum Farewell:
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,.
That words seemed buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry, would the word farewell have lengthened hours.
And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But, since it would not, he had none of me.
K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis doubt
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself, and Bushy,® Bagot here, and Green,
Observed his courtship to the common people ;—
How he did seem to dive into their hearts.
With humble and familiar courtesy;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles.
And patient underbearing of his fortune.
As 'twere, to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid—God speed him well.
And had the tribute of his supple knee,®
With—Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends,
r The first folio and the quarto of 1.597 read " 'Faith, none for me." The
emendation was made in the folio, 1G23.
2 The earlier quarto copies read, " Ourself and Bushy," and no more.
The folio:— '
" Ourself, and Bushy here, Bagot, and Greene.
In the quarto, the stage-direction says, " Enter the King, with Buskie,^
&c.; but in the folio, " Enter the King, Aumerle," &c., because it n'as
observed that Bushy comes in afterward. On this account we have
adopted a transposition made in the quarto of Ifi-'M.
3 To illustrate this, it should be remembered that courteKi/ing (tlie act
of reverence now confined to women) was ancientlj practised by men.
380
KING RICHARD II.
[act L
As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.
Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go thest
thoughts.
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland:—
Expedient' manage must be made, my liege ;
Ere further leisure yield them further means
For their advantage, and your highness' loss.
K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war
And, for® our coffers—with too great a court,
And liberal largess—are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced to farm our royal realm ;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand. If that come short.
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold.
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter Bushy.
Bushy, what news ?
Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my loid,
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste.
To entreat your majesty to visit him
K. Rich. Where lies he ?
Bushy. At Ely-house.
K. Rich. Now put it. Heaven, in his physician's
mind.
To help hirn to his grave immediately!
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.—
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him;
'Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late.
{^Exeunt
1 Shakspeare often uses expedient for expeditious ; but here its ordinarj
signification offit, proper, will suit the context equally welL
9 L 6. cause.
sc. I j
#
KING RICHARD n.
381
ACT II.
SCENE I. London. A Room in Ely-house. CJaunt
on a couch; the Duke of York,' and others stand
ing by him.
Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe m}
last
In wholesome counsel to his unstayed youth.
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your
breath;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention, like deep harmony:
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain.
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
He, that no more must say, is listened more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze,
More are men's ends marked, than their lives before:
The setting sun and music at the close,®
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last;
Writ in remembrance, more than things long past.
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear.
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
York. No ; it is stopped with other flattering sounds
As, praises of his state : then, there are found
Lascivious metre# ; to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always-listen ,
Rej)ort of fashions in proud Italy^
Wliose manners still our tardy, apish nation
1 Edmoiid, duke of York, was the fifth son of Edward III., and n as born
in 1441, at Langley, near St. Albans, Herts; whence he had nis surname
" He was of an indolent disposition, a lover of pleasure, ai d averse to
business; easily prevailed upon to lie still and consult his own quiet, ana
never acting with spirit upon any occasion."—LiwtVs William of Wyke-
ham, p. 205.
2 Mason suggests the following punctuation of this passage. He ceii
siders tl 3 word last as a verb.
The sotting sun, and music at the close,
(As the last taste of sweet is sweetest,) last
Writ in renieinbrance more, than things long past.
♦
KING RICHARD IJ.
[ACT iJ
Limps after, in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile,)
That is not quickly buzzed into his ears ?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.'
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose ;
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose
Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new inspired;
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him.
His rash, fierce blaze of riot cannot last;
For violent fires soon burn out themselves:
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short,
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder •
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant.
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle.
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise
This fortress, built by nature for herself.
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious stone set in the silver sea.
Which serves it in the office of a wall.
Or as a moat defensive to a house.
Against the envy of less happier lands ;
This blessed plot, this earth, this reaim, this England
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Feared by their breeti^® famous by their birth.
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
(For Christian service, and true chivalry,)
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son :
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world.
Is now leased out, (I die pronouncing it,)
1 \\'Tiere the will rebels against the notices of the understanding.
2 1. e. by reason o/" their breed. The quarto of 1598 reads thus:-
" Feared by their breed, and famous Jbr their birth."
sc i.]
king richard 11
383
Like to a tenement, or pelting^ farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;
Tliat England, that was wont to conquer others,
(lath made a shameful conquest of itself.
(), would the scandal vanish with my life.
How happy then were my ensuing death 1
Enter King Richard and Queen;® Aumerle,Busiiv,
Green, Bagot, Ross,^ and Willoughby.^
York. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth,
For young, hot colts, being raged,® do rage the moro.
Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster ?
K. Rich. What comfort, man ? How is't with aged
Gaunt ?
Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition!
Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old.
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt?
For sleeping JCngland long time have I watched;
Watching breeds leanness; leanness is all gaunt.
The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon,
Is my strict fast, I mean—my children's looks ;
And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave.
Whose hollow womb inhabits nought but bones.
1 "In this 22d yeare of.King Richard, tlie common fame ramie that flic
king had letten to farme the realme unto Sir William Scrope, earlc of
U'iltahire, and then treasurer of England, to S>r John Bushey, Sir John
Bagot, and Sir Henry Greene, Knightes."—Fabian. Pelting is paltry,
pitiful, petty.
2 Shakspearc has deviated from historical truth in the introduction of
Richard's queen as a woman; for Anne, liis first wife, was dead before tiie
period at which the commencement of the play is laid; and Isabella, Ins
second wife, was a child at the time of his death.
3 i. e. William lord Ross, of Hamlake, afterwards lord treasuret co
Henry IV.
* William lord Willoughby, of Eresby.
5 Ritson proposes to read:—
" being reined, do rage the more."
3S4
KING RICHARD II
[Ad' II
K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their
names ?
Gaunt. No; misery makes sport to mock itself:
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
K. Rich. Should dying: men flatter with those that
live
Gaunt. No, no ; men living, flatter those that di<'.
K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st—thou flatter'st
me.
Gaunt. O, no; thou diest, though I the sicker be.
K. Rich. I am in health, 1 breathe, and see thee ill
Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill
111 in myself to see, and in thee, seeing ill.
Thy deathbed is no lesser than thy land.
Wherein thou best in reputation sick;
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown.
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
And yet, incaged in so small a verge.
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land ;
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye.
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons.
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shanit;,
Deposing thee before thou wert possessed,
Which art possessed^ now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world.
It were a shame to let this land by lease;
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land.
Is it not more than shame, to shame it so ?
Landlord of England art thou now, not king,
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law
And thou
K. Rich. a lunatic, lean-witted fool,
1 Mail
a " T|,y leora] state, that rank in the state and these large desnicsnes
winch tlie constitution allotted thee, are now bondslave to the law; being
subject to the same legal restrictions as every ordinary, pelting farm that
has been let on lease "
king richard h.
385
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen adtnoaitioa
Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood,
With fury, from his native residence.
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head.
Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.
Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
For that I was his father Edward's son;
That blood already, like the pelican.
Hast thou tapped out, and drunkenly caroused.
My brother Gloster, plain, well-meaning soul,
fWhom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!)
May be a precedent and witness good.
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood •
Join with the present sickness that I have.
And thy unkindness be like crooked age.
To crop at once a too-long» withered flower.
Ijive in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!—
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!—
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they' to live, that love and honor have
[Exit, borne out by his Attendants
K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have
For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
York. 1 do beseech your majesty, impute his words
To wayward sickliness and age in him.
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry duke of Hereford,, were he here.
K. Rich. Right; you say true; as Hereford's lovtj,
' so his;
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.
Enter Northumberland
North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to youi
majesty.
K. Rich. What says he ?
1 L e. let them, love to live, &c
vol.. Iff. 49
SSG
KING Richard ii.
[ACT -I
North. Nay, nothing; all is said :
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he
His time is spent; our pilgrimage must be:*
So much for that. ^Now for our Irish wars.
\Ve must supplant those rough, rug-headed kernes ;*
Which live like venom, where no venom else,
But only they, hath privilege to live.®
And, for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance, we do seize to tis
The plate, coin, revenues, and movables.
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed
York. How long shall I be patient ? Ah, how iono
Shall tender duty make me-suffer wrong.?
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment.
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs.
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage,^ nor my own disgrace.
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.—
I am the last of noble Edward's sons.
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never lion raged more fierce.
In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild.
Than was that young and princely gentleman.
His face thou hast, for even so looked he,
Accomj)lished with the number of thy hours;®
But, when he frowned, it was against the FrencTi,
And not against his friends; his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
' That is, " OUT pil^image is yet'lo come."
2 Kernes were Irish peasantry, serving as light-armed foot-soldiers.
3 Alluding to the idea that no venomous reptiles live in Ireland.
When the duke of Hereford went into France, after his banishment,
he was honorably entertained at tliat court, and would have obtained in
marriage the only daughter of the duke of Berry, uncle to the French
king, imd not Richard prevented tlie match.
2 i. e. v. hev he was of thy aire.
sc. I.I
KING RICHARD II
38*:
Which his triumphant father's hand had won;
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would comjiare between.
K, Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ?
York. O, my liege,
Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, pleased
Not to be pardoned, am content withal.
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banished Hereford ?
Is not Gaunt deadand doth not Hereford live.?
Was not Gaunt just ? and is not Harry true.?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir ?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son ?
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his customary rights;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
Be not thyself, for how art thou a king.
But by fair sequence and succession ?
Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!)
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's right.'?
Call in the letters patent that he hath
By his attorneys-general to sue
His livery,' and deny his offered homage.
You |)luck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honor and allegiance cannot think.
K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our hands
His plate, his goods, his money, and his land.s
York. I'll not be by the while; my liege, farewell.
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be understood,
' That their events can never fall out good. [£xi<
U.
1 On the death of every person who held by knight's service, his heir,
if under age, became a ward of" the king's ; but if of age. he had a right to
Bue out a writ of ousUr le mam, i. e. liven/, that the king's hand might be
taken c ff, and the land delivered to him. To " deny his offered homage
was to :etiise to admit tlie homage by which he was to" hold his lands.
3S8 KING RICHARD H. [ACT II
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
To see this business. To-morrow next
We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow ;
And we create, in absence of ourself.
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is just, and always loved us well.—
Come on, our queen ; to-morrow must we part;
Do merry, for our time of stay is short. [FYoiinsA
[^Exeunt King, Queen, Bd€hy, Admerle,
Green, and Bagot.
North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.
Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with
silence,
Ere't be disburdened with a liberal tongue.
North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er
speak more.
That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm!
IVillo. Tends that thou wouldst speak, to the duke
of Hereford ?
If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear, fo hedr of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that 1 can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him.
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
North. Now, afore Heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs
are borne.
In him a royal prince, and many more
(.)!" noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
Dy flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all.
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Ross. The commons hath he pilled' with grievous
taxes,
1 Pillaged.
sc. I.]
KING RICHARD II.
389
And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fined
For anciei t quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devised;
As blanks,' benevolences, and I wot not what.
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this ?
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warred he hath
not,
But basely, yielded, upon compromise.
That which his ancestors achieved with blows.
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.
Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken
man.
North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him.
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars.
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, ^
But by the robbing of the banished duke.
North. His noble kinsman; most degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing.
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm.
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails.
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
And unavoided is the danger now.
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
. North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of
death,
1 spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost
ours.
Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so.
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.
North. Then thus:—I have from Port le Blanc
a bay
1 stow records that Richard 11. "compered all the religious, gentlemen,
and commons, to set their scales to blankes, to the end he might, if n
pleased him, oj press them severally, or all at once; some of the commons
paid him 1000 narks, some 1000 pounds," &c.
390
king richard ii.
[act ii.
la Brittany, received intelligence,
That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The son of Richard, earl of Arundel,] '
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis.
Quoint,—
All these well furnished by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience.
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that tltey stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke.
Imp® out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown.
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt.
And make high majesty look like itself.
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg.
But if you faint, as fearing to do so.
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
Boss. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them
that fear.
JVillo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there
l^Exeunt
SCENE II The same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.
Buslnj. Madam, your majesty is too much sad.
You promised, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness,
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
' The line in brackets^ which was necessary to complete the sense, has
been supplied upon the aulhority of Iloliushed. Something of a similar
import must have been omitted by accident in the old copies.
Wiien the wing-feathers of a hawk were dropped or forced out by any
accident, it was usual to supply as many as were deficient. This operation
was called to imp a hawk."
sc. II ]
KING RICHARU il.
391
Queen. To pli.-ase tho king, I did ; to please myself
cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard. Yet, again, metlfinks.
Some unhorn sorrow, rijie in fortune's womb,
Is coining towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles : at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty
shadows.
Which show like grief itself, but are not so;
For SOI row's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives,' which, rightly gazed upon.
Show nothing but confusion ; eyed awry.
Distinguish form. So your sweet majesty.
Looking awry upon your lord's departure.
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, looked on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen.
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's not
seen;
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye.
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad : so heavy sad.
As—though, in thinking, on no thought I think''—
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less. Conceit is still derived
1 This may have reference to that kind of opfical delusion called ana¬
morphosis ; which is a perspective projection of a- picture, so that at one
point of view, it shall appear a confused mass, or different to what it really
is; in another, an exact and regular representation. Soinetirnes il is made
to appear confused to the naked eye, and regular when viewed in a glass
0 mirror of a certain form.
2 The old copies have " on tliinking," which is an evident error: we
should read, " As though in thinking;" i. e. " tliough musing, I have no
idea of calaniity." The involuntary and unaccoimtable depression of the
mind which every one has sometimes felt, is here very forcibly described.
392
KING RICHARD II.
("ACT 11.
From some forefather grief; mine is not so*
For nothing hath begot my something grief j
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve.
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known ; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
Enter Green.
Green. God save your majesty!—and whnsiin
406
KING RICHARD II.
[act ui
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, 1 fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return.
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men 1
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state ; •
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou vvert dead,
Aie gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fied.
Aum. Comfort, my liege ; why looks your grace so
pale ?
K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousaml
men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ;
And, till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ?
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Aum. Comfort,jny liege; remember who you are.
K. Rich. I had forgot myself. Am 1 not king ?
Awake, thou sluggard* majesty! thou sleep'st.
Is not the king's name forty thousand names ?
Arm, arm, my name I a puny subject strikes
At thy great glory.—Look not to the ground.
Ye favorites of a king. Are we not high.?
High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York
Hath powt^r enough to serve our turn. But who
Conies here ?
Enter Scroop.
•
Scroop. More health and hajijiiness betide my liege
Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.
K. Rich. Mine ear is ojien, and my heart prepared
The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unl'old.
Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 'twas my carc i
And what loss is it, to be rid of care.?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we.?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
1 The first quarto reads " cotvard majesty ""
sc. 11.]
KING RICHARD II.
407
r
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so.
Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend,
Thej break tbeir faith to God, as well as us:
Cry wog, destruction, ruin, loss, decay;
Tlie worst is—death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so armed
"10 bear the tidings of calamity,
liiko ail unseasonable, stormy day.
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores.
As if the world were all dissolved to tears;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard, bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.
White-beards have armed their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; and hoys, with women's voices.
Strive to speak big, and clap their female Joints
In stiff, unwieldy arms against thy crown ;
The very headsmen learn to bend their hows
Of double-fatal yew' again.st thy state ;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty hills
Against thy seat; both young and old rebel.
And all goes worse than 1 have power to tell.
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill:
Where is the earl of Wiltshire where is Bagot.^
What is become of Bushy.? where is Green.?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps.?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed,
my lord.
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damned without redemp¬
tion !
Dogs, easily won to /awn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warmed, that sting my heart,
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace.? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
r Yew is called dotMe-fatal, because of the poisonous quality of the
leaves, and on account of the wood being used fur instruiucpts ot death
408
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT III
Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.—
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands; those whom yq,u curse^
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound.
And lie full low, graved' in the hollow ground.
Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire,
dead ?
Savop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
Aum. Where is the duke, my father, with his power?
K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man
speak.
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
And yet not so,—for what can we bequeath.
Save our deposed bodies to the ground ?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model® of the barren earth.
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For Heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground.
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;—
How some have been deposed, some slain in war
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed,
All murdered.—For within the hollow crown.
That rounds the mortal temples of a king.
Keeps death his court; and there the antic sits,
Seofling his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
I'o monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,—
As if this flesh, which walls about our life.
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
> 1. e. buried. The verb is not peculiar to Shakspeare.
A small -model, or uiod-ule,—for they were the same in Sliakspeare'a
time,—seems to mean, in this place, a small portion or quantity. It is a
Liitinism, from « modulus the measure or quantity of a thing."
sc. Il.J
KINU lUCIlARD n.
409
Comes at the last, and with a little pm
Bores through his castle wall, and—farewell, king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence ; throw away res[)ect,
Tradition,' form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
1 live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends.—Subjected thus,
How can you say to me—I am a king ?
Car, My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present woes,
But presently prevent the ways to wail.
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength.
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,
And so your follies fight zigainst yourself.
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight:
And fight and die, is death destroying death ; ®
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.
Aum. My father hath a power; inquire of him,
And learn to make a body of a limb.
K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well.—Proud Bolingbroke,
I come
To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is overblown;
An easy task it is, to win our own.
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power ?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day ;
So may you, by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small,
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken.—
Your uncle York hath joined with Bolingbroke ^
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.
1 Tradition here seems to mean Iradilional practices, L e. estaliishcil oi
customary ho nage.
2 That is, to die fighting is ) t return the evil that we suffer, .o dcetr')j
the destroyers.
VOL. 111. 52
410
KING RICHARD II.
lact iii.
K. Rich. Thou hast said enough.
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth
[7'p Aumerlk
Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
What say you now ? What comfort have we now ?
By Heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go, to Flint castle ; there I'll pine away;
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
That power 1 have, discharge ; and let them go
To ear^ the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have none.—Let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
Aum. My liege, one word.
K. Rich. He does me double wrong
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers; let them hence.—Away,
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day.
\^Exeunl
SCENE HI. Wales. A Plain before Flint Castle
Enter, idth drum and colors, Bolingbroke and
Forces; York, Northumberland, and others.
Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn,
Fhe Welshmen are dispersed ; and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed.
With some few private friends, upon this coast.
North. The news is very fair and good, my lord,
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.
York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland
To say—king Richard.—Alack the heavy day.
When such a sacred king should hide his head !
North. Your grace mistakes me;® only to be brief,
Left I his title out.
York. The time hath been,
I To ear the land is to till it, to plough it.
'i The word wie/which is wanting in the old copies, was si pplied by
r.
sc. HI.]
king richabx) 11.
411
Would you have been so brief with him, he would
Have beeo/so brief with you, to shorten you.
For taking so the head,' your whole head's length.
Baling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should
York. Take not, good cousin, further than yoa
should,
I i(!St you mis-take; the Heavens are o'er your head
Baling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not
Myself against their will.—But who comes here ?
Enter Percv.
Well,® Harry ; what, will not this castle yield.?
Percy. The castle royally is manned, my lord,
Against thy entrance.
Baling. Royally!
Why, it contains no king ?
Percy. Yes, my good lord,
It doth contain a king. King Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone ;
And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop ; besides a clergyman
Of holy reverence ; who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike it is the bishop of Carlisle.
Baling. Noble loid, [To North
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parld
Into his ruined ears, and thus deliver :
Harry Bolingbroke
U])on his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand;
And sends allegiance, and true'faith of heart.
To bis most royal person ; hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power;
Provided that, my banishment repealed.
And lands restored again, be freely granted ;
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power.
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood,
Johnson declares that the meaning of this phrase is, taking undue
'iberties.
'•i The old copy reads," Wdcome, Harry:" the emendation U Hanmcr'i
412
king richard ii.
[act IIL
Rained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen;
The which, how far off from the mind of Boiingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh, green lap of fair king Richard's land,
Mj stooping duty tenderly shall show.
(jIo, signify as much ; while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.—
[Northumberland advanctst to tne
castle, with a trumpet.
Let's march without the noise of threatening dium,
That from the castle's tottered ' battlements
Our fair appoiiiiments may be well perused.
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks.
A parley sounded, and ansioered by another trumpet
within. Flourish. Enter, on the walls. King Rich¬
ard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Au merle. Scroop, and-
Salisbury.
York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear,®
As doth the blushing, discontented sun
From out the fiery portal of the east;
When he perceives the envious clouds .are bent
To dim his glory, and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the Occident,
i ct looks he like a king ; behold, his eye.
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show !
1 Tottered, the reading of the two first quartos, is here probably used for
tottering, according to the frequent usage of our Poet The other copies
read tattered.
2 T.he six first lines of this speech aie erroneously given to Bolingbroke
In the old copies.
sc. iii.] king richard ii. 413
K. Rich. We are amazed; and thus long have we
stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
[To Northumberland.
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king ;
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence ?
If we be not, show us the hand of God
That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre.
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
And thougii you think, that all, as you have done,
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us.
And we are barren, and bereft of friends;—
Yet know,—my Master, God omnipotent,
Js mustering in his clouds, on our behalf.
Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot.
That lift your vassal hands against my head.
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bojingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,)
That every stride he makes upon my land.
Is dangerous treason. He is come to ope
The purple testament of bleeding war;
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace.
Ten thousand bloody clowns of mothers' sons
Shall ill become the flower of England's face ;'
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation, and bedew
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.
North. The King of heaven forbid, our lord the
king
Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rushed upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin,
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;
And by the honorable tomb he swears.
' L e. England's flowery face; or, according to Warburton, the choicest
•youth of England.
414
KING RICHARD II.
fact iii
That stands upon thy royal grandsire's hones ;
And by the loyalties of both your bloods,
Currents that spjrins; from one most gracious head,
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt;
And by the worth and honor of hilnself,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said,—
His coming hither hath no furthur scope.
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees ;
Which on the royal party granted once,
nis glittering arms he will commend to rust,
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just,
And, as I am a gentleman, 1 credit him.
K. Rich. Northumberland, say,—thus the king
returns;
His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplished without contradiction.
With all the gracious utterance thou hast.
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.—
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not,
[To Aumerle.
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ?
Aum. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle
words.
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.
K. Rich. O God! O God ! that e'er this tongue
of mine.
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yon proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth !' O, that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name !
Or that I could forget what I have been!
1 Soolh IS sweet, aa well as true. In this place, sootk means sweetness ot
lojlness. Thus, to soothe still means to :alm and sweeten the mind.
ec. iJi.j
KING RICHARD II.
415
Or not reniombor what 1 must be now!
Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope tc
beat,
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
K. Rich. What must the king do now ? Must he
submit ?
The king shall do it. Must he be deposed ?
The king shall be contented. Must he lose
The name of king ? o' God's name, let it go.
I'll give mj jewels, for a set of beads ; '
My gorgeous palact;, for a hermitage ;
My gay Rpparel,' for an alms-man's gown ;
My figured goblets, for a dish of wood ;
My sceptre, for a palmer's walking-staff; >
My subjects, for a pair of.carved saints;
And my large kingdom, for a little grave, •"
A little, little grave, an obscure grave ;—
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway.
Some way of common trade,® where subjects' feet
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head.
For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live;
And, buried once, why not upon my head F
Aumerle, thou weep'st. My tender-hearted cousin !—
We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn.
And make a dearth in this revolting land.
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes.
And make some pretty match with shedding tears ?
As thus:—to drop them still upon one place, '
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
Within the earth ; and, therein laid,—There li^s
Two kinsmen, digged their graves with weeping eyes ? '
Would not this ill do well F—Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you mock at me.—
1 Richard's expense in regard to dress was very extraordinary. " H«
had one coate which he caused to be made for him of gold and stone,
valued at 3000 marks."—Ilolinshed.
2 " Some way ol" common trade " is some way of frequent resort, a com¬
mon cou rse; a 5, at present, " a road of much traffic," i. e. frequent resort
416
Kl.NG RICHARD II.
[ACT III.
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland,
What says king Bolingbroke ? Will his majesty
Give Richard leave toJive till Richard die ?
You make a leg,' and Bolingbroke says—ay.®
North. My lord, in the base ^ court he doth attend
To speak with you ; may't please you. to come down r
K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering
Phaeton,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
[North, retires to Boling.
In the base court.? Base court, where kings grow
base.
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace.
In the base court.? Come down.? Down, court!
down, king!
For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should
Si sing. [^Exeunt from above.
Boling. What says his majesty.?
North. , Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly,^ like a frantic man.
Yet he is come.
Enter King Richard, and his Attendants, beloio.
Boling. Stand all apart.
And show fair duty to his majest}'.
My gracious lord,— \Kneeling.
K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee.
To make the base earth proud with kissing it.
Me rather had, my heart might feel your love.
Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.
Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know.
Thus high at least, [Touching his own head.'] although
your knee be low.
Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
1 A bow.
s It should be remembered that the affirmative particle ay, waa formetl*
Written and sounded 1, which rhymed well with die.
3 That is, the lower court of the castle (basse cour, Fr.).
* Foolishly.
sc. IV.]
KING RICHARD II.
417
K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all
Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,
As my true service shall deserve your love.
K. Rich. Well you deserve;—they well deserve to
have.
That know the strong'st and surest way to get.—
Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes ;
Tears show their love, but want their remedies.—
Cousin, I am too young to be your father.
Though you are old enough to be my heir
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
For do we must, what force will havg us do.—
Set on towards London.—Cousin, is it sp ?
Boling. Yea, my good lord.
K. Rich. Then I must not say, no
[^Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE IV. Langley. Duke of York's Garden.
Enter the Queen and two Ladies.
Queen. What sport shall we devise here in thi.s
garden.
To drive away the heavy thought of care ?
, 1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls.
Queen. 'Twill make me think
The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune
Runs 'gainst the bias.®
1 Lady. Madam, we will dance.
Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight.
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief.
Therefore, no dancing, girl; some, other sport
1 " The duke, with a sharpe high voyce bade bring forth the king's
horses; and then two little nagges, not worth forty franks, were brought
forth: the king was set on one, and the earle of Salisburie on the other;
and thus the duke brought the king from Flint to Chester, where he was
delivered to the duke of Gloucester's sonne (that , loved him but little, for
he had put their father to death,) who led him straight to the castle."—Stowe
(p. 521. edit. 160.5), from a manuscript account written by a person who
was present.
2 The bias was a weight inserted in one side of a bowl, which ga ve
a particular inclination in bowling.
VOL. III. 53
418
KING RICHARD 11.
[ACT III
1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales.
Queen. Of sorrow, or of joj ^'
1 Lady Of either, madam.
Queen. Of neither, girl,
F or if of joy, being altogether wanting,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or if of grief, being altogether had,
It adds more sorrow to my want of Joy.
For what I have, I need not to repeat;
And what I want, it boots not to complain.®
1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing.
Queen. . 'Tis well, that thou hast cause,
But thou shoyldst please me better, wouldst thou
weep.
1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you
good.
Queen. And I could weep,^ would weeping do me
good,
And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay, here come the gardeners.
Let's step into the shadow of these trees.-
Enter a Gardener and tioo Servants.
My wretchedness unto a row of pins.
They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so
Against a change : woe is forerun with woe.
, [Queen and Ladies retire
Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricots.
Which, like unruly children, make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight!
Give some supportance to the bending twigs.—
Go thou, and, like an executioner.
Gut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays.
That look too lofty in our commonwealth :
All must be even in our government.
1 All the old copies read," Of sorrow or of grief." Pope made the neces*
lary alteration.
2 See note on Act L Sc. 2.
2 Tl~.e old copies read, " And I could sing." The emendation is Pope'a
8C. IV.]
KING RICHARD 11.
419
You thus employed, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
Tlie soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
1 Serv. W hy should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion.
Showing, as in a model, our firm e.state ?
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land.
Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers choked up.
Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined.
Her knots ^ disordered, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars ?
Gard. Hold thy peace !—
Ho that hath suffered this disordered spring.
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf.
The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter
That seemed in eating him to hold him up.
Are plucked up, root and all, by Bolingbroke ;
I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bush}', Green.
1 Serv. What, are they dead ?
Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke
Hath seized the wasteful king.—O ! what pity is it,
That he had not so trimmed and dressed his land.
As we this garden ! We ® at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood.
With too much riches it confound itself.
Had he done so to great and growing men.
They might have lived to bear, and he to taste
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live.
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown dowu.
1 Serv. What, think you, then, the king shall be
deposed ?
Gard. Depressed he is already; and deposed,
1 Knots are figures planted in box, the lines of which frequently inter
seeted each other, in the old fashion of gardening.
2 We is not in the old copy. It was added by Malone.
420
KING RICHARD II
[ACT III.
Tis doubt,' he will be. Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.
Queen. O, I am pressed to death,
Through want of speaking!—Thou, old Adam's like¬
ness, \Comingfrom her concealinent
Set to dress this garden, how dares
Thy harsh, rude tongue sound this unpleasing news f
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man ?
Why dost thou say, king Richard is deposed ?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfall ? Say, where, when, and how,
Cam'st thou by these ill tidings ? Speak, thou wretch
Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I,
To breathe this news ; yet what 1 say is true.
King Richard he is in the mighty hold
Of Bolinghroke ; their fortunes both are weighed.
In your lord's scale is nothing hut himself.
And some few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolinghroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers.
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down.
Post you to London, and you'll find it so;
I speak no more than every one doth know.
' Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot
Doth not thy embassage belong to me.
And am I last that knows it ? O, thou think'st
To serve me last, that 1 may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast.—Come, ladies, go.
To meet, at London, London's king in woe.—
What, was I horn to this ! that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolinghroke ?—
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
1 would the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
[^Exeunt Queen OMd Ladies
I This uncommon phraseology has already occurred in the prescni
play.
sc. 1.] KING RICHARD II. 421
Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no
worse,
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.—
Here did she drop' a tear; here, in this place,
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace;
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [ExeunL
ACT IV.
SCENE I. London. Wesminster Hall.® The Lords
spiritual on the right side of the throne; the Lords
temporal on the left; the Commons below.
Enter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey,® Northum¬
berland, Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, Bishop
q/" Carlisle, Abbot q/Westminster, and Attendants.
Officers behind, with Bagot.
Baling. Call forth Bagot:
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; »
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ;
Who wrought it with the king, and who performed
The bloody office of his timeless * end.
Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle.
Baling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.
Bagot., My lord Aumerle, I know, your daring
tongue
1 The quarto of 1597 reads fall. The quarto of 1598 and the fclio read
drop.
2 The rebuilding of Westminster hall,'which Richard had begun in
1397, being finished in 1399, the first meeting of parliament in the new edi¬
fice was tor rhe purpose of deposing him.
3 Thon.as Holland, earl of Kent, brother to John Holland, earl of Exeter
was created duke of Surrey in 1597. He was half-brother to the king, by
his mother Joan, who married Edward the Black Prince after the death d
her second husband, Thomas lord Holland.
* i. e. untimely.
422
KING RICHARD-II.
[ACT IV
Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered.
In that dead tune when Gloster's death was plotteil,
I heard you say,—la not my arm of length,
That.reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais, to my uncWs head ?
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse
The offer of a hundred thousand crowns.
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal, how blessed this land would be,
In this your cousin's death.
Aum. Princes, and noble lords.
What answer shall 1 make to this base man ?
Shall I so much dishonor my fair stars,'
On equal terms to give him chastisement
Either I must, or have mine honor soiled
• With the attainder of his slanderous lips.
There is my gage, the manual seal of death.
That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,
And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false,
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base,
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
Baling. Bagot, forbear ; thou shalt not take it up.
Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence, that hath moved me so.
Fitz. If that thy valor stand on sympathies,®
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.
By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
1 The Irirth is supposed to be influenced by stars, therefore tlie Poet
takes stars for birth.
2 Fitzwater throws down his gage as a pledge of battle, and tells
Aumerle that if he stands upon sympathies, that is, upon equality of blood,
, the combat is now offered him by a man of rank not inferior to his own.
Sifmpathy is an affection incident at once to two subjects. This commu¬
nity of affection implies a likeness or equahty of nature ; and hence the
Poet transferred the term to equality of blood.
KING RICHARD II.
423
Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day
Fitz. Now, by my soiil, I would it were this hour.
Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damned to hell for this.
Percy. Aumerle, thou liest. His honor is as true
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust;
And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
' To prove it on thee to the extremest point
Of mortal breathing ; seize it, if thou dar'st.
Aum. And if 1 do not, may my hands rot off.
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe !
Lord. 1 task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle,
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be hollaed in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun. There is my honor's pawn ,
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.
Aum. Who sets me else ? By Heaven, I'll throw at
all:
I have a thousand spirits in one breast.
To answer twenty thousand such as you.^
Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
Fitz. 'Tis very true. You were in presence then
And you can witness with me, this is true.
Surrey. As false, by Heaven, as Heaven itself is true
Fitz. Surrey, thou liest.
Surrey. Dishonorable boy!
That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword.
That it shall render vengeance and revenge.
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull.
In proof whereof, there is my honor's pawn ;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.
Fitt. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horsti!
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
1 dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,®
And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies,
i^nd lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith,
1 The preceding eight lines are not in the folio of 1623.
^ 1 dare meet him where no help can be had by me against him
424
KING RICHARD 11.
[act iv.
To :ie thee to ni} strong correction.—
As I int(;nd to thrive in this nevv world,'
An merle is guilty of my true appeal.
Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.
Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage,
That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this,®
If he may be repealed to try his honor.
Baling. These differences shall all rest under gage.
Till Norfolk be repealed ; repealed he shall be.
And, though mine enemy, restored again
To all his land and seigniories. When he's returned.
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
Car. That honorable day shall ne'er be seen.—
Many a time hath banished'Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross.
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
And, toiled with works of war, retired himself
To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,®
And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,
Under whose colors he had fought so long.
Baling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead f
Car. As sure as I live, my lord.
Baling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the
bosom
Of good old Abraham !—Lords appellants.
Your differences shall all rest under gage.
Till we assign you to your days of trial.
Enter York, attended.
Yavk. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thefe
From plume-plucked Richard ; who with willing soid
1 L e. in this world, where I have just begun to be an actoi Surrey
has just called him boy.
2 Holinsl ed says that on this occasion he threw down a hood that he
had borrowed.
3 This is not historically true. The duke of Norfolk's death did not
take place till after Richard's.
KING RICHARD II.
iU5
Adopts thee heir and his high sceptre yields
To the possession of thy royal hand.
Ascend his throne, descending now from him,—
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth !
Baling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne
Car. Marry, God forbid !—
Worst in this royal presence, may I speak,
5fet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
'Would God, that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard ; then true nobless ® would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence on his king.^
And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judged, but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be seen in them;
And shall the figure of God's majesty,^
His captain, steward, deputy elect.
Anointed, crowned, planted many years.
Be judged by subject and inferior breath.
And he himself not present? O, forbid^ it, God,
That, in a Christian climate, souls refined
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks.
Stirred up by Heaven, thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king.
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king ;
And if you crown him, let me prophesy,—
The blood of English shall manure the ground.
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels.
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound ;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny
Shall here inhabit, and this land be called
• Hume gives the words that Henry actually spoke on this occasjou
which he copied from Knyghton.
2 i. e. noblentss ; a word now obsolete.
3 This speech, which contains in the most expressive terms the doe
trine of passive obedience, is founded upon Holinshed's account.
" The quarto reads for/end.
vol. III. 54
king richard ii.
[act iv.
The field of Golgotha, and dead mens skulls.
, 0, if vou rear ' this house against this house,
It will the wofullest division prove,
That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so.
Lest child's child's .children ® cry against you—woe!
North. Well have you argued, sir; and, for youi
pains.
Of capital treason we arrest you here.—
My. lord of Westminster, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial.—
May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.'
Baling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
He may surrender; so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
York. I will be his conduct. [Exit.
Baling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest.
Procure your sureties for your days of answer.—
Little are we beholden to your love, [To Car. .
And little looked for at your helping hands.
Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers,
bearing the crown, &c.
K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king.
Before I have shook oif the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reigned ? I hardly yet have learned
To insinuate, flatter, bow and bend my knee : *
Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favors® of these men. Were they not mine.^
1 The quarto reads raise.
2 Pope altered tliis to " children's children," and was followed by otlicia
The old copies read, " Lest child, childs children."
3 What follows, almost to the end of the act, is not found in the first
two quartos. The addition was made in the quarto of 1608. In the ^
quarto, 1597, after the words " his day of trial," the scene thus closes
"JBoI. Let it be so: and lo! on Wednesday next
We solemnly proclaim our coronation.
Lords, be ready all."
* The quarto reads Itnibs. ® Countenances, features.
KING RICHARD II.
427
Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me ?
So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve.
Found truth in all but one ; I, in twelve thousand,
none.
God save the king!—Will no man say, amen ?
Am 1 both priest and clerk Well, then, amen.
God save the king! although L be not he;
And yet, amen, if Heaven do think him me.—
To do what service am I sent for hither ?
York. To do that office, of thine own good will.
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.
K. Rich. Give me the crown.—Here, cousin, seize
the crown;
Here on this side,- my hand; and on that side, thine.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
That owes' two buckets filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing in the air.
The other down, unseen, and full of water.
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
' Baling. I thought you had been willing to resign.
K. Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs are
mine.
You may my glories and my state depose.
But not my griefs: still am I king of those.
Baling. Part of your cares you give me with your
crown.
K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares
down.
My care is—loss of care, by old care done ; ®
Your care is—gain of care, by new care won.
The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tend® the crown, yet still with me they stay.
1 Owns.
2 Richard s-jems to say heie that " his cares are not made less by tne
increase of Bolingbroke's cares;"—" his grief is, that his regal cares are
at an end, by the cessation of care to wliich he had been accustomed
3 Attend.
428
KING RICHARD 11.
[ACT IV
Baling. Are you contented to resign the crown
K. Rich. Ay, no;—no, ay;—for I must nothing be
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me how I will undo myself:—
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
TThe pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,^
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state.
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths.'
All jx)mp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny.
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke, are made ^ to thee '
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,
And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved !
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
God save king Henry, unkinged Richard says.
And send him many years of sunshine days I—
What more remains ?
North. No more, but that you read
[Offering a papa
These accusations, and these grievous crimes.
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily deposed.
K. Rich. Must I do so and must I ravel out
My weaved-up follies ? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record.
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop.
To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst.
There shouldst thou find one heinous article,—
Containing the deposing of a king,
- Oil of consecration.
2 The first quarto reads duty's rites.
V Thus the folio. The quarto reads that swear-
KING RICHARD II.
429
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,—
Marked with a blot, damned in the book of Heaven.—
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me.
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,—
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here delivered me to my sour cross.
And water cannot wash away your sin.
North. My lord, despatch ; read o'er these articles
K Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears ; I cannot see
And yet salt water blinds them not so much,
But they can see a sort' of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest;
For 1 have given here my soul's consent.
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base ; and sovereignty, a slave;
Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant.
North. My lord,
K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught,® insulting
man.
Nor no man's lord; 1 have no name, no title,—
No, not that name was given me at the font,—
But. 'tis usurped.—Alack the heavy day.
That I have worn so many winters out.
And know not now what name to call myself!
O that I were a mockery king of snow.
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!—
Good king,—great king,—(and yet not greatly good,)
An if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight ;
That it may show me what a face I have.
Since it is bankrupt of his ® majesty.
Baling. Go, some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.
[^Exit an Attendant.
' A sorrt is a set or company.
^ I. e. haughty.
3 His for its. It was cominou in the Poet's time to use the personal foi
llie neutral pronoun. ^
430
KING RICHARD II.
fACT IV
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth
come.
K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come
to hell.
Baling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland
North. The commons will not then be satisfied.
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough.
When 1 do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that's—myself.
Re-enter Attendant, with a glass.
Give me that glass, and therein will I read.—
No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine.
And made no deeper wounds ?—O, flattering glass.
Like to my followers in prosperity.
Thou dost beguile me I Was this face the face.
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men Was this the face,
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ? ^
Was this the face, that faced so many follies.
And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke ?
A brittle glory shine th in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face ;
[Dashes the glass against the ground
For there it is, cracked in a hundred shivers.—
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,—
How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.
Baling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed
The shadow of your face.
K. Rich Say that again.
The shadow of my sorrow.^ Ha! let's see :—
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief.
That swells with silence in the tortured soul,
1 " To his hoasehold came every day to meate ten thousand men "
Chronicle Historu.
® The quarto omits this line and the four preceding words
sc. 1.]
KING RICHARD II.
431
There lies (he substance : and I thank thee, king.
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
l\Ie cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon.
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it.?
Boling. Name it, fair cousin.
K. Rich. Fair cousin ! I am greater than a king •
For, when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
I have a king here to my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg.
Boling. Yet ask.
K. Rich. And shall I have.?
Boling. You shall.
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither.?
K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your
sights.
Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the tower.
K. Rich. O, good! Convey ?—Conveyers ^ are you
all.
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.®
[^Exeunt K. Rich., some Lords, and a Guard.
Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.
[^Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle,
and Aumerle.
Abbot. A woful pageant have we here beheld.
Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
I'o rid the realm of this pernicious blot ?
Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein.
You shall not only take the sacrament
1 "To convey "is ;he word for sleight of hand or ju^g'iing. Richard
means that it is a term of contempt—"jugglers are you all."
2 This is the last of the additional lines first printed in the quarto of
1608. In the first editions there is no personal appearance of kiii^
Richard.
432
king richard ii.
[act v
To bury mine intents, but also to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise.—
I see your brows are full of discontent.
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.
Come home with me to supper; I will lay
A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [ Exeunt
ACT V.
SCENE I. London. A Street leading to the Toioer
Enter Queen and Ladies.
Queen. This way the king will come; this is the
way
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,'
To whose flint-bosom my condemned lord
Is doomed a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke.
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any re?t'ng for her true king's queen.
Enter King Richard, and Guards.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see.
My fair rose wither. Yet look up; behold;
TIrat you in pity may dissolve to dew.
And wash him liesh again with true-love tears.—
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ;
'JJiou map ® of honor; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard , thou most beauteous inn,®
' By itt-erecUa is y meant erected for evil purposes.
' Map IS Uoeii ior picture. In the Rape of Lucrece, Shakspeare calk
sleep " the map of death."
^ Inn does not, probably, here mean a house of public entertainment, but
a dwelling or lodging generally ; in which sense tlie word was ancientli
used.
sc. l.J
KING RICHARD H
403
Why should hard favored grief he lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest
K. Rich, Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awaked, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this; I am sworn brother,' sweet,
Fo grim necessity; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie th^e to France,
And cloister there in some religious house.
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transformed and weakened ? Hath Bolingbroke
Deposed thine intellect,^ hath he been in thy heart
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw.
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
I'o be o'erpowered ; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly ; kiss the rod.
And fawn on rage with base humility.
Which art a lion and a king of beasts ?
K. Rich, A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but
beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France'
Think I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales
Of wolul ages, long ago betid;
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit® their grh^f,
Tell thou the lamentable falP of me.
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, .the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue.
And, in compassion, weep the fire out;
' Sieom brother alludes to the fralres jurati, who, in the age of adven
jure, bound themselves by mutual oaths to share fortunes together.
* To requite their mournful stories.
3 The quarto of 1.597 reads tale,
vol.. ill. rilo
484
king richard 11.
fACT V
And some «vill mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.
Enter Northumberland, attended.
North. My lord, the mind of Bplingbroke is changed
You must to Pomfret, not unto the tower.-^^^—
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewitha
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,—
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head.
Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think.
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half.
It is too little, helping him to all;
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urged, another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both.
To worthy danger, and deserved death.
North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorced ?—Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage ; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then betwixt me and my married wife.—
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.—
Part us, Northumberland. I towards the north.
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas,' or short'st of day.
Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part ?
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and carl
from heart.
1 all hallows, 1. e. all saints, nov. 1. mason sug-gest*? he proprit tt
rradi^if ** or sfioi-tp.'tt dnv."
ec- J
KINO RICttARD II.
435
Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me
North, ^That were some love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
K. Rich. So .wo, together weeping, make one woe
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off, than—near, be ne'er the near'.®
Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans.
K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way
being short,
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief.
Since, wedding it, there is such length in gtief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart.
[ They kiss
Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere np good
part.
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart.®
again.
So now I have mine own again, begone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay.
Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [^Exeuni
SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Duke oj
York's Palace.
Enter York and his Duchess.^
Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off
Of our two cousins coming into London.
1 The quartos give this speech to the king.
2 Never the nigher, L e. " it is better to be at a great distance, than,
being near each other, to hnd that we are yet not likely to be peaceably
and happily united."
3 So in King Heniy V. Act ii. Sc. 2:—
" — — the king hath kitted his heari."
* The first wife cf Edward duke of York was Isabella, daughter of
Peter the (Jruel, kin^ jf Castile and Leon. He married her in 1372, and
436
king richard ii.
[act v.
York. Where did I leave
Duch. At that sad stop, my lord.
Where rude, misgoverned hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,—
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed.
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,—
With slow, but stately pace, kept-on his course,
VVhlle all tongues cried—God save thee, Bolinghroke.
Sfou would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls.
With painted imagery, had said at once,—
*Tesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning.
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus,—I thank you, countrymen ;
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while t
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,'
\fter a well-graced actor leaves the stage.
Are idly bent on him that enters next.
Thinking his prattle to be tedious ;
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him;
No Joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,—
His face still combating with tears and smiles.
The badges of his grief and patience,—
That had not God, for some strong purpose,-steeled
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
had by her the duke of Aumerle, and all his other children. In introdu¬
cing her, the Poet has departed widely from history; for she died in 13U4,
four or five years before the events related in the present play. After her
death, York married Joan, daughter of John Holland, earl of Kent, who
survived him about thirty-four years, and had three other husbands.
1 " The painting of this description is so lively, and the wordn so r toving
that I have scarce read any thing comparable to it in any other language.*-
—ZIryden; Pref. to Troilus and Cressida.
sc. n.]
king richard h.
437
But Heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honor I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle.
Duch. Here comes my son, Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was,
But that is lost, for being Richard's friend;
And, madam, you must call him Rutland^'now.
I am in parliament pledge for his truth.
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Duch. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now.
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ?
Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,
God knows, I had as lief be none as one.
York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time.
Lest you be cropped before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford ? Hold those jousts and
triumphs ?
Aum. For aught I know,-my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.
Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy
' bosom
Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.
York. No matter then who sees it;
I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
It is a mzitter of small consequence.
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear I fear,
1 " The dukes of Aumerle, Surrey, and Exeter, were deprived of then
dukedoms by an act of Henry's first parliament, but were allowed to ro-
ain the earldoms of Rutland, Kent, and Huntingdon."—Holinshed.
2 The seals of deeds were fonnerly impressed on slips or labels of
parchment appendant to them.
438
KING RICHARD II.
[ACT \
Duch. What should you fear ?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.
York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond
That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool.—
Boy, let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; 1 may not
show it.
York. 1 will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
[Snatches it and reads.
Treason! foul treason!—villain! traitor! slave!
Duch. What is the matter, my lord ?
York. Ho! who is within there ? [Enter a Servant.}
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy ! what treachery is here I
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ?
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.-
Now, by mine honor, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servaj»t
Duch. What's the matter ?
York. Peace, foolish woman.
Duch. I will not peace.—What is the matter, son '
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer ?
Re-enter Servant, with hoots.
York. Bring me my boots ; I will unto the king
Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.—Poor boy, thou art
amazed.
Ifence, villain; never more come in my sight.—
[To L e. his own body.
KING RICHARD H.
lACT V.
For no thought is contented. The better sort
As thoughts of things divine—are intermixed
With scruples, ahd do set the word itself
Against the word; ^
As thus, Come, little ones; and then again,—
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders : how these vain, weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,—
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves.
No;, shall not be the last; like silly beggars.
Who, silting in the stocks, refuge their shame,—
That many have, and others must sit there;
And .5a this thought they find a kind of ease.
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I, in one person,®many people.
And none contented. Sometimes am I king,
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar.
And so I am. Then crushing penury
Persuades me, I was better when a king;
Then am I kinged again : and, by-and-by,
Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing.—But whate'er I am.
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is.
With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
With being nothing.—Music do I hear f [Musii
Ha, ha! keep time.—How sour sweet music is.
When time is broke, and no proportion kept •
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
1 By the word is meant the Holy Scriptures. The folio reads, theyotll
ttself against tlie faith.
® The folio, and other copies, read «in one prison.*'
.KINO K'CHARD II.
447
To check * time broke in a disordered string;
But, for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
1 wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numbering clock ,
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, t^ey jai
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch,"
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point.
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is.
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart.
Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans.
Show minutes, times, and hours;—but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy.
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.^
This music mads me ; let it sound no more ;
For, though it have holp madmen to their wifcs.
In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad ;
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me !
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter Groom.
Groom. Hail, royal prince!
K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer.
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou, and how comest thou hither,
1 The folio reads «To hear." 2 Tick.
3 It should be recollected that there are three ways in which a cloch
notices the progress of tune, viz. by the vibration of the pendulum, the
index on the dial, and the striking of the hour. To these tlie king, in his
comparison, severally alludes; his sighs corresponding to the jarring or
ticking of the pendulum, which, at the same time that it watches or num¬
bers the seconds, marks also their progress in minutes on the dial-plate, o''
outward watch, to which the king compares his eyes; and their want of
figures is supplied by a succession of tears (or minute drops, to use an ex¬
pression of Milton); his finger, by as regularly wiping these away, per¬
forms the office of the dioTs point; his clamorous groans are the sounds
that tell the hour.
* That is, I strike fm him. One of ftese automstons is s .luded to ia
King Richird III. Act iv. Sc. 3
448
KING RICHARD II. '
[A 01 V
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live ?
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king.
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To locik upon my (sometimes^ royal) master's face.
O, how it yearned my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation day, ^
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid ;
That horse, that I so carefully have dressed!
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle
friend.
How went he under him ?
Groom. So proudly, as if he disdained the ground.
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his
back!
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble ? would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back ?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be awed by man.
Wast born to bear.? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass.
Spur-galled, and tired by jauncing ® Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.
[To iAe Groom.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'lis time thou wert away.
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart
shall say. [Exit.
1 Sometimes was used for former^ as well as sometime
2 Jauncing is hard riding, froin,the old French wordjancer, whrcL Cot-
grave explains, *' to stir a horse in the stable till he sweat withal; or (as
our) to jaunt'
'That hand shall burn in nevf.r-quenchinc, fire,
That staggers thus my terson."
—Kichard.
sc. v.] king RICHARD ii. ' 449
Keep. My lord, wiil't please you to fall to }
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.
Keep. My lord, 1 dare not sir Pierce of Exton,
who
Lately came from the king, commands the contrary.
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and
thee!
Patienc* is stale, and I am weary of it.
{^Bcats the Kesper
Keep. Help, help, help!
Enter Exton and Servants, armed.
K. Rich. How now ? what means deaih in this rude
assault ?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
[^Snatching a weapon, and killing one.
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
\He kills another, and then Exton strikes
him down.^
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person.—Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the king's blood stained the king's own Jand.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high.
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
[Dies.*
Exton. As full of valor, as of royal blood.
Both have I spilled! O, 'would the deed were good !
1 These stag'e directions are not in the old copies,
s The representation here given of the king's death is perfectly agreeable
to Hall and Holinshed (who copied from Fabian, with whom the story of
Exton is thought to have its origin). But the fact was otherwise. Ho
refused food for several days, and died of abstinence and a broken heart.
See Walsingham, Otterburne, the Monk of Evesham, the Continuator of
the History of Croyland, and tlie Godstow Chronicle. His body, after
being submitted to public inspection in the church of Pomfret, was brougl
to London, and exposed in Cheapside for two hours, "his heade on a black-
cushion, and his visage open," when it was viewed, says Froissart, by
twenty thousand persons, and finally in St Paul's caftiedral, Str vc
seems to have had before him a manuscript history of the latter pan ol
king Richard's life, written by a person who was with him in Wales.
He says " he was imprisoned in Pomfrait Castle, where xv dayes and
nightes they vexed him with continual hunger, thirst, and cold, and finally
bereft him of his life with such a kind of death as never before that time
was knowen in England."
vol. Ill
450
king kichard ii.
[act v.
For now the devil, that told me—I did well,
Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear;—
Take hence the rest, and give them buiial here.
[^Exeunt
SCENE YI. Windsor. A Room in the Castle
Flourish.
Enter Bolingbroke and York, with Lords and At¬
tendants.
Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is—that the rebels have consumed with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glocestershire !
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.
Enter Northumberland.
Welcome, my lord. What is the news ?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness
The next news is,—I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.'
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.
[Presenting a paper.
Baling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains*
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter Fixzwater.
Fitz My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
The heads of Brocas and sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous, consorted traitors,
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Baling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Right noble is thy meri<, well I wot.
1 So the folio. The quarto reads, of Oxford, Salisbury, Blui t, anc
Kent The folio is right according to the histories.
8(;. VI.]
KING RICHARD IL
45.
Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle.
Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster,'
With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy.
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
Baling. Carlisle, this is your doom :—^
(/hoose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife.
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honor in thee have I seen.
Enter Exxon, with Attendants bearing a coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaiix, by me hither brought.
Baling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast
wrought
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand.
Upon my head, and all this famous land.
Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this
deed.
Baling. They love not poison that do poison need.
Nor do 1 thee; though I did wish him dead,
1 hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labor.
But neither my good word nor princely favor.
1 This abbot of Westminster was William de Colchestvir. The relation,
which is taken from Holinshed, is untrue, as he survived the king many
years; and though called "the grand conspirator," it is very doubtful
whether he had any concern in the conspiracy; it least, nothing was
proved against him.
2 The bishop of Carlisle was committed to the tower, but, on the in¬
tercession of his friends, obtained leave to change his prison for Westmit. •
ster abbey. In order to deprive him of his see, the pope, at the king's
instance, translated him to a bishopric in partibus injidelium; and the only
oreferment he could ever after obtain was a rectory in Gloucestershire.
452
KINO RICHARD II.
[Atrr V
With Cain go wandei through the shade of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light.
Lords, 1 protest, my soul is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow.
Come, mourn with me for what 1 do lament.
And put on sullen black, incontinent:
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.—
March sadly after; grace my mournings here.
In weeping after this untimely bier. \_ExeurU.
This play is one of those which Shakspeare has apparently revised, and
as -success in works of invention is noj; always proportionate to labor, it is
not finished at last with the h^ppy force of some other of his tragedies,
nor can it be said much to affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding.
Johnson.
FIEST PART OP
KING HENRY THE FOURTH.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
^ Shakspeare has, apparently, designed a regular connection of these
m«matic histories, from Richard the Second to Henry the Fifth. King
Henry, at the end of Richard the Second, declares his purpose to visit the
Holy Land, which he resumes in the first speech of this play. The com¬
plaint made by king Henry, in the last act of King Richard the Second,
of the wildness of his son, prepares the reader for the frolics which are
here to be recounted, and the characters to be exhibited."—Johnson. '
The historical dramas of Shakspeare have, indeed, become the popular
history. Vain attempts have been made by Walpole to vindicate the
character of king Richard HI., and in later times, by Mr. Luders, to prove
that the youthful dissipation ascribed to king Henry V. is without foun¬
dation. The arguments are probable and ingeniously urged; but we still
cling to our early notions of "that mad-cap—that same sword-and-buckler
prince of Wales." No plays were ever more read, nor does the inimitable,
all-powerful genius of the Poet ever shine out more than in the two parts
of King Henry IV. which may be considered as one long drama di /ided.
The transactions contained in the First Part of King Henry IV. are
comprised w'fiiin the period of about ten months; for the action com
mences with the news brought of Hotspur having defeated the Scots under
Archibald, earl of Douglas, at Holmedon (or Halidown Hill), which battle
was fought on Holyrood-day (the 14th of September), 1402; and it closes
with the battle of Shrewsbury, on Saturday, the 21st of July, 1403.
Malone places the date of the composition of this play in 1597 f Dr.
Drake in 1596. It was first entered at Stationers' Hall, February 25^
1597. There are no less than five quarto editions published during the
author's life, viz. in 1598, 1599, 1604,1608, 1613. P'or tiie piece which is
supposed to have been its original, tlie reader is referred to the " Six Old
Plays on which Shakspeare founded," &c., published by Steevens and
Nichols.
(453)
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Fourth.
Henry, Prince of Wales, 1 „ , ™
_ . -r , T } Sons to the King.
I'rince John of JLancaster, J
Earl of Westmoreland, 1 „ . , , „
„ .r.,- -r. } I^riends to the King.
Sir Walter Blunt, J
Thomas Percy, Earl 0/Worcester.
Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.
Henry Percy, sumamed Hotspur, his Son.
Edward Mortimer, Earl of March.
Scroop, Archbishop of York,
Archibald, Earl of Douglas.
Owen Glendower.
Sir Richard Vernon.
Sir jbhn Falstaff.
PoiNs. Gadshill.
Peto. Bardolph.
Lady Percy, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Mortimer.
Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower, and Wife to
hlortimer.
Mrs. Quickly, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap.
Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Draw¬
ers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.
SCENE. England.
(454)
FIRST PART OF
KING HENRY THE FOURTH.
ACT I.
SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter
Bldnt, and others.
King Henry. So shaken as we are, so wan with
care.
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenced in stronds' afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil®
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields^
Nor bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes,
Which—like-the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred—
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
' Strands, banks of the sea.'
2 Upon this passage the reader is favored with<-three pages of notes in
the Variorum Shakspeare. Steevens adopted Monk Mason's bold conjee
tural emendation, and reads:—
« No more tlie thirsty Erinnys of this soil;"
Mr. I'Wuce proposed to read entrails instead of entrance; and Stee¬
vens once thought that we should read entrants. The following explana¬
tion of the t(!Xt is modified from that of Malone.—"No more shall this soil
haijie t e lips of her thirsty entrance (i. e. surface) daiih^d with the b ood
of her iwn children."
(455)
456
FIRST PART OF
fAori.
And furious close of civil butchery,
^^hall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more opposed
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife.
No more shall cut his master Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre ,of Christ,
(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
VVe are impressed and engaged to fight,
Forthwith a power of En^ish shall we levy,'
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields.
Over whose acres walked those blessed feet.
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nailed.
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old.
And bootless 'tis to tell you—we-will go;'
Therefore® we meet not now.—^Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree.
In forwarding this dear expedience.®
fVest. My liege, this haste was hot in question.
And many limits^ of the charge set down
But yesternight; when, all athwariy there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heav^t news;
Whose worst was,—that the noble Moi^rner,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fign^
Against the irregular and wild G[endower,\
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken.
And a thousand of his people butchered ; 1
IJ pon whose dead corpse there was such misuse.
Such beastly, shameless transformation, \
By those Welshwomen® done, as may not be,\
Without much shame, retold or spoken of A
* I'o levy a power to a place has been shown by Mr. Gifford to be Leithei
inexamplsd nor corrupt, but good, authorized English. A
' For that caus^ \
3 Expedition. 1
* Limits her#seem to mean appointments or determinations. \
* Se« 'I'honias of Walsingham, p- 5.57, or Holinshed, p. 528. \
sc. i.l iiiNG nEXPvY IV. 457
K Hen. It sfems, then, that the tidings ol* this broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land. *
West. This, matched with other, did, my gracious
lord;
For mor^neven and unwelcome news
Came from the nortli, and thus it did import.
On Hoiyrood-day,' the gallant Hotspur there.
Young Harry Percy,® and brave Archibald,®
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met, .
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As, by discharge of their artillery.
And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention, did take horse.
Uncertain of the issue any way.
K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
Stained with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The earl of Douglas is discomfited ;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
Balked'* in their own blood, did sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners. Hotspur took
Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas,® and the earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.®
' i. 0. September 14th.
® " This Harry Percy was surnamed, for his often pricking, Iknry
Hotspur, as one that seldom times rested, if there were anie service to be
done abroad."—HolinshecPs Hist, of Scotland, p. 240.
3 Jlrchihald Douglas, earl Douglas. _
* Balked in their own blood, is heaped, or laid on heaps, in tlieir own
blood. A balk was a ridge or bank of earth standing up between two
furrows; and to balk was to throw up the earth so as to form those heaps
or banks.
5 Mordake, earl of Fife, who was son to the duke of Albany, regent of
Scotland, is here called the son of earl Douglas, through a mistake, into
which the Poet was led by the omission of a comma in tl e passage whence _
he took this account of the Scottish prisoners.
® This is a mistake of Holinshed in his English Hist wy, for in that of
Scotland, pp. 2.59, 262, 419, he speaks of tlie earl of Fife ai# Menteith as
one and tlie same person,
vol.. in. r»^
458
first part op
[act L
\nd is not this an honorable spoil ?
A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not ?
West. In faith,
ft is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad,^nd mak'si
me sin
In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should bo the father of so blest a son ;
A son, who is the theme of honor's tongue ;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride;
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him.
See riot and dishonor stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay.
And called mine—Percy, his—Plantagenet!
Then would 1 have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts.—What think you, coz.
Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners,'
Which he in this adventure hath surprised.
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake, earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects ; ®
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.
K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this,
And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor ; so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again ;
1 Percy had an exclusive right to these prisoners, except the earl ol
Fife. By the law of arms, every man who had taken any captive, whosfl
redemption did not exceed ten thousand crowns, had him clearly to himselt
to acquit or ransom at his pleasure. But Percy could not refuse the ear.
of Fife to the king ; for, being a princeof the royal blood (son to the duke
of Albany, brother to king Robert III.), Henry might justly claim him, b,
his acknowledged military prerogative.
2 An astrological allusion.
sc. II.]
king henry iv
459
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.^
ffest. I will, my liege. [Exemt.
SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the Palace
Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff.
Fal Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ?
P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of
old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleep¬
ing upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten
to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know
What the devil hast thou to do with the time of the
day.? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes
capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the
signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a
fair, hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no reason
.why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the
time of the day.
Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we
that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and
not by Phoebus,—he, that wandering knight so fair.^
And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,—as,
God save thy grace—(majesty I should say; for grace
thou wilt have none,)
P. Hen. What, none ?
Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to
be prologue to an egg and butter.
P. Hen. Well, how then.? Come, roundly, roundly
Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king,
let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be
called thieves of the day's beauty let us be—Diana's
' That is, more is to be said than anger will suffer me to say.
2 Falstaff, by this expression, evidently alludes to some knight of ro¬
mance ; perhaps "The Knight of the Sun" (el Cavallero del Febo), a
popular book in his time.
^ " Let not us, who are body squires to the night (i. e. adorn the night),
be called a disgrace to the day." To take away the beauty of the day
may proba tly mem to disgrace it. A " squire of the body " originally
460
FIRST PART OF
[act i.
foresters,' gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon.
And let men say, we be men of good government;
being govX;rned as the sea is, by our noble and chaste
mistress the moon, under whose countenance we—
steal.
P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too;
for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb
and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by
the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold most
resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most disso¬
lutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing—
layby;® and spent with crying—bring in;® now, in
as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and
by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.
Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not
my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ?
P. Hen. As -tht^ghoney of Hybla, my old lad of the
castle.^ And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe ol
durance?®
Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ? what, in thy
Bigtiified the attendant of a knight It became afterwards the cant term
for ajnmp. Falstaff puns on the words knighi and beauty, qu^lsi booty.
1 This is the lament of Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, in The
Mirror for Magistrates. Hall, in his Chronicles, says that certain persons
who appeared as foreMers in a pageant exhibited in the reign of king
Henry VIII. were called Diana-s knights.
2 i. e. be still; equivalent to the phrase " stand and deliver."
2 i. e. " bring in more wine."
4 Old lad of the castle. This passage has been supposed to have a
reference to the name of sir John Oldcastle. Rowe says that there was a
tradition tliat the part of Falstaff was originally written by Shakspeare
under that name. Fuller, in his Church History, book iv. p. 1C8, mentions
this change in tlie following manner:—" Stage poets have themselves been
very bold with, and others very merry at, the memory of sir John Old¬
castle, whom they have fancied a boon companion, a jovial royster, and a
coward to boot The best is, sir John Falstaff hath relieved the memory
of sir John Oldcastle, and of late is substituted buffoon in his place."
In confirmation of this, it may be remarked that one of Falstaff's speeches
in the first edition has Old. instead of Foist, prefixed to it; and in the ep¬
ilogue to tlie Second Part of King Henry I 7. the Poet makes a kind of
retraction for having made too free with sir John Oldcastle's name—
" Where, for any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless he be
killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is nol
the man."
5 The buff, or leather jerkin, was the common habit of a seijeant, or
sheriff's officer, and is called a robe of durance on that account, as weU as
for its durability
sc. II.]
KING HENRY IV.
461
quips, and thy quiddities ? What a p.ague nave I to
do with a bufl'jerkin ?
P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my
hostess of the tavern ?
Fal. Well, thou Kast called her to a reckoning, many
a time and oft.
P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part
Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all
there.
p. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my com
would stretch; and where it would not, I have used my
credit.
Fal.^ Yea, and so used it, that were it not here ap¬
parent that thou art heir apparent,—But, I pr'ythee,
sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England
when thou art king ? and resolution thus fobbed as it
is, with the rusty curb of old father antic the law ? Do
not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
P. Hen. No; thou shalt.
Fal. Shall IO rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave
judge.
P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; 1 mean, thou
shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a
rare hangman.
Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps
with my humor, as well as waiting in the court, I can
tell you.
P. Hen. For obtaining of suits ?
Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits ; whereof the hang¬
man hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melan¬
choly as a gib' cat, or a lugged bear.
P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute.
Fal. Yea, or the drone of .a Lincolnshire bagpipe.®
P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare,® or the melan¬
choly of Moor-ditch ? *
1 A cat IS a male cat, from Gilbert, the northern name firr a he cat.
2 «Lincolnshire bagpipe" is a proverbial saying; the allusion is as yet
anexplained. Steevens supposes it to mean " a frog."
The hare was esteemed a melancholy animal, from her solitary sitting
in her forrc; its flesh was supposed to generate melancholy.
< MooT'ditch, a part of the ditch surrounding the city of London, ho-
462
first part of
[act X.
Fal. 'I'hou hast the most unsavory similes ; and art,
indeed, the most comparative,' rascalliest,—sweet
young prince,—But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no
more with vanity. I would to God, thou and I knew
where a commodity of good names' were to be bought.
An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the
street about you, sir ; but I marked him not: and yet
he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and
yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.
P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in
the streets, and no man regards it.
Fal. O thou hast damnaole iteration ; and art, in¬
deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much
harm upon me, Hal,—God forgive thee for it! Before
I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a
man should speak truly, little better than one of the
wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it
over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be
damned for never a king's son in Christendom.
P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow.
Jack ?
Fal. Where thou wilt, lad I'll make one ; an I do
not, call me villain, and baffle ® me.
P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee ;
from praying, to purse-taking.
Enter Poins, at a distance.
Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin
for a man to labor in his vocation. Poins !—Now shall
we know if Gadshill have set a match.^ O, if men were
tween Bishopsgate and Cripplegate, opened to an unwholesome, impassable
morass. Thus, in Taylor's Pennylesse Pilgrimage, 1618:—"My body
being tired with travel, and my mind attired with moody muddy, Moore-
ditch melancholy."
1 Comparative: this epithet, which is used here for one who is fond of
making comparisons, occurs again in Act iii. Sc. 2, of this play.
2 To bajle is to use contemptuously, or treat with ignominy; to un-
knight.
^ To set a match is to make an appointment. So m Ben Jonson's Bar¬
tholomew Fair, "Peace, sir, they'll be angry if they hear you eaves-drop
ping, now they are setting their match." The folio reads set a watch
match is the reading of the quarto.
so. II.]
KING HKNRY IV.
46a
to be saved by int 'it, what hole in hell were hot
enough for him ? This is the most omnipotent villain,
that ever cried, Stand, to a true man.
P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned.
Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says mon¬
sieur RemorseWhat says sir John Sack-and-Sugar
Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soil,
that thou soldest him on Good Friday last, for a cup of
Madeira, and a cold capon's leg.^
P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall
have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of
proverbs; he will give the devil his due.
Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word
with the devil.
P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the
devil.
Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning,
by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are pilgrims
going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders
riding to London with fat purses. I have visors for
you all; you have horses for yourselves ; Gadshill lies
to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to-mor¬
row night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure as
sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of
crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged
Fal. Hear me, Yedward ; if I tarry at home, and go
not, I'll hang you for going.
Poins. You will, chops ?
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ?
P. Hen. Who, I rob I a thief ? Not I, by my
faith.
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good
fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood
royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.'
P. Hen. Well, then once in my days I'll be a mad¬
cap.
1 Falstaff's favorite beverage, here mentioned for the first time, appears
to have been the Spanish wine which we now call sherry. Falstaff ex¬
pressly calls it sherris-sack; that is, sack from Xeres.
^ Falstaff is quibbling on tlie word royal. The real or royal was of the
value of ten shillings.
m
first part of
[act i
Ful. Why, that's well said.
P. Hoi. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou
art kin^.
P. Hen. I ca-e not.
Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and
ine alone; I will lav him down such reasons for this
adventure, that he shall go.
F:him! let him tell the king. We are
prepared; 1 will set forward to-night.
Enter Lady Percy.
How now, Kate ? ^ I must leave you within these two
hours.
Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone ?
For what offence have 1, this fortnight, been
A banished woman from my Harry's bed ?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep ?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth,
And start so often when thou sit'st alone ?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks,
And given my treasures, and my righrs of thee.
To thick-eyed musing, and cursed melancholy ?
in thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watched.
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ;
c>peak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ;
Cry, Courage!—to the field: And thou hast talked
Of sallies, and retires;® of trenches, tents.
()f palisadoes, frontiers,® parapets ;
1 Shakspeare either mistook the name of Hotspur's wife (which was not
Katharine, but Elizabeth), or else designedly changed it, out of the remark¬
able fondness he seems to have had for the name of Kaie. Hall and Ho-
Unshed call her, erroneously, Elinor.
2 Retires are retreats.
3 Frontiers formerly meant, not only the bounds of different territorice
but also XiiQ forts built along or near ^ose limits.
sc. III.]
KING HENRY IV,
485
Of basilisks,^ of cannon, culverin;
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain,
And all the 'currents ® of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war.
And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep.
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow,
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream;
And in thy face strange motions have appeared.
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden haste. O, what portents arc
these ?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand.
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone''
Enter Servant.
Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the
sheriff.?
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not ?
Serv. It is, my lord.
Hot. That roan shall be my throne.
Well, I will back him straight. O esperance!—®
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
[Exit Servant.
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. What say'st thou, my lady .?
Lady. What is it carries you away.?
Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape !
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen.
As you are tossed with. In faith,
I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir
1 Basilisks are a species of ordnance, probably so named from the im¬
aginary serpent or dragon, with figures of which- it was ordinary to orna¬
ment great guns.
9 Occurrences ^ The motto of the Percy family
486
FIRST PART OF
fACT 11
About his title ; and hath sent for you,
To line' his enterprise. But if you go
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me alt things true.
Hot. Away,
Away, you trifler!—Love ? I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world.
To play with mammets,® and to tilt with lips;
We must have bloody noses, and cracked crowns,
And pass them current too.—Gods me, my horse!
What say'st thou, Kate ? what wouldst thou hare
with me ?
Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not indeed ^
Well, do not then ; for since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me ?
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no ?
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride ?
And when I am o'horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout.
Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude.
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
1 know you wise ; but yet no further wise.
Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ;
But yet a woman : and for secrecy.
No lady closer; for I well believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.
Lady. How ! so far ?
Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate!
Whither 1 go, thither shall you go too;
1 1. c. to strengthen.
" Maminets were puppets or dolls, here used by Shakspearc for a Jimale
plaything, a diminutive of Tream. Mr. Gilford has thrown out a conjecture
about the meaning of mammets from the Italian mawietla, which sig.
nified a bosm as well as a young wench.
8U. IV.j-
KING llExNRy iv.
481
To-day will I se^ forth, to-morrow yoii.—
Will this cmitimt you, Kate ?
Lady. It must, of force
[^Exeunt.
8(JENE IV. Eastcheap.' A Room in the Boar's
Head tavern.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins.
P. Iltn. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room,
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.
Poins. Where hast heeii, Hal ?
P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst
.hree or four 'Score hogslieads. I have sounded the
very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn broth¬
er to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all by their
Christian names, as—Tom, Dick, and Francis. They
lake it already upon their salvation, that, though I be
but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy;
and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff;
but a Corinthian,® a lad of mettle, a good boy,—by the
Lord, so they call me; and when I am king of Eng¬
land, 1 shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap.
They call—drinking deep, dyeing scarlet: and when
you breathe in your watering, they cry—hem! and bid
you play it off.®—To conclude, 1 am so good a profi¬
cient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with
any tinker in his own language during my life. 1 tell
thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honor, that thou wert
1 Eitstcheap is selected, with propriety, for the scene of the prinrn's
meny meetings, as it was near his own residence: a mansion called C'jid
Harbor (near All Hallows church. Upper Thames street) was granted to
Henry prince of Wales. 11 Henry IV. 1410. Rymer, vol. viii. p. ()Vi8. In
die old, anonymous play of King Henry V., Eastcheap is the place where
Henry and his companions meet:—Hen. V. You know the old tavern in
Eastcheap; there is good wine." Shakspeare has hung up a siarn foi
them that he saw daily ; for the Boar's Head tavern was very near BlacK
friars' playhouse.—Slowe's Survey.
- A Corinthian was a delmuchee.
3 « To breathe in your watering," is " to stop and take breath when yoi.
wc drinldng."
488
first part of
[act ii
not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned,—to sweet¬
en which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth
of sugar,- clapped even now in my hand by an under-
skinker ; ® one that never spake other English in his life,
than—Eight shillings and sixpence, and—You are wel¬
come ; with this shrill addition,—Anon, anon, sir! Score
a pint of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned,
to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee,
do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my
puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and
do thou never leave calling—Francis, that his tale to rne
may be nothing but—anon. Step aside, and I'll show
thee a precedent.
Poins. Francis!
P. Hen. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis I . [^Exit Poms.
Enter Francis.
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pome-
"granate, Ralph.
P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.
Fran. My lord.
P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis.''
Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to—
Poins. [^IVithin.^ Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon, sir!
P. Hen. Five years! by'rlady, a long lease for the
clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so
valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and
to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it ?
Fran. O Lord, sir! Pll be sworn upon all the boolw
in England, 1 could find in my heart—
Poins. \_fVithin.'\ Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon,, sir.
p. Hen. How old art thou, Francis.^
r It appears from two passages cited by Steeveiis that the drawers kept
jugar folded up in paper, ready to be delivered to those who called for
sack
3 An under-skinker is a tapster, an under-drawer. Skink is drink,
liquor (from scene, drink, Saxon).
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
489
Fran. Let me see,—about Michaelmas next, 1 shall
be—
Poins. [fFiV/iin.] Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir.—Praj you, stay a little, my lord.
P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar
thou gavest me,—'twas a pennyworth, was't not ?
Fran. O Lord, sir! I would it had been two.
P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound;
ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.
Poins. ^JVithin.'] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon.
P. Hen. Anon, Francis.? No, Francis; but to-mor
row, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed,
Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,—
Fran. My lord ?
P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin,' crystal-
button, nott-pated,® agate-ring, puke-stocking,® caddis
garter,^ smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,—
Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean ?
P. Hen. Why, then, your brown bastard ® is your
only drink ; for, look you, Francis, your white canvass
doublet.will sully : in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to
so much.
Fran. What, sir ?
Poins. [B'lVAm.] Francis I
P. Hen. Away, you rogue. Dost thou not hear
them call ?
\^Here they both call him; the Drawer stands
amazed, not knoicing which way to go.
1 The prince intends to ask the drawer whether he will rob his master,
whom he denotes by these contemptuous distinctions.
2 JVott-pated is shom-pated, or cropped; having' the hair cut close.
® Puke-stockings are dark colored stockings. Puke is a color between
russet and black. By the receipt for dyeing it, it appears to have been a
dark gray, or slate color.
* Caddis was probably a kind of ferret or worsted lace. A slight kind
of serge still bears the name of cadis, in France. In Glapthorne's Wit in
a Constable, we are told of " footmen in caddis." Garters, being formerly
worn in sight, were often of rich materials; to wear a coarse, cheap sort
was therefore, reproachful.
5 A kind of sweet Spanish wine, of which there were two sorts, brown
and white. Baret says that " bastarde is muscadel, sioeete nrine, mulsum."
Bastard wines are said to be Spanish wines in general, by Olaus Magnus
vt)L. III. 62
490
FIRST I'ART OF
[ACT 11
£}tler Vintner.
Fi'tiL What! stand'it thou still, and hear'st such
a calling? Look to the guests within. Fran.1
Mj lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are ai
the door : shall I let them in ?
P. Hen. Let them alone aAvhile, and then open the
door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins!
Re-enter Poins. .
Poms. Anon, anon, sir.
P. Hen. Sirrah, FalstaflF and the rest of the thieves
aie at the door. Shall we be merry ?
Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark
ye—what cunning match have you made with this
jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue ?
P. Hen. 1 am now of all humors, that have showed
themselves humors, since the old days af good man
Adam, to the pupil age of this present tAvelve o'clock at
midnight. [Re-enter Francis, xoith jciwe.] What's
o'clock, Francis ?
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
P. Hen. That ever this lellow should have fewer
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman !—
His industry is—up-stairs, and down-stairs; his elo¬
quence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of
Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that kills
me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast,
washes his hands, and says to his wife,—Fie upon this
quiet life ! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she,
how many hast thou killed to-day? Give my roan horse
a drench, says he ; and answers, Some fourteen, an hour
after; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll
play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play dame
Mortimer, his wife. Rivo,^ says the drunkard. Call
in ribs, call in tallow.
I Of this exclamation, which was frequently used n Bacchanalian re*
riry, the origin or derivation has not been discovered.
8c. iv.]
king henry iv.
49J
Enter Fai.staff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto
Poms. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been.^
Pal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance
loo! Marry, and amen I—Give me a cup of sack,
boy.—Ere 1 lead this life long, I'll sew netherstocks,'
and mend them, and foot.them too. A plague of all
cowards I—Give me a cup of sack, rogue.—is there no
virtue extant ? [He drinks
P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of
butter ? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet
tale of the sun ! ® If thou didst, then behold that
compound.
Fal. You rogue, here's lime® in this sack too: There
is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man;
yet a coward is vvorse than a cup of sack with lime in
it; a villanous coward.—Go thy ways, old Jack ; die
when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not
forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten
herring. There lives not three good men unhanged in
England ; and one of them is fat, and grows old : God
help the while ! A bad world, I say! I would I were
a weaver ; I could sing psalms or any thing.'' A plague
of all cowards, I say still.
1 Stockings.
2 " Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? " alludes to Fal-
staff's entering in a great heat, melting with the motion, like butter with
the heat of the sun. " Pitiful-kearted" is used in the sense which Cotgrave
gives tc ^ mistricordieux, merciful, pitiful, compassionate, tender." Theo¬
bald reads " pitiful-hearted butter," which is countenanced by none of the
old copies, but affords a clear sense. Malone and Steevens have each
given a reading, founded upon the quarto of 1598, which has " at the
sweet tale of the sonnes;" but they differ in their explanations of the pas¬
sage. Bisiiop Earle, in his Microcosmography, giving the character of a
pot poet, says, " His frequentest works go out in single sheets, and are
chaunted from market to market to a vile tune and a worse throat; whilst
the poor country wench melts like butter to hear them."
3 Eliot, in his Orthoepia, 1593, speaking of sack and rbenish, says,
" The vintners of London put in lime ; thence proceed infinite maladies,
specially tlie goutes."
4 This is the reading of the first quarto, 1598. The folio reads, " I could
sing all manner of songs." The passage was probably altered to avoid
the penalty of the statute, 3 .Tac. I. cxxi. Weavers are mentioned as
lovers of musi: in the Twelfth Night The Protestants who fled from the
persecutions of the duke of Alva, were mostly weavers; and, being Cal
vinists, were distinguished for tlieir love of psalmody.
492
FIRST PART OF
[ACT n
P Hen. How now, wool-sack ? what mutter you r
Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of
thy kingdom with a dagger of lath,^ and drive all thy
subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never
wear liair on my face more. You prince of Wales!
P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man! what's
the matter?
Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that,
and Poins there ?
Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me cow¬
ard, I'll stab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere
I call thee coward ; but I would give a thousand pound,
I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight
enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your
back: call you that backing of your friends? A plague
upon such backing! Give me them that will face me.
—Give me a cup of sack;—I am a rogue, if I drunk
to-day.
P. Hen. O villain, thy lips are scarce wiped since
ihou drunk'st last.
Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowartfe,
still say I. [//e drinks.
P. Hen. What's the matter ?
Fal. What's the matter ? There be four of us here
have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.
P. Hen. Where is it. Jack ? where is it ?
Fal. Where is it ? Taken from us it is; a hundred
upon poor four of us.
P. Hen. What, a hundred, man ?
Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with
a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped
by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doub¬
let ; four, through the hose ; my buckler cut through
and through; ® my sword hacked like a handsaw—ecce
1 A^afC^er of lath is the weapon given to the Vice in the Old Moralities.
2 It appears from the old comedy of The Two Angry Women of Abing¬
don (1599), that this method of defence and fight was then going out of
fashion:—" I see by this dearth of good swords that sword-ai^-bitcklet
fi^ht begins to grow out"
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
493
stgnum. I never dealt Jyetter since I was a man : all
would not do. A plague of all cowards !—Let them
speak ; if they speak more or less than truth, they are
villains, and the sons of darkness.
P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it ?
Gads. We four set upon some dozen,
Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord.
Gads. And bound them.
Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man ot
them ; or 1 am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.
Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh
men set upon us,
Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the
other.
P. Hen. What, fought you with them all ?
■ Fal. All ? I know not what ye call, all; but if 1
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish ;
if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old
Jack, then I am no two-legged creature.
Poins. 'Pray God, you have not murdered some of
them.
Fal. Nay, that's past praying for; I have pep¬
pered two of them: two, I am sure, 1 have paid; two
rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal,—if I
toll thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou
knowest my old ward ;—here I lay, and thus I bore my
point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me,
P. Hen. What, four ? thou saidst but two, even
now.
Fal Four, Hal; 1 told thee four.
Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
Fal. These four came all afront, and mainly thrust
at me. I made no more ado, but took all their sevi n
points in my target, thus.
P. Hen. Seven why, there were but four, ev?n
now.
Fal. In buckram.
Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
494
FIRST PART OP
[ACT II
P. Hen. "Pr'ythee, let him alone; we shall have
more anon.
Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ?
P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Pal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These
nine in buckram, that I told thee of,
P. Hen. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken,
Point!. Down fell their hose.^
Fal. Began to give me ground ; but I followed me
close, came in foot and hand; and, with a thought,
seven of the eleven 1 paid.
P. Hen. O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown
out of two!
Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegoi-
en knaves, in Kendal ® green, came at my back, and let
drive at me;—for it was so dark, Hal, that thou could'st
. not see thy hand.
P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets
them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why,
thou clay-brained guts; thou knotty-pated fool; thou
whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech,®
Fal. What, art thou mad ? art thou mad ? Is not
• the truth the truth ?
P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men
in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not
see thy hand ? Come, tell us your reason. What
sayest thou to this ?
Pains. Come, your reason. Jack, your reason.
Fal. What, upon compulsion ? No; were I at the
s(rajij)ado,^ or all the racks in the world, I wou.d not
The same jest has already occurred in Twelfth Night, Act i. Sc. 5.
2 Kmdcd green was the liveiy of Robert earl of Huntingdon, and his
followers, when in a state of outlawry, under the name of Robin Hood and
his men. The color took its name from Kendal, in Westmoreland, for¬
merly celebrated for its cloth manufacture. Green still continues the
color of woodmen and gamekeepers.
3 A keech is a round lump of fat, rolled up by the butcher in order to be
carried to the chandler. The old editions read eatch.
4 The strappado was a dreadful punishment inflicted on soldiers and
criminals, by drawing them up on high with tlieir arms tied backward.
Handle Holme says that tliey were suddenly let fall half way with a jerk
wliich not only broke the arms, but shook all the join't out of jtiint.
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY IV
495
r.ell you on compulsion. Give you a reason , on com¬
pulsion ! If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I
would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this
sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-
breaker, this huge hill of flesh ;
Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin,^ you dried
neats-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish,—O, for
breath to utter what is like thee !—You tailor's yard,
you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck;
P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again
and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons,
hear me speak but this.
Poins. Mark, Jack.
P. Hen. W e two saw you four set on four; you bound
them, and were masters of their wealth. Mark, now,
how plain a tale shall put you down.—Then did we
two set on you four, and, with a word, outfaced you
from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you
here in the house;—and, Falstafl", you carried your
guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and
roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I
heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy
sword as thou hast done ; and then say, it was in fight!
What trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst thou
now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent
shame ?
Poins. Come, let's hear. Jack. What trick hast
thou now.^
Fal. By the Lord, 1 knew ye, as well as he that
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters. Was it for me
to kill the heir apparent ? Should I turn upon the true
piince ? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Iler-
(.ules; but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the
true prince. Instinct is a great matter; I was a cow¬
ard on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and
1 It has been proposed tp read eel-skin, with great plausibility. Shak-
speaie had historical authority for the leanness of the prince. Stowe,
speaking of him, siiys, "He exceeded the mean stature of men, his neck
long, body slender and lean, and his bones small," &c
496
FIRST PART OF
[act II.
thee, during my life; I, for a valiant lion, and thou for
a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you
have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors ; watch
to-night, pray to-morrow.—Gallants, lads, boys, hearts
of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you!
What, shall we be merry shall we have a play ex¬
tempore ?
1\ Hen. Content;—and the argument shall be, thy
running away.
Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me
Enter Hostess.
Host. My lord the prince,
P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess.' what
say'st thou to me ?
Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the
court at door, would speak with you. He says, he
comes from your father.
P. Hen. Give- him as much as will make him a
royal man,' and send him back again to my mother.
Fal. What manner of man is he ?
Host. An old man.
Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight, ?
—Shall I give him his answer ?
P. Hen. 'Pr'ythee, do. Jack.
Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. \^Extt.
P. Hen. Now, sirs ; by'r lady, you fought fair;—
so did you, Peto;—so did you, Bardolph: you are
iions too; you ran away upon instinct; you will not
touch the true prince, no,—fie!
Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
P. Hen. Tell me now, in earnest, how came Fal-
stafT's sword so hacked ?
Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; and said,
he would swear truth out of England, but he would
make you believe it was done in fight; and persuaded
us to do the like.
t This is a kind of a joke upon nohh and royal, two cchns, One of the
ralue of 6s. Qd., the other 10s.
bc. iv.]
king henry iv
491
Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass,
to make them bleed; and then to beslubber our gar¬
ments with it, and to swear it was the blood of true
men. I did that I did not this seven year before; 1
blushed to hear his monstrous devices.
P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack
eighteen years ago, and wert,taken with the manner,'
and ever since thou hast blushed extempore Thou
hast fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st
away. What instinct hadst thou for it ? •
Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? do you
behold these exhalations ?
P. Hen. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend ?
P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses.®
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter.
Re-enter Falstaff.
Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How
now, my sweet creature of bombast ? ® How long is't
ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee ?
Fal. My own knee ? when I was about thy years,
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could
have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring.^ A plague
of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder
There's villanous news abroad: here was sir John
Bracy from your father; you must to the court in the
morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy
and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon® the bastinado,
and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true
' 1. e. taken in the fact.
2 i. e. drunkenness and poverty.
3 i. e. " my sweet, stuffed creature." Bombast is cotton. Gerard calls
the cotton-plant the bombast-tree. It is here used lor the stuffing of clothes
* The custom of wearing^ a ring upon the thumb is very ajicient The
rider of the brazen horse in Chaucer's Squiers Tale:—
" upon his thomhe he had a ring of gold."
5 A demon, who is described as one oi'the four kings who rule over al
the demons in the world.
VOL. HI. 63
498
FIRST PART or
[ACT 11
•iegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook '—what, a
plague, call you him ?
Foins. O, Glendower.
Fill. Owen, Owen; the same;—and his son-m
law, Mortimer; and old Northumlicrland; and thai
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o' horseback
up a hill perpendicular—
P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his
pistol ® kills a sparrow flying.
m. You have hit it.
P. Hen. So did he never the sparroAv.
Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he
will not run.
P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise
him so for running !
Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo! but, afoot, he will
not budge a foot.
P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there
too, and one Mordake", and a thousand blue-caps®
more. Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's
beard is turned white with the neAvs; you may buy
land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.
P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hoi
June, and this civil buffeting hold, we should buy maid¬
enheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.
Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like,
we shall have good trading that way.—But, tell me,
Hal, ai"; thou not horribly afeard ? thou being heir
apparent, could the Avorld pick thee out three such
enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy,
and that devil GlendoAver? Art thou not horribly-
afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill at it ?
P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy
instinct.
1 The Welsh, hook was a kind of hedging-bill, made with a hook a) the
end, and a long handle like the partisan or halbert
2 Pistols were net in use in the age of Henry PV. They are said to
Have been much used by the Scotch in Shakspeare's time.
3 Scolstnesi, on account of thiir b)uo biimets.
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
490
Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow,
when thou comest to thy father. If thou love me,
practise an answer.
P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine
me upon the particulars of my life.
Fal. Shall 1 ? content.—This chair shall be my
state,' this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my
crown.
P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy
golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious
rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown!
Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of
thee, now shalt thou be moved.—Give me a cup of
sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be
thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and
I will do it in king Cambyses' ® vein.
P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.''
Fal. And here is my speech.—Stand aside, nobility
Host. This is excellent sport, i' faith.
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are
vain.
Host. O, the father, how he holds his countenance .
Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen,
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes."*
Host. O rare! he doth it as like one of these
harlotry players, as I ever see.
Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-
brain.—Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spend-
est thy time, but also how thou art accompanied; for
though the chamomile, the more it is trodden on, the
faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the
1 A stole is a chair with a canopy over it.
2 The banter is here upon the play called A Lamentab.e Tragedie
mixed full of pleasant Mirthe, containing the Life of Cambises, King of
Persia, by Thomas Preston [1570]. There is a marginal direction in this
play, "At this tale tolde, let the queen weep," which is probably alluded
lo, though the measure in the parody is not the same with thai of the
original.
3 i. e. my obeisance.
* Thus m Cambyses:—
" Qui en. These words to hear makes stilling tears issue from chrys
tall eyes."
500
FIRST FART OF
ACT II
sooner it wears. That thou art mj son, I have partlj'
thy mother's word, partly my own opinion ; but chiefly,
a villanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of
thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be
son to me, here lies the point.—Why, being son to me,
art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of
heaven prove a micher,- and eat blackberries? A
question not to be asked. Shall the son of England
prove a thief, and take purses? A question to be
asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often
heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the
name of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do re¬
port, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest;
for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in
tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words
only, but in woes also.—And yet there is a virtuous
man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I
know not his name.
P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your
majesty ?
Fal. A good portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent;
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble
carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or by'r
lady, inclining to threescore. And now I remember
me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly
given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his
looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit,
as the fruit, by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it,
there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the rest
banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me,
where hast thou been this month ?
P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou
stand for me, and I'll play my father.
Fal. Depose me ? If thou dost it half so gravely,
so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up
by the heels for a rabbet-sucker,® or a poulter's hare.
1 A mtcher nere signifies a truant. So in an old phrase book, Hornian-
ni Vulgaria, 1509:—" He is a mychar; vagus est non discolus." To mich
was to skulk, to hide; and hence the word sometimes a'^o signifi 3d a
skuiking thief, and sometimes a miser.
' A voung rabbit
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
50]
P. Hen Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand;—judge, my masters.
P. Hen. Now, Harry, whence come you ?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Fal. 'Sblootl, my lord, they are false.—^Nay, I'll
tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith.
P. Hen. Swear'st thou, ungracious boy.^ Hence¬
forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried
away from grace; there is a devil haunts thee, in the
likeness of a fat old man; a tun of man is thy com¬
panion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of
humors, that bolting-hutch ^ of beastliness, that swollen
parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard® of sack, that
stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree®
ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice,
that gray iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in
years ? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and
drink it} wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a
capon and eat it ? wherein cunning, but in craft
wherein crafty, but in villany ? wherein villanous,
but in all things ? wherein worthy, but in nothing ?
Fal. 1 would your grace would take me with you.^
Whom means your grace ?
P. Hen. That villanous, abominable misleader of
youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know.
P. Hen. 1 know thou dost.
Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in
myself, were to say more than I know. That he is
eld, (the more the pity,) his white hairs do witness it;
but that he is (saving your reverence) a whoremaster,
that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God
The machine which separates flour from bran.
2 A bombard was a very large leatliern vessel to hold drink; perhaps so
cal.ed from its similarity to a sort of cannon of tlie same name.
3 Manningtree, in Essex, formerly enjoyed the privilege of fairs, by ex¬
hibiting a certain number' of stage-plays yearly. It appears from otiier
intimations that theie were great festivities there, and much good eating
at Whitsun ales, &(,
< i. e. go no fastei tlian I can follow.
502
FIRST PART OF
[ACT II
nelp the kicked! If to be old and merry be a sin,
then many an old host that I know, is damned; if to
be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to
be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto, banish
Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff,
kind Jack Falstaif, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack
Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old
Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company;
banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.
P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.
[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.
Re-enter Bardolph, running.
Bard. O, my lord, my lord; the sheriff, with a most
monstrous watch, is at the door.
Fal. Out, you rogue ! Play out the play ; I have
much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.
Re-enter Hostess, hastily.
Host. O Jesu, my lord ! my lord !
Fal. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddle
stick. What's the matter ?
Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the
door; they are come to search the house. Shall I let
them in ?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? Never call a true piece
of gold, a counterfeit; thou art essentially mad, with
out seeming so. •
P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct.
Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the
sheriff, so; if not, let him enter; if I become not a
cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing
up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter
as another.
P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras; ^—the
1 When arras was first brought into England, it was suspended on
imall hooks driven into the walls of houses and castles ; but this practice
was soon discontinued. After the damp of the stone and bricku ork had
sc; IV.]
king henry iv.
503
rest wallc up above. Now, ray masters, for a true
face, and good conscience.
Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out,
and therefore I'll hide rae.
{^Exeunt all hut the Prince and Poins
P. Hen. Call in the sheriff.
Enter Sheriff and Carrier.
Now, master sheriff, what's your will with rae ?
Sher. First, pardon rae, ray lord. A hue and cry
Hath followed certain men unto this house.
P. Hen. What men ?
Sher. One of thera is well known, my gracious lord
A gross, fat man.
Car. As fat as butter.
P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here;
For I myself at this time have employed him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee.
That I will, by to-morrow dinner time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man.
For any thing he shall be charged withal;
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
P. Hen. It may be so; if he have robbed these men,
He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; is it not ?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
[Exeunt Sheriff .and Canrier.
P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul'h ^
Go call him forth.
Poins. Falstaff!—Fast asleep behind the arras, and
snorting like a horse.
been found to rot the tapestry, it was fixed on frames of wood at such
distance from the wall as prevented the damp from being injurious; largo
spaces were thus left between the arras and the walls, sufficient to con¬
tain even one of Falstaff's bulk. Our old dramatists avail themselves of
Ihis convenient hiding-place upon all occasions.
' St. Paul's cathedral.
504
FiEST PART OF
[ACT II
P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath ! Search
his pockets. [Poms searches.'] What hast thou
found ?
Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.
P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them.
Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d.
Item, Sauce, 448
first part of
AO J •
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies,
Whose deaths are unrevenged. Pr'ytliee, lend me th^
sword.
Fal. O Hal, 1 pr'ythee give me leave to breathe a
while.—Turk Gregory' never did such deeds in arms,
as 1 have done this day. I have paid Percy; I have
made him sure.
t Hen. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee. I
p ytnee, lend me thy sword.
Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou
get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. .
P. Hen. Give it me. What, is it in the case ?
Fal. Ay, Hal: 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will
sack a city. [The Prince dratvs out a bottle of sack.
P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now ?
• [Throics it at him, and exit.
Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he
do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his,
willingly, let him make a carbonado® of me I like
not such grinning honor as sir Walter hath. Give me
life; which if I can save, so; if not, honor comes un-
looked for, and there's an end. [Exit
SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field. Alarums
Excursions.
Enter the King, Prince Henry, Prince John, ana
Westmoreland.
K. Hen. I pr'ythee,
Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much.®—
Lord John of Lancaster, go" you with him.
1 « Turk Gregory" means Gregory the Seventh, called Hildebrand,
This furious friar surmounted almost invincible obstacles to deprive the
jmperor of his right of investiture of bishops, which his predecessors had
ong attempted in vain,
f A rasher or collop of meat cut crosswise for the gridiron.
3 History says that the prince was wounded in the face by an arrow
sc. IV.]
KINO HKNRY IV.
549
P. John Not I, my lord, unless 1 did bleed too
P. Hen. I beseech your majesty, inake up,
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.
K. Hen. I will do so.
My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.
West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your tent.
P. Jlen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need youi
help;
And Heaven forbid a shallow scratch should drive
The prince of Wales from such a field as this;
Where stained nobility lies trodden on.
And rebels' arms triumph in massacres!
P. John. We breathe too long.—Come, cousin
Westmoreland,
Our duty this way lies; for God's sake, c'ome.
[Exeunt P. John awff-Westmoreland
P. Hen. By Heaven, thou hast deceived me, Lan¬
caster ;
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit.
Before, I loved thee as a brother, John ;
But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point,
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown warrior.'
P. Hen. O, this boy
Lends mettle to us all! [Exit.
Alarums. Enter Douglas.
Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra'
heads ;
1 am the Douglas, fatal to all those
That wear those colors on them.—What art thr i,
That counterfeit'st the person of a king ?
K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves
at heart,
1 «— the earle of Richmond withstood his violence and kiqd him at tht
m>or(P$ point, without advantage, longer than his companions either tnough
or judged."—Holinshed, p. 759.
%50
fikst pakt of
[ACT V
So many of his snadows thou hast met,
And not the very king. 1 have two boys.
Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field;
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
I will assay thee; so defend thyself.
Doug. 1 fear thou art another counterfeit;
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king.
But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be.
And thus I win thee.
[They fght; the King being in danger, entef
Prince Henry.
P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art
like
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits
Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms:
It is the prince of Wales that threatens thee;
Who never promiseth, but he means to pay.—
[They fight; Douglas Jiies.
Cheerly, my lord. How fares your grace ?—
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succor sent.
And so hath Clifton; I'll to Clifton straight.
K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while.—
Thou hast redeemed thy lost opinion ;
And showed thou mak'st some tender of my life.
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. '
P. Hen. O Heaven! they did me too much injury
That ever said, I hearkened for your death.
If it were so, I might have let alone
File insulting hand of Douglas over you,
Which would have been as speedy in your end.
As all the poisonous potions in the world,
kv i saved the treacherous labor of your son.
K. Hen. Make up to Chfton ; I'll to sir Nicholas
Gawsey. [Exit King Henry
Enter Hotspur.
Hoi. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth.
P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
55l
Hot. My name is Harry Percy.
P. Hen. Why, then 1 see
A. very valiant rebel of the name.
I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy.
To share with me in glory any more.
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere;
Nor can one England brook a double reign,
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales.
Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come
To end the one of us; and 'would to God
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine!
P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere 1 part from thee
And all the budding honors on thy crest
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head.
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities.
[Theyfght.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal!—Nay, you shall
find no boy's play here, I can tell you.
Enter Douglas ; he fights with Falstaff, who fialls
doivn as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hot¬
spur is icounded, and falls.^
Hot.. O, Harry, thou hast robbed me of my youth.
1 better brook the loss of brittle life,
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ;
They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my
flesh :
But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool;
And time, that takes survey of all the world.
Must have a stop.® O, I could prophesy,
r Shakspeare had no authority for making ■hotspur fall by the hand of
the prince. Holinshed says, " The king slew that day with his own hand
SIX and thirty persons of his enemies. The other of his party, encouraged
by his doings, fought valiantly, and slew the Lord Peioy, called Henry
IIo'?pur." Speed says that Percy was killed by an unknown hand.
8 Hotspur, in his last moments, endeavors to console himself. The
552
riRST PAKT OK
[Aci r
But that the earthy and cold band of death
Lies on my tongue.—No, Percy, thou art dust,
And food for [Dies
P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee
well, great heart!—
Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk!
When that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too small a bound;
But now, two paces of the vilest earth
Is room enough.—This earth, that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
If thou wert sensible of courtesy,
I should not make so dear a show of zeal:—
But let my favors^ hide thy mangled face;
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself
For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to Heaven!
Thy ignomy® sleep with thee in the grave.
But not remembered in thy epitaph!—
[He sees Falstaff on the ground
What I old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell!
I could have better spared a better man.
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee.
If I were much in love with vanity.
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day.
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray.—
Embowelled® will I see thee by and by;
Till then, in blood, by noble Percy lie. [Exit
Fal. [Rising slowly.'\ Embowelied! if thou em¬
bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder'' nie,
glory of the prince woun Northumberland's castle.
5C. I.]
king henry iv.
7
Please it your honor, knock but at the gate,
4nd he himself will answer.
Enter Northumberland.
Bard. Here comes the earl
jNorth What news, lord Bardolph ? Every minute
now
Should be the father of some stratagem ;
The times are wild; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.
Bard. Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an Heaven will!
Bard. As good as heart can wish.—
The king is almost wounded" to the death;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son.
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Killed by the hand of Douglas: young prince John,
And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field ;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John
Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day.
So fought, so followed, and so fairly won.
Came not, till now, to dignify the times.
Since Caesar's fortunes !
North. How is this derived ?
Saw you the field ? Came you from Shrewsbury ?
Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from
thence,
A gentleman well-bred, and of good name.
That freely rendered me these news for true.
North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I
sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
Bard. My lord, I overrode him on the way;
And he is furnished with no certainties,
More than he haply may retail from me.
e
SECOND PART OF
[ACT I
Enter Travers.
North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with
you?
Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turned me back
With joyful tidings ; and, being better horsed.
Outrode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
A gentleman almost forspent^ with speed.
That stopped by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
He asked the way to Chester; and of him
1 did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck.
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
With that he gave his able horse the head.
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so.
He seemed in running to devour the way.
Staying no longer question.
North. Ha! Again
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ?
Of Hotspur, coldspur ? that rebellion .
Had met ill luck !
Bard. My lord, Pll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
U pon mine honor, for a silken point ^
I'll give my barony ; never talk of it.
North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by
Travers,
Give then such instances of loss ?
Bard Who, he ?
He was some hilding' fellow, that had stolen
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life.
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
Enter Morton.
North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume ;
1 Exhausted. ® A silhen point is a tagged lace.
3 i. e. Hildeiiing, base, low I'ellow.
so. l.J
KING HENRY IV.
9
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witnessed \usurpation.^
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury ?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask.
To fright our party.
North. How doth my son, and brother
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy check
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless.
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone.
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burned,
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue.
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say,—Tour son did thus, and thus
Tour brother, thus; so foughrthe noble Douglas ;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds :
But in the end, tp stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise.
Ending with—brother, son, and all are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But, for my lord your son,
North. Why, he is dead.
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath !
He, that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes.
That wW he feared is chanced. Yet speak, Morton
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies;
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace.
And inake thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid ;
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye;
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin,
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so.
The tongue offends not, thai reports his death;
> An attestation of its ravage
VOL. IV. 2
10
SECOND PART OF
[act I.
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead ,
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell.
Remembered knolling a departing friend.'
Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe
I'hat, which I would to Heaven I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,
To Harry Monmouth ; whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up
In few, his death, (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
Being bruited once, took'fire and heat away
From the best-tempered courage in his troops;
For from his metal was his party steeled ;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead
And as the thing that's heavy in itself.
Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed,
So did our men, heavy in Flotspur's loss.
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear.
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim.
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety.
Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail ® his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of- those that turned their backs; and, in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took The sum of all
Is,—that the king hath won; and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
1 The htU anciently was rang before the dying person had expired, and
thence wag caRed the pasring bell.
* To vaU is to lower, to cast down.
sc. IJ
KING HENRY IV.
11
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland: this is the news at full.
North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn
In poison there is physic, and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well ,•
And as the wretch, whose fever-weakened joints,
Ijike strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
1 mpatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms ; even so my limbs.
Weakened with grief, being now enraged with grief,'
Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou nice
crutch;
A scaly gauntlet now, with Joints of steel,
Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which princes, fleshed with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron; and approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring.
To frown upon the enraged Northumberland!
Let heaven kiss earth ! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confined! let order die!
And let this world no longer be a stage.
To feed contention in a lingering act;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And darkness be the burier of the dead!
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my
lord.3
Bard. Siyeet earl, divorce not wisdom from your
honor.
Mar. The lives of all your loving complices
1 lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er
' Grief, in the latter part of this line, ia used, in its present sense, foi
Borrow; in the former part for bodily pain.
^ SLakspeare, like his contemporaries, uses nice in tlie sense of effeminate,
delicate, tender.
3 This line in the quarto, is, by mistake, given to UnfremUe, who is
spoken of in tl is very scene as absent It is given to Travers at Steevens's
suggestion.
12
SECOND PART OF
LACT I
To Stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,'
And summed the account of chance, before you said,
Let us make head. It was your presurmise.
That in the dole of blows your son might drop.
You knew, he walked o'er perils, on an edge,
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er;
You were adtised, his flesh was capable
Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirit
Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged.
Yet did you say,—Go forth; and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action. What hath then befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth.
More than that being which was like to be ?
Bard. We all, that are engaged to this Ipss,
Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas.
That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one ;
And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed
Choked the respect of likely peril feared;
And, since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth ; body, and goods.
Mor. 'Tis more than time ; and, my most noble lord,
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,
The gentle archbishop of York is up,®
With well-appointed powers ; he is a man.
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord, your son had only but the corps.
But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight;
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls;
And they did fight with queasiness, constrained.
As men drink potions; that their weapons only
Seemed on our side, but, for their spirits and souls.
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up.
As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion ;
I The fourteen following lines, and a number of others in this play
srere not in the quarto edition.
" This and the following twenty lines are not found in the quarta
sc. ii.]
king henry iv.
13
Siip|)osed sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's followed both with* body and with mind,
.\nd doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair king Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones;
Derives from Heaven his quarrel, and his cause;
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land.
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ;
And more' and less do flock to follow him.
North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak truth.
This present grief had wiped it from my mind.
Go in with me; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety, and revenge.
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed;
Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt
SCENE II. London. A Street.
Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page hearing hts
sword and buckler.
Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my
water ? ®
Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good,
healthy water; but for the party that owed® it, he might
have more diseases than he knew for.
Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me.
The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not
able to vent any thing that tends to laughter, more
than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only
1 L e. great and Email, all ranks.
2 This quackery was once so much in fashion that Linacre, the founder
of the College of Physicians, formed a statute to restrain apotiiecaries
from carrying the water of their patients to a doctor, and afterwards giving
medicines in consequence of the opinions pronounced concerning it This
statute was followed by another, which forbade the doctors tliemselves to
pronounce on any disorder from such an uncertain diagnostic But this
did not extinguish the practice.
3 Owned.
< " Gird (Mr. Gilford says) is a mere metathesis of gndr, and means a
Ihitist, a blow: the metaphorical use of the word for a smart stroke of wit,
taunt, reproachful retort, &c., is justified by a similar application of ki ndred
terms in all languages.
14
SECOND PART OF
[ACT I
witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men
I do hero walk before thee, like a sow, that hath over¬
whelmed all her litter but one. if the prince put thee
into my service for any other reason than to set me off,
why then 1 have no judgment. Thou whoreson man¬
drake,' thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to
wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate'
till now: but I will set you neither in gold nor silver,
but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your
master, for ajewe^; the Juvenal,® the prince your mas¬
ter, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have
a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall
get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say,
his face is a face-royal. God may finish it when he
will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as
a face-royal,'' for a barber shall never earn sixpence out
of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ
man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may
keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, 1
can assure him. What said master Dumbleton about
the satin for my short cloak, and slops ?
Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better
assurance than Bardolph; he would not take his bond
and yours ; he liked not the security.
Fal. Let him be damned like the glutton ! may his
tongue be hotter! ®—A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally
1 A root supposed to have the shape of a man. Quacks and unpostors
counterfeited, with the root briony, figures resembling parts of the human
body, which were sold to the credulous as endued with specific virtues.
See sir Thomas Brown's 'Vulgar Errors, p. 72, edit. 1686. •
2 An agate is used metaphorically for a very diminutive person, in allu¬
sion to tlie small figures cut in agate for rings and broaches.
3 Juvenal occurs in A Midsummer Night's Dream, and in Love's
Labor's Lost It is also used in many places by Chaucer for a young
man.
* Johnson says that by a face-royal, Falstaff means a face exempt from
the touch of vulgar hands. Steevens imagines that there may be a quibble
intended on the coin called a real, or royal; that a barber can no more
earn sixpwnce by his face, than by the face stamped on the coin, the one
requuing as little shaving as the other. Mason thinks that FalstaflT's con¬
ceit is, " If nothing be taken out of a royal, it will remain a royal still, as
It was." The reader wiU decide for himself.
s An allusion to the fate of the rich man, who had fared sumptuously
every day, when he requested a drop of water to cool his tongue
BC. JI.J
KING HENRY IV.
15
yea-forsooth knave ! to bear a gentleman in hand,' and
then stand upon security!—The whoreson smooth-
pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches
of keys at their girdles ; and if a man is thorough ®
with them in honest taking up, then they must stand
upon—security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane
in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked
he should have sent me two-and-tweuty yards of satin,
as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well,
he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of
abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through
't; and yet cannot he see, though he have his own
.antern to li^t him. Where's Bardolph ?
Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your wor¬
ship a horse.
Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me 5
horse in Smithfield; an 1 could get me but a wife in
the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.
Enter the Lord Chief Justice,^ and an Attendant.
Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed
the prince for striking him about Bardolph.
Fal. Wait close, I will not see him.
Ch. Just. What's he that goes there ?
Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship.
Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery.^
Atten. He, my lord ; but he hath since done good
service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going
with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster.
Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again.
Atten. Sir John Falstaff!
Fal. Boy, tell him 1 am deaf.
Page. You must speak louder; my master is deaf
Ch. Just. 1 am sure he is, to the hearing of any
1 To hear in hand is to keep in expecialion by false promises.
2 i. e in their debt, by taking up goods on credit
3 This judge was sir Wm. Gascoigne,chief justice of the King s Bench
He died Dec. 17, 1413.
16
SECOND PART OF
[act. i.
thing good.—Go, pluck him by the elbow; I musi
speak with him.
Atten. Sir John, •
Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not
wars ? is there not employment ? Doth not the king
lack subjects.^ do not the rebels need soldiers.^ Though
it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse
shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it
worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to
make it.
Atten. You mistake me, sir.
Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man ?
Setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, 1 had
lied in my throat if I had said so.
Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and
•your soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you,
you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than
an honest man.
Fal. 1 give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside
that which grows to me ! If thou get'st any leave of me,
hang me ; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be
hanged. You hunt counter;^ hence! avaunt!
Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you.
Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you
Fal. My good lord!—God give your lordship good
time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad.
1 heard say, your lordship was sick: I hope your lord¬
ship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not
clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in
you, some relish of the saltness of time ; and I most
humbly beseech your lordship, to have a reverend care
of your health.
Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your expe¬
dition to Shrewsbury.
1 To hunt counter wels to hunt the wrong way to trace the scent back¬
wards ; to hunt it by the heel is the technical phrase. Falstaff means to
tell the man that he is on a wrong scent The folio and the modern
editions print hunt-counier with a hyphen, so as to make it appear like a
"«me: but in the quartos the words are disjoined—hunt counter.
sc. Il.Jf
KING H£NRY IV.
n
Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty
is returned with some discomfort from Wales.
Ch. Jmt. 1 talk not of his majesty.—You would not
come when I sent for you.
Fal. And 1 hear, moreover, his highness is fallen
into this same whoreson apoplexy.
Ch, Just. Well, Heaven mend him! I pray, let me
speak with you..
Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of leth-
aigy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in
the blood, a whoreson tingling.
Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as it is.
Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from study,
and perturbation of the brain. 1 have read the cause
of its effects in Galen ; it is a kind of deafness.
Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the disease;
for you hear not what I say to you.
Fal.^ Very well, my lord, very well; rather, an't
please you, it is the disease of not listening, the mala¬
dy of not marking, that I am troubled withal.
Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would amend
the attention of your ears ; and I care not, if I do be¬
come your physician.
Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord; but not so
patient. Your lordship may minister the potion of im¬
prisonment to me, in respect of poverty; but how I
should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the
wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a
scruple itself.
Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters
against you for your life, to come speak with me.
Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel
in the laws of this land-service, I did not come.
Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in
great infamy.
' In the quarto edition this speech stands thus:—
" Old. Very well, my lord, very well."
This is a strong corroboration (''the tradition that Falftaff was first railed
Oldcastle.
VOL. IV. 3
18
SECOND PART OF
lACT
Fal. He that buckler him in my belt, cannot live in
esa.
Ch. Just. Your means are very slender,-and your
waste is great.
Fal. I would it were otherwise ; I would my means
were greater, and my waist slenderer.
Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince.
Fal. The young prince hath misled me. I am the
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.
Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed
wound ; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little
gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill. You
may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'erposting
that action.
Fal. My lord ?
Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so; wake
not a sleeping wolf.
Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox.
Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the bettei
part burnt out.
Fal. A wassel candle,' my lord; all tallow; if I did
say of wax, my growth would approve the truth.
Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face
but should have his effect of gravity.
Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.
Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down,
like his ill angel.
Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; ® but, 1
hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without
weighing: and yet, in some respects, 1 grant, I cannot
go, I cannot tell.® Virtue is of so little regard in these
coster-monger times, that true valor is turned bear-hei cl.
Pregnancy * is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit
wasted in giving reckonings; all the other gifts apper
I A wassel candle is a large candle lighted up at a feast
® " As light as a clipped angel" is a comparison frequent in the old
comedies.
a I cannot tell, Johnson explains, «T cannot be taken in a reckoning, I
cannot pass cuiTent." Mr. Gilford objects to this explanation, and says
thai it merely means " I cannot tell what to think of it"
* Pregnancy is readiness.
SC II]
KING HENRY IV.
19
tinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them,
are not worth a gooseberry. You, that are old, con¬
sider not the capacities of us that are young. You
measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of
your galls: and we that are in the vaward of our youth,
1 must confess, are wags too.
Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll
of youth, that are written down old with all the charac¬
ters of age ? Have you not a moist eye ? a dry hand ?
a yellow cheek f a white beard ? a decreasing leg
an increasing belly ? Is not your voice broken ? your
wind short ? your chin double ? your wit single ^ and
every part about you blasted with antiquityand
will you yet call yourself young.? Fie, fie, fie, sir
John!
Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock
in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a
round belly. For my voice,—I have lost it with holla¬
ing, and singing of anthems. To approve my youth
further, I will not. The truth is, I am only old in
judgment and understanding; and he that will caper
with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the
money, and have at him. For the box o' the ear tha
the prince gave you,—he gave it like a rude prince,
and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked
him for it; and the young lion repents ; marry, not in
ashes and sackcloth; but in new silk and old sack.
Ch. Just. Well, Heaven send the prince a better
companion!
Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince!
1 cannot rid my hands of him.
Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and
prince Harry. I hear you are a going with lord
John of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the ear
of Northumberland.
Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty, sweet wit for it.
But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at
home, that our armies join not in a hot day ! for, by
r Singk is simple, silly.
20
SECOND PART OF
[ACT I
th(.' Jjord, I take but two shirts out with me, and J
mean not to sweat extraordinarily ; if it be a hot day,
an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might
never spit white again. There is not a dangerous
action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it.
Well, I cannot last ever;^ but it was always yet the
trick of our English nation, if tliey have a gooa thing;
to make it too common. If you will needs say, I am
an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God
my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I
were better to be eaten to death with rust, than to be
scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.
Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; and God
bless your expedition!
Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound,
to furnish me forth
Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too
impatient to bear crosses.® Fare you well. Commend
me to my cousin Westmoreland.
[Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant.
' Fal. If I do, &lip me with a three-man beetle.®—A
man can no more separate age and covetousness, than
he can part young limbs and lechery; but the gout
galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so
both the degrees prevent * my curses. Boy!
Page. Sir ?
Fat. What money is in my purse ?
Page. Seven groats and two-pence.
Fat. I .can gel no remedy against this consumption
1 The rest of this speech, which is not in the folip, is restored from tlie
quarto copy.
2 A quibble is here intended between crosses, contraiyings, and the
sort of money so called.
3 This alludes to a common but cruel diversion.of boys, called JUlipping
the toad. They lay a board, two or three feet long, at right angles, over a
transverse piece, two or three inches thick ; then placing the load at one
end of the board, the other end is struck by a bat or large stick, which
throws the poor toad forty or fifty feet perpendicular from the eartli; and
the fall generally kills it. A three-nian beetle is a heavy beetle, with thieo
handles, used in driving piles.
* To prevent is to anticipate
sc. IJI]
KING HENRY IV.
21
of the purse ; borrowing only lingers and lingers it oui,
but the disease is incurable.—Go bear this letter to my •
lord of Lancaster ; this to the prince ; this to the eat'
of Westmoreland; and this to old mistress Ursula,
whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived
the first white hair on my chin. About it; you know
where to find me. Page.] A pox of this gout,
or, a gout of this pox ! for the one, or the other, plays
the rogue with my great toe. It is no matter, if I do
halt; I have the wars for my color, and my pension
shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make
use of any thing; I will turn diseases to commodity.
[^Exit,
SCENE III. York. A Room in the Archbishop's
Palace.
Enter the Archbishop of York ; the Lords Hastings,
Mowbray, and Bardolph.
Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known
our means ;
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all.
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes.—
And hrst, lord marshal, what say you to it ?
Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms ,
But gladly would be better satisfied,
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.
Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file
To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.
Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth
thus:—
Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand
May bold up head without Northumberland
22
SECOND PART OF
[ACT I
Hast. With him, we may.
Baru. Ay, marry, there's the point
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is, we should not step too far
fill we*had his assistance by the hand ;
For, in a theme so bloody-faced as this.
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted.
Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph ; for, indeed,
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
Bard. It was, my lord; who lined himself with
hope.
Eating the air on promise of supply.
Flattering himself with project of a power
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts ;'
And so, with great imagination.
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death.
And, winking, leaped into destruction.
Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt.
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope.
Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war;—
Indeed the instant action,® (a cause on foot,)
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair.
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build.
We first survey the plot, then draw the model;
And when we see the figure of the house.
Then must we rate the cost of the erection;
1 That is, which turned otd to be much smaller than, &c.
2 The first twenty lines of this speech were first inserted in the folio,
Uiii3. This passage has perplexed the editors. The old copies read:—
" Yes, if this present quality of war,
Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot
Lives so in hope: As in," &c.
It has been proposed to read:—
« Yes, if this present quality of war;—
Induced the instant action: a cause on foot
Lives so in hope, as in," &c.
The reading adopted by Steevens and Malone, from Johnson's suggestion,
IB that which is ^ven above.
ec iii.i
K»G HENRY IV.
23
Which if we find outweighs ability,
What do we then, but draw anew the model
In fewer offices; or, at least, desist
To build at all ? Much more, in this great work,
(Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down.
And set another up,) should we survey
rile plot of situation, and the model;
Consent' upon a sure foundation;
Question surveyors; know our own estate.
How able such a work to undergo.
To weigh against his opposite ; or else.
We fortify in paper, and in figures.
Using the names of men instead of men;
Like one that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds.
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fail
birth)
Should be still-born, and that we now possessed
The utmost man of expectation;
I think we are a body strong enough.
Even as we are, to equal with the king.
Bard. What! is the king but five-and-twenty thou¬
sand ?
Hast. To us, no more ; nay, not so much, lord Bar-
dolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl.
Are in three heads: one power against the French.®
And one against Glendower; perforce, a third
Must take up us. So is the unfirm king
In three divided ; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
Arch. That he should draw his several strengths
together,
1 A^ee.
2 During this rebellion of Northumberland and the archbishop, a French
army of twelve thousand men landed at Milford Haven, in aid of Oweu
Giendower. See Holinshed, p. 531
24
SECOND PART OF
PACT I
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
Hast. If he should do so,
He leaves his hack unarmed, the French and Welsh
Daying him at the heels: never fear that.
Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither f
Hast. The duke of Lancaster,' and Westmoreland
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
Arch. Let us on ; ®
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice.
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited.—
A habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many, with what loud applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolinghroke,
Before he was what thou wouldst have him be!
And being now trimmed ® in thine own desires,
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, *
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up.
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard;
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up.
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times ?
They that, when Richard lived, would have him die,
Are now become enamored on his grave.
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head,
When through proud London he came sighing on
After the admired heels of Bolinghroke,
Cry'st now, O earth, yield us that king again,
1 This is an anachronism. Prince John of Lancaster was not createa a
diike till the second year of the reign of his brother, aing Henry V. At
this time prince Henry was actually duke of Lancaster. Shakspeare was
misled by Stowe, who, speaking of the first parliament of king Henry IV.,
says, "Then the king rose, and made his eldest sonne prince of Wales,
&c.: his secwid sonne was there made duke of Lancaster." Annales
—He seems to have consulted Stowe (p. 323) between the times of
finishing the last play and beginning of the present.
2 This speech first appeared in the folio
• 'treso^d.
sc. l.J
KING HENllY Iv.
25
And take tkm this ! O thoughts of men accurst!
['ast, and to come, seem best; things present, worst.
Mowh. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on ?
Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone.
[Exeunt
ACT II.
SCENE I. London. A Street.
Enter Hostess; Fang, and his hoy, with her; ana
Snare, folloiving.
Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action ?
Fang. It is entered.
Host. Where is your yeoman ?' Is it a lusty yeo
man ? will a' stand to't^
Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare ?
Host. O Lord, ay; good master Snare.
Snare. Here, here.
Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff.
Ho^. Yea, good master Snare; I have entered him
and all.
Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for
he will stab.
Host. Alas the day! take heed of him ; he stabbed
me in mine own house, and that most beastly ; in gooft
faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon
be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare nei¬
ther man, woman, nor child.
Fang. IPI can close with him, I care not for his thrust.
Host. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow.
Fang. An I but fist him once; an a' come but
within my vice; ®—
1 A bailiff's follower was formerly called a seijeant's yeortum.
S The quarto reads view. Vice is used for ^asp or clutch. The fid is
vulgarly called the vice in the west of England.
VOL. IV 4
26
second part ob
[ACT U
Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant you,
he's an infinitive thing upon my score.—Good master
Fang, hold him sure;—good master Snare, let him not
'scape. He comes continually to Pie-corner (saving
your manhoods) to buy a saddle; and he's indited to
dinner to the lubbar's head in Lumbert-street, to mas¬
ter Smooth's the silkman. 1 pray ye, since my exion
is entered, and my case so openly known to the world,
let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark
is a long loan' for a poor lone woman to bear; and I have
borne, and borne, and borne; and have been fubbed off,
and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day,
that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no hon¬
esty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made
an ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong.
Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph.
Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave,
Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices,
master Fang, and master Snare ; do me, do me, do me
your offices.
Fal. How now ? whose mare's dead ? what's the
matter ?
Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mistress
Quickly.
Fal. Away, varlets!—Draw, Bardolph; cut me off
the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel.
Host. Throw me in the channel? I'll throw thee in
the channel. Wilt thou?" wilt thou? thou bastardly
rogue!—Murder, murder!—O thou honey-suckle® vil¬
lain ! wilt thou kill God's officers, and the king's ? O
thou honey-seed ® rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a
man-queller,® and a woman-queller.
1 The old copies read «long one;" Trhich Theobald supposed was a
corruption of lone or loan. Mr. Douce thinks the alteration unnecessary
and that the hostess means to say that a hundred mark is a long score, of
reckoning, for her to bear.
2 It is scarce necessary to remark that honey-sxuMe and honey-sred are
dame Quickly's corruptions of homicidal and homicide.
3 To quell was anciently used for to kilL
sc. I.]
«ING HENRY IV.
Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph.
Fang. A rescue ! a rescue !
Ho^. Good people, bring a rescue or two.—Thau
wo't, wo't thou ? thou wo't, wo't thou ? do, do, thou
rogue! do, thou hemp-seed!
Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian! you fus-
ularian! I'll tickle your catastrophe.
Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended.
Ch. Just. What's the matter ? keep the peace here,
ho!
Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I beseech you,
stand to me!
Ch. Just. How now, sir John ? what, are you brawl¬
ing here ?
Doth this become your place, your time, and business ^
You should have been well on your way to York—
Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang'st thou on him
Host. O, my most worshipful lord, an't please your
grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is
arrested at my suit.
Ch. Just. For what sum ?
Host.. It is more than for some, my lord. It is for
all, all I have ; he hath eaten me out of house and
home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly
of his;—but I will have some of it out again, or I'll
ride thee o' nights, like the mare.
Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I nave
any vantage of ground to get up.
Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John ? Fie! what
man of good temper would endure this tempest of ex¬
clamation Are you not ashamed to enforce a pool
widow to so rough a course to come by her own ?
Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ?
Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself,
and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a
parcel-gilt' goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at
1 Parcel-gilt is partly gilt, or gilt only in parts. Laneham, in his Let¬
ter from Kenilworth, describing a bride-cup, says, " It was formed of •
28
SECOND PART OF
[ACl II
the lound table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in
Wheeson-week,'when the prince broke«thy head for
liking his father® to a singing-man of Windsor; thou
didst swear to me then, as 1 was washing thy wound,
to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. Canst
thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's
wife, come in then, and call me gossip Quicklj ^
coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us
she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst
desire to eat some; whereby 1 told thee, they were ill
for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she
was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so
familiarity with such poor people; saying that ere long
they should call me madam ? And didst thou not kiss
me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings ? I put thee
now to thy book-oath; deny it if thou canst.
J^al. My lord, this is a poor mad soul.; and she says,
up and down the town, that her eldest son is like you.
She hath been in good case, and, the truth is, poverty
hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, J
beseech you, I may have redress against them.
C/i. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted
with your manner of wrenching the true cause the
false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng
of words that come with such more than impudent
sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consid¬
eration. You have, as it appears to me, practised upon
the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her
serve your uses both in purse and person.
Host. Yea, in troth, my lord.
Ch. Just. 'Pr'ythee, peace.—Pay her the debt you
owe her, and unpay the villany you have done with
her; the one you may do with sterling money, and the
other with current repentance.
Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap ® with-
Bweet Bucket barrel, a faire turned foot set to it, all seemly be-sylvered
and parcel gilt."
1 The folio reads Whitsun-week.
2 The folio has " tor likening him to," &c.
3 Snenp is reproof, rebuke. Snip, snib, sneb, and snub, are different
forms of the same word. To sneap was originally to check or pinch bv
frost.
sc. 1.]
KlfiG HENEY IV.
29
out reply. You call honorable boldness, impudent
sauciness: if a man will make court'sy, and say noth¬
ing, he is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble duty re¬
membered, I will not be your suitor; I say to you, I do
desire deliverance from t'hese officers, being upon hasty
employment in the king's affairs.
Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do wrong,
but answer in the effect of your reputation,^ and satisfy
the poor woman.
Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking her aside
Enter Gower.
Ch. Just. Now, master Gower, what news ?
Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of
Wales,
Are near at hand; the rest the paper tells.
Fal. As I am a gentleman :
Host. Nay, you said so before.
Fal. As I am a gentleman.—Come, no more words
of it.
Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must
be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my
dining-chambers.
Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and foi
thy walls,—a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the
prodigal, or the German hunting in water-work,® is
worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, and these
fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound,, if thou
canst. Come, and it were not for thy humors, there
is not a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face,
and 'draw® thy action. Come, thou must not be in
this humor with me! dost not know me.^ Come
come, 1 know thou wast set on to this.
1 Suitably to your character.
2 fVater work ia water color paintings or hangings. The painted cloth
was generally oil color; but a cheaper sort, probably resembling in their
execution some modem paper-hangings, was brought from Holland ot
Germany, executed in water color, or distemper. The German hunting,
or wild boar hunt, would consequently be a prevalent subject.
3 Withdraw.
30
second pakt op
[act ii.
Host. 'Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty
nobles; i' faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good
earnest, la.
Fal. Let it alone; Pll make other shift; you'll be a
fool still. . t
Host. Well, you shall have it, though 1 pawn my
gown. I hope you'll come to supper; you'll pay me
altogether.
Fal. Will I live.?—Go, with her, with her; \To
Bardolph.] hook on, hook on.
Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you a
supper ?
Fal. No more words; let's have her.
[^Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers
and Page.
Ch. Just. I have heard better news.
Fal. What's the news, my good lord ?
Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night
Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord.
F'al. I hope, my lord, all's well. What's the news,
my lord ?
Ch. Just. Come all his forces back.?
Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland and the archbishop.
Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble
lord ?
Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently.
Come, go along with me, good master Gower.
Fal. My lord!
Ch. Just. What's the matter ?
Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to
dinner.?
Goto. I must wait upon my good lord here ; I thank
you, good sir John.
Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here ^oo long, being
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go.
Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower ?
Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these
manners, sir John.?
sc. II.]
KING HENRY IV.
31
Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was
a fool that taught them me.—This is the right fencing
grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair.
Ch. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee ! thou art a
great fool. . [^Exeunt.
SCENE II. The same. Another Street.
Enter Prince Henry and Poms.
P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Pains. Is it come to that.^ I had thought, weariness
durst not have attached one of so high blood.
P. Hen. Taith, it does me ; though it discolors the
complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth
it not show vilely in me to desire small beer ?
Pains. Why, a prince should not be so loosely
studied, as to remember so weak a composition.
P. Hen. Belike, then, my appetite was not princely
got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor
creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble con¬
siderations make me out of love with my greatness.
What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name ?
or to know thy face to-morrow ? or to take note how
many pair of silk stockings thou hast; viz. these, and
those that were the peach-colored ones ? or to bear the
inventory of thy shirts ; as, one for superfluity, and one
other for use ?—but that the tennis-court keeper knows
better than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee,
when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not
done a great while, because the rest of thy low-coun¬
tries have made a shift to eat up thy holland; and God
knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy
linen,' shall inherit his kingdom : but the midwives say
the children are not in the fault; whereupon the world
increases, atid kindreds are mightily strengthened.
Pains. H yw ill it follows, after you have labored so
I His bastard children, wrapped up m his old shirts.
32
second part op
[act ii.
hard, you should talk so idly. Tell me, how many
good young princes would do so, their fathers being so
.sick as yours at this time is.^
P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ?
Poins. Yes; and let it be an excellent good thing.
P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher
breeding than thine.
Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing
I hat you will tell.
P. Hen. Why, I tell thee,—it is not meet that I
should be sad, now my father is sick; albeit I could tell
to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to
call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad indeed too.
Poins. Very hardly, upon such a subject.
, P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as fir in
the devil's book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy and
persistency. Let the end try the man. But 1 tell
thee,—my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so
sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art, hath
in reason taken from me all ostentation' of sorrow.
Poins. The reason ?
P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me, if I should
weep ?
Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
P. Hen. It would be every man's thought: and
thou art a blessed fellow, ta think as every man thinks.
Never a man's thought in the world keeps the road¬
way better than thine; every man would think me a
hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most wor¬
shipful thought to think so ?
Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and
so much engraffed to Falstaff.
P. Hen. And to thee.
Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of; F can
hear it with mine own ears : the worst that they can
say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am
a proper fellow of my hands; ® and those two things, I
1 Ostmtaticrris not here used for boastful show, but for mere outward
mow.
2 .3 proper fellow of my hands is tlie same as o toil fellow qfhla handSf
sc. II.]
XINa HENRY IV.
33
ponfess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bar-
doiph.
P. Hen. And the hoy that I gave Faistaff: he had
him from me Christian ; and look, if the fat villain have
not transformed him ape.
Hnier Bardolph and Page.
Bard. 'Save your grace !
P. Hen. And yours, most nohle Bardolph !
Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [To the Page.] you
bashful fool, must you be blushing ? wherefore blush
you now.? What a maidenly man at arms are you be¬
come ! Is it such a matter, to get a pottlepot's maiden¬
head ?
Page. He called me even now, my lord, through a
red-lattice,' and I could discern no part of his face from
the window : at last, I spied his eyes ; and, methought,
he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat,
and peeped through.
P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited.?
Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away !
Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away!
P. Hen. Instruct us, boy ; what dream, boy.?
Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was de
livered of a firebrand; and therefore I call him her
dream.
P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation.—
There it is, boy. [(^ves him money.
Poms. O that this good blossom could be kept
from cankers!—Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.
Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among
you, the gallows shall have wrong.
P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ?
Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's
coming to town ; there's a letter for you.
which is only a free version of the French Homme haul a-la-main: a
man of execution or valor. That a tall or a proper fellow was sometimes
need in an equivocal sense for a thief there can be no doubt.
1 An alehouse window.
VOL. IV.
S4
SECOND PART OF
[act it.
Poins. Delivered with good respect.—And how
doth the martlemas,^ jour master ?
Bard. In bodily health, sir.
Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician,
nut that moves not him ; though that be sick it dies not.
P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with
me as my dog: and he holds his place; for, look you,
how he writes.
Poins. [J?eads.] John Falstaff, knight, Every
man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name
himself. Even like those that are kin to the king; for
they never prick their finger, but they say, There is
some of the hinges blood spilt: Hoio comes that ? says
he that takes upon him not to conceive : the answer is
as ready as a borrower's® cap; I am the king^s poor
cousin, sir.
P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will
fetch it from Japhet. But the letter:—
Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of tin
king, nearest his father, Harry, prince of Wales, greet
ing.—Why, this is a certificate.
P. Hen. Peace!
Poms. I ivill imitate the honorable Roman^ in brev¬
ity :—he sure means brevity in breath ; short-winded.
—/ commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave
thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses
thy favors so much, that he swears thou art to marry his
sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mafst, and so
farewell.
^ Thine, by yea and no, {which is as
much as to say, as thou usest him,)
Jack Falstaff, loith my familiars ;
John, loith my brothers and sisters,
and sir John, with all Europe.
1 Paletaif is before c illed «thou latter spring, all-hallovm summer,^
and Poins now calls him martlemas, a corruption of martinmas, which
means tlic same tiling. The feast of St Martin being considered the lat¬
ter end of autumn, Este de St. Martin is a French proverb for a late sum
mer. It means, therefore, an old fellow with juvenile passions.
2 The old copy reads a borrowed cap. The emendation is Warburton's.
3 That is, Julius Ceesar. Falstaff alludes to the cent, vidi, vici, which
he afferw.irds quotes.
sc. IL
KING HENRY IV.
35
My jord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him
eat it.
P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his
(vords. But do you use "me thus, Ned ? must I marry
your sister ?
Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! bur
I never said so.
P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time \
and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock
us.—Is your master here in London ?
Bard. Yes, my lord.
P. Hen. Where sups he ? doth the old boar feed in
the old frank
Bard. At the old place, my lord; in Eastcheap.
P. Hen. What company.^
Page. Ephesians, my lord; of the old church.®
P. Hen. Sup any women with him.?
Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and
mistress Doll Tear-sheet.
P. Hen. What pagan may that be.?
Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman
of my master's.
P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to
the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at
supper.?
Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.
P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy,—and Bardolph;—no word
to your master, that I am yet come to town. There's
for your silence.
Bard. I have no tongue, sir.
Page. And for mine, sir,—I will govern it.
P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [^Exeunt Bardolph
and Page.]—This Doll Tear-sheet should be some
road.
Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way be¬
tween Saint Albans and London.
1 .i sly, a place to fatten a boar in.
3 A cant phrase, probably signifying topers, or jolly companions of the
dd sort.
3G
second part of
[act ii
P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow^ him¬
self to-night'in his true colors, and not ourselves be
seen ?
Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and
wait upon him at his table as drawers.
P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy descen-
sion!® it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren¬
tice ? a low transformation ! that shall be mine ; for, in
every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly.
Kollow me, Ned. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the Castle.
Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland,
and Lady Percy.
North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter,
Give even way unto my rough affairs;
Put not you on the visage of the times.
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.
Lady N. I have given over; I will speak no more
Do what you will; your 'wisdom be your guide.
North. Alas, sweet M'ife, my honor is at pawn ;
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.
Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these
wars!
The time was, father, that you broke your word.
When you were more endeared to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry.
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home ?
There were two honors lost; yours, and your son's.
For yours,—may heavenly glory brighten it'
1 L e. act. In a MS. letter from secretary Conway to Buckingham, at
the Isle of Ree, " also what the lords have advanced for the expedition
towards you, since Saturday that tliey returned from Windsor with chargn
to btsiowe themselves seriously in it"—Conway Papers.
2 The folio reads declension.
sc. m.]
KING HENRY IV
37
For his,—it stuck upon him, as the sun
I n the gray vault of heaven ; and, by his light,
Did ail the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts ; he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs, that practised not his gait
And speaking thick,® which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;
For those that could speak low, and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him. So that, in speech, in gait.
In diet, in affections of delight.
In military rules, humors of blood.
He was the mark and glass, copy and book.
That fashioned others. And him,—O wondrous him'
O miracle of men !—him did you leave
(Second to none, unscconded by you)
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage ; to abide a field.
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible ; ®—so you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong.
To hold your honor more precise and nice
With others, than with him ; let them alone ;
The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong;
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers.
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck.
Have talked of Monmouth's grave.
North. Beshrew your heart
Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me.
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go, and meet with danger there ;
Or it will seek me in another place.
And find me worse provided.
1 The twenty-two following lines were first given in the folio.
2 Speaking thick is speaking quick, rapidity of utterance. Baret tran>
lates Uie ankilitus creber of Virgil, thicke-breathin^.
® Defensible does not in this place mean capable of defence, but hearing
tlrenglh, furnishing the means of defence; the passive for the active par-
ticiple.
38
SECOND PART OF
[ACT 11
Lady N O, fly to Scotland,
Till that the nobles, and the armed commons,
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the
king,
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves.
First let them try themselves. So did your son;
He was so suffered ; so came I a widow ;
And never shall have length of life enough.
To rain upon remembrance' with mine eyes.
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven.
For recordation to my noble husband.
North. Come, come, go in with me ; 'tis with my
mind,
As with the tide swelled up unto its height.
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop.
But many thousand reasons hold me back.—
I will resolve for Scotland; there am I,
Till time and vantage crave my company. [^Exeunt
SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Boar'^ Head
Tavern in Eastcheap
Enter two Drawers.
1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there
apple-Johns ? Thou know'st sir John cannot endure
an apple-John.®
2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The priu^e once
set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him,
1 Alluding to the plant rosemary, so called because it was tLe symbo
of remembrance.
8 This apple, which was said to keep two years, is well describe
oy Philips:—
" Nor John-apple, whose withered rind, entrenched
By many a furrow, aptly represents
Decrepid age."
sc. iv.j
king henry iv.
39
there were five more sir Johns; and, putting off his
hat, said, I mil now take my leave of these six dry,
round, old, withered knights. It angered him to the
heart; but he hath forgot that.
1 Draw. Why, then, cover, and set them down ; and
see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; ^ mistress
Tear-sheet would fain hear some music. Despatch.—
The room where they supped is too hot; they'll come
ji straight.
2 Draio. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master
Toins anon : and they will put on two of our jerkins,
and aprons; and sir John must not know of it. Bar-
dolph hath brought word.
1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis.® It
will be an excellent stratagem.
2 Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. [Exit.
Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet.
Host. I' faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are in
an excellent good temperality; your pulsidge beats as
extraordinarily as heart would desire ; and your color,
I warrant you, is as red as any rose. But, i'faith, you
have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous
searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can
say,—What's this ? How do you now ?
Dol. Better than I was. Hem.
Host. Why, that's well said ; a good heart's worth
gold. Look, here comes sir John.
1 A noise, or a consort, was used for a set or company of musiciaius.
Sneak was a street minstrel, and therefore the drawer goes out to listen
for his band. Falstaff addresses them as a company in another scene.
In the old play of King Henry IV. "There came the young prince, and
two or three more of his companions, and called for wine good store, and
then sent for*a noyce of musitians," &c.
2 Old uiis is old festivity, or merry doings. Utis, or utas, being the
eighth day after any festival, any day between the feast and tije eightk
day v^as said to be within tlie utas, from the French huit.
40
SECOND PART OF
[act ii.
Enter Falstaff, singitg.
FcJ. When Arthurfirst in court.^—Empty the jordan.
—And was a loorthy king. How now, mistress Doll ?
[Exit Drawer.]
Host. Sick of a calm; yea, good sooth.
Fal. So is all her sect; ® an they be once in a calm,
they are sick. * .
Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort 3'ou
give me
Fal. You make fat rascals,® mistress Doll.
Dol. I make them: gluttony and diseases make
them ; I make them not.
Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you
help to make the diseases, Doll; we catch of you, Doll,
we catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue, grant
that.
Dol. Ay, marry ; our chains, and our jewels.
Fal. Your brooches, pearls, and owches;—for to
serve bravely, is to come halting ofl^ you know; To
come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to
surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged cham¬
bers bravely:—
Dol. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang
yourself!
Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; you two
never meet, but you fall to some discord: }"ou are
both, in good truth, as rheumatic® as two dry toasts;
you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What
the good-year I one must bear, and that must be you;
1 The entire ballad is in the first volume of Dr. Percy's Rcliques of
Ancient Poetry.
2 Sect and sex were anciently synon)nnous; the instances of tJie use of
flie one for the otlrer are too numerous for it to have been a more cor¬
ruption. *
3 " RascaJl {says Puttenham, p. 150) is properly the hunting term given
to young deer leane and out of season, and not to people."
* To understand this quibble, it is necessary to remember that a cham¬
ber signifies not only an apartment, but a small piece of ordnance.
5 Mrs. Quickly means splenetic. It should be remarked, however that
rheuan seems to have been a cant word for spleen.
sc. IV.]
king henry iv.
41
\To Doll.] you are the weaker vessel, as they say,
the emptier vessel.
DoL Can a weak, empty vessel bear such a huge,
full hogshead.? There's a whole merchant's venture
of Bordeaux stuff in him : you have not seen a hulk
better stuffed in the hold.—Come, I'll be friends with
thee. Jack: thou art going to the wars; and whether
1 shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody cares
Re-enter Drawer.
Dravj. Sir, ancient' Pistol's below, and would speak
»vith you.
DoL Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not
come hither; it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in
England.
Host. If he swagger, let him not come here; no,
by my faith; I must live amongst my neighbors ; I'll
no swaggerers; I am in good name and fame with the
very best.—Shut the door;—there comes no swagger¬
ers here; I have not lived all this while to have swag¬
gering now;—shut the dopr, I pray you.
Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ?
Host. 'Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John; there
comes no swaggerers here.
Fal. Dost thou hear ? it is mine ancient.
Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me; your an¬
cient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before
master Tisick, the deputy, the other day; and, as he
said to me,—it was no longer ago than Wednesday
fist,—Neighbor Quickly, says he ;—master Dumb, our
minister, was by then ;—Neighbor Quickly, says he, re¬
ceive those that are civil; for, saith he, you are in an ill
name;—now he said so, I can tell whereupon ; for,
.says he, you are an honest woman, and well thought on,
therefore take heed what guests you receive. Receive
says he, no swaggering companions.—There comes
none here;—^you would bless you to hear what he
said.—No, I'll no swaggerers.
VOL. IV
1 That is, ensign,
6
42
second part op
[ACT- 11
Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater,'
he; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy grey¬
hound ; he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if
her feathers turn hack in any show of resistance.—Call
him up, drawer.
Host. Cheater, call you him ? I will bar no honest
man my house, nor no cheater.® But I do not love
swaggering; by my troth, I am the worse, when one
says—swagger: feel, masters, how I shake ; look you,
I warrant you.
Dal. So you do, hostess.
Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an
aspen leaf; I cannot abide swaggerers.
Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page.
Pist. 'Save you, sir John!
Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, 1
charge you with a cup of sack ; do you discharge upon
mine hostess.
Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two
bullets.
Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend
her.
Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets.
I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no man's
pleasure, I.
Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy; I will charge
you.
Dol. Charge me ? I scorn you, scurvy companion.
What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen
m ite ! Away, you mouldy rogue ; away ! I am meat for
your master.
Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy.
Dol. Away, you cutpurse rascal! you filthy bung,^
1 Tame cheater seems to have meant a rogue in general.
2 The humor consists in Mrs. Quickly's mistaking a cheater for an ts-
ihentor, or officer of the exchequer.
3 To nip a bung, in the cant of thievery, was to cut a purse. « Bung W
now used for a pocket, heretofore for a purse."—Belman of Bondon, IdiO
Ooli means to call him pickpocket.
dC IV.J
KING HENRY IV.
43
away ! by this wine, I'll thrust riiy knife in your mouldy
chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away,
you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
—Since when, I pray you, sir ?—What, with two
points ^ on your shoulder ? much! ®
Fist. I will murder your ruff for this.
Fal. No more. Pistol; I would not have you go off
here; discharge yourself of our company. Pistol. ,
Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet
captain.
Dal. Captain ! thou abominable, damned cheater, art
thou not ashamed to be called—captain ? If captains were
of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for taking
their names upon you before you have earned them.
You a captain, 3/ou slave ! for what? for tearing a poor
whore's ruff" in a bawdy house ?—He a captain ! hang
him, rogue! He lives upon mouldy stewed prunes,
and dried cakes. A captain! these villains will make
the word captain as odious as the word occupy,® which
was an excellent good word before it was ill-sorted;
therefore captains had need look to it.
Bard. 'Pray thee, go down, good ancient.
Fal. Hark theejiither, mistress Doll.
Fist. Not I; tell thee what, corporal Bardolph ;—■
1 could tear her;—I'll be revenged on her.
Fage. 'Pray thee, go down. '
Fist. I'll see her damned first;—to Pluto's damned
lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures
vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down ! down
dogs ! down, faitor's! * Have we not Hiren here ?
' Laces, marks of his commission.
~ An expression of disdain.
3 Ttiis word had been perverted to an obscene meaning.
♦ Traitors, rascals.
5 Shakspeare has put into the mouth of Pistol a tissue of absurd and
fustian passages from many ridiculous old plays. Part of this speech is
parodied from The Battle of Alcazar, I5i)4. Have we not Hiren here, is
probably aline from a'^play of George Peele's, called The Turkish Ma¬
homet and Hiren the fair Greek. It is often used ludicrousiy by subse¬
quent dramatists. Hiren, from its resemblance to siren, was used for a
seducing woman, and consequently for a courtesan. Pistol, in his rants,
twice brii gs in the same words, but apparently meaning to give his
sword the name of Hiren. Mrs. Q,uickly, with admirable shnplicity, sup
poses him to ask for a woman.
44
SECOND PART OP
[ACT II
Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is verj
late, i' faith : I beseek you now, aggravate your choler
Pist. These be good humors, indeed! Shall pack
horses.
And hollow, pampered jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,^
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,'
And Trojan Greeks ? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foiil for toys ?
Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter
words.
Bard. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a
brawl anon.
Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins.
Have we not Hiren here ?
Host. O' my word, captain, there's none such here.
What the good-year! do you think I would deny her ?
for God's sake, be quiet.
Pist. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis.'
Come, give's some sack.
Si fortuna me tormenta^ sperato me contenta.*—
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend,give fire.
Give me some sack;—and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
[Laying down his sword.
Come we to full points here; and are et ceteras
nothing ? ®
• Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.
Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif!® What! we
have seen the seven stars.
1 This is a parody of the lines addressed by Tamberlane to the captiva
princes who draw his chariot, in Marlowe's Tamberlaine, 1590.
2 A blunder for Hannibal.
3 This is again a burlesque upon a line in The Battle of Alcazar, in
which Muley Slahomet enters to his wife with lion's flesh on his sword:
" Feed then and faint not, my faire Callypolis."
* Pistol is supposed to read this motto on his sword; by singular chance
Mr. Douce picked up an old rapier with the swme motto in French:
Si fortune me tourmente, Vesperance me contmie.
5 That is, Flhall we have no fiirtlier entertainment?
•> jVfi/is used forfst. It is a nortli country word.
BC. IV.]
king henrv iv.
45
Dol. Thrust hin down stairs; I cannot endure such
a fustian rascal.
Pist. Thrust hin down stairs! know we not Gal¬
loway nags ?*
Fal. Quoit ® him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
shilling. Nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing,
he shall be nothing here.
Bard. Come, gef you down stairs.
Pist. What! shall we have incision ? shall we im¬
brue ?— iSnalching up his sword.
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the sisters three ! Come, Atropos, I say !'
Host. Here's goodly stuff toward!
Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.
Dol. I pray thee, Jack, 1 pray thee, do not draw.
Fal. Get you down stars.
[Drawing, and driving Pistol out.
Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So;
murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up your
naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.
[Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph.
Dol. 1 pray thee. Jack, be quiet; the rascal is gone.
Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you.
Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? methought he
made a shrewd thrust at your belly.
1 (]!ominon hackneys.
2 i. e. pitch him down. The shove-f^ocd shillings were such broad
ehillin^s of king Edward VI. as Slender calls Edward shovel-boards, in
The Meny Wives of Windsor, Act i. Sc. 1.
3 Pistol makes use of fragments of old ballads as well as old plays:—
" O death, rock me on slepe,
Bring me on quiet rest,"
IS an ancient song, attributed to Anne Boleyn. There is another in the
Gorgious Gallery of Gallant Inventions, 1578, which has furnished him with
some of his rhodomontade:—
" I hate this loathso ne life,
O Atropos, draw nie.
Untwist the thread of mortall strife,
Send deatl., and le me die."
46
skconb part op
[act ii.
Re-enter Bardolpi .
Fal. Have jou turned- him out of doors ?
Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk : you have hur
him, sir, in the shoulder.
Fal. A rascal! to brave me !
Dot. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor
ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, lei me wipe thy face ,
—come on, you whoreson chops.—Ah, rogue! i' faith,
I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Tr^',
worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than
the nine worthies. Ah, villain!
Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a
blanket.
DoL Do, if thou darest for thy heart; if thou dost,
I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.
Enter Music.
Page. The music is come, sir.
Fal. Let them play ;—play, sirs ;—sit on my knee,
Doll. A rascally, bragging slave ! the rogue fled from
me like quicksilver.
Dol. I'faith, and thou followedst him like a church.
Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,' when
wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and foining o' nights,
and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven ?
Enter, behind. Prince Henry and Poins, disguised
like Drawers.
I
Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's
liead; do not bid me remember mine end.
Dol. Sirrah, what humor is the prince of?
Fal. A good, shallow young fellow : he would have
made a good pautler; he would have chipped bread
well.
it Roasted pigs were formerly among the chief attractions of Bartholo
oiew fair
sc. IV.J
KING HENRY IV.
47
Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit.
Fal. He a good witHang him, baboon ! his wil
is as thick as Tewksbury mustard; there is no more
conceit in him, than is in a mallet.
Dol. Why does the prince love him so then ?
Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness; and
he plays at quoits well; and eats conger and fennel;'
and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons; ® and
rides the wild mare with the boys;® and jumps upon
joint-stools; and swears with a good grace ; and wears
his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the leg; and
breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories; ^ and
such other gambol faculties he hath,* that show a weak
mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits
him; for the prince himself is such another ; the weight
of a hair will turn the scales between their avoir¬
dupois.
P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel ® have his
ears cut off.?
Poins. Let's beat him before his whore.
P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his
poll clawed like a parrot.
Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many
years outlive performance ?
Fal. Kiss me, Doll.
P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc¬
tion!® What says the almanac to that?
1 Fennel was generally esteemed an inflammatory herb, and therefore
to eat conger and fennel was to eat two high and hot things togetlier.
Fennel was also regarded as an emblem offlattery.
2 Theflap-dragon was some small, combustible material swallowed alight
In a glass of liquor: a candle's end formed a very formidable and disagree¬
able flap-dragon, and to swallow it was considered an act of merit, or of
gallantry, when done in honor of the toper's mistress.
3 Riding the toild mare is another name for the childish sport of see¬
saw.
* Mr. Douce thinks Falstaff's meaning to be, that Poins excites no cen¬
sure telling his companions modest stories, or, in plain English, that he
tells them nothing but immodest ones.
® Falstaff is humorously called nave of a wheel, from his rotundity of
figure. The equivoque between nave and knave is obvious.
6 This was ir deed a prodigy. The astrologers, says Ficinus, remark,
that Saturn and Venus are never conjoined.
48
SECOND PART OF
[act (i
Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon,' his
man, be not lisping to his master's old tables, his note¬
book, his counsel-keeper.
Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses.
Dol. Nay, truly; 1 kiss thee with a most constant
heart.
Fal. I am old, 1 am old.
Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy
joung boy of them all.
Fal. What stuff" wilt have a kirtle® of ? I shall
receive money on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap to¬
morrow. A merry song, come : it grows late ; we'll to
bed. Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone.
Dol. By my troth thou'lt set me a wee{)ing, an thou
sayest so; prove that ever I dress myself handsome till
thy return. Well, hearken the end.
Fal. Some sack, Francis.
P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [^Advancing.
Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's ?—And art
not thou Poins his brother ?
P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what
a life dost thou lead ?
. Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou
art a drawer.
P. Hen. Very true, sir; and I come to draw you
out by the ears.
Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by
my troth, welcome to London.—Now the Lord bless
that sweet face of thine ! O, Jesu, are you come from
Wales ?
Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, -
by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.
[Leaning his hand upon Doll
Dol. How! you fat fool, I scorn you.
Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your re-
' Trigon or triangle, a term in the old judicial astrology. They called
It a Jieiy trigon when the three upper planets met in a fiery sign; which
was thought to denote rage and contention.-
2 A kirtle was a petticoat, which sometimes had a body without sleeves
attached to it.
8C. IV.]
KING HENRY iV.
49
venge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the
heat.
P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how v lely
did you speak of me even now, before this honest, vir¬
tuous, civil gentlewoman ?
Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart! and so sb.i is,
by my troth.
Fal. Didst thou hear me ? *
P. Hen. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did tvhen
you ran away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your
back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience.
Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast
within hearing.
P. Hen. I shall drive thee then to confess the wilful
abuse; and then I know how to handle you.
Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honor; no abuse.
. P. Hen. Not! to dispraise me, and call me—pan •
tier, and bread-chipper, and I know not what ?
Fal. No abuse, Hal.
Pains. No abuse!
Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned,
none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the
wicked might not fall in love with him ;—in which
doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a
true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it.
No abuse, Halnone, Ned, none ;—no, boys, none.
P. Hen. See, rlow, whether pure fear, and entire
cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gen¬
tlewoman to close with usIs she of the wicked ? Ij
thine hostess here of the wicked ? Or is the boy of the
wicked ? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in liis
nose, of the wicked ?
Pains. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irre¬
coverable ; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen,
where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the
boy,—there is a good angel about him ; but the devil
outbids him too.'
I The quarto reads, "and the devil Hinds liim too."
VOL. IV. 7
50
second part of
[act ii
P. Hen. For the women,—
Fal. For one of them,—she is in hell already, and
burns, poor soul! For the other,—I owe her money;
and whether she be damned for that, I know not.
Host. No, I warrant you.
Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit
for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee,
for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to
the law ; for the which, I think, thou wilt howl.
Host. All victuallers do so. What's a joint of
mutton or two in a whole Lent ?
P. Hen. You gentlewoman,
Dol. What says your grace ? '
Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels
against.
Host. Who knocks so loud at door ? Look to the
door there, Francis.
Enter Peto.
P. Hen. Peto, how now ? what news ?
Peto. The king your father is at Westminster;
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north; and, as I came along,
I met, and overtook, a dozen captains.
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for sir John Falstaff.
P. Hen. By Heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame
So idly to profane the precious time ;
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapor, doth begin to melt.
And drop upon our bare, unarmed heads.
Give me my sword, and cloak. Falstaff, good night.
[^Exeunt Prince Henry, Poins, Peto,
and Bardolph.
Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night,
and we must hence, and leave h unpicked. \_Knocking
heard ] More knocking at the door ?
sc. l.j
king henry iv.
51
Re-enter Bardolph.
How nowwhat's the matter ?
Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; a
dozen captains stay at door for you.
Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.]—
Farewell, hostess;—farewell, Doll.—You see, my good
wenches, how men of merit are sought after; the un-
deserver may sleep, when the man of action is called
3n. Farewell, good wenches ! If 1 be not sent away
post, I will see you again ere 1 go.
Dol. I cannot speak;—if my heart be not ready to
burst;—Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.
Fal. Farewell, farewell.
[Eooeunt Falstaff and Bardolpm. .
Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee
these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time ; but an
honester, and truer-hearted man,—well, fare thee well.
Bard. [Within.'] Mistress Tear-sheet,
Host. What's the matter ?
Bard. [Within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to
my master.
Host. O run, Doll, run ; run, good Doll. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. A Room in the Palace
Enter King Henry in his nightgown, with a Page.
K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of War¬
wick ;
But ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,
/\nd well consider of them. Make good speed.
[Exit Page
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
52
SECOND PART OF
[ACT HI
Are at this hour asleep!—O Sleep, O gentle 81' -p.
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee.
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?
Why rather. Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs.
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee.
And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slum-'er
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great.
Under the canopies of costly state.
And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody ?
O, thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile.
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case,' or a common 'larum bell ?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude, imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the t\inds.
Who take the ruffian billows by the top.
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging theiR
With deafening clamors in the slippery clouds,®
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ?
Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude.
And, in the calmest and most stillest night.
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low,® lie down .
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Enter Warwick and Surrey.
War. Many good morrows to your majesty!
K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords ?
• War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.
1 A watch case here may mean the case of a watch-light; but tl.e fol
lowing article, cited by Strutt in his Manners and Customs, vol. iii. p. 70,
from an old inventory, may throw some light upon it:—" Item, a laume
(laricin) or watche of iron, in an iron case, with two leaden plumets."
2 Some commentators propose to read shrouds instead of clouds.
3 Warburton conjectures, that this is a comipt readnig for happy loiclg
dcmm.
sc I.:
KING HENRY lY.
K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all,' my lords.
£Iave you read o'er the letters that I sent you ?
War. We have, my liege.
K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom
How foul it is; what rank diseases grow.
And with what danger, near the heart of it.
War. It is but as a body, yet, distempered ;
Which to his former strength may be restored.
With good advice, and little medicine.
My lord Northumberland will soon be cooled.
K. Hen. O Heaven! that one might read the bc.ok
of fate.
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountains level, and the continent
(Weary of solid firmness) melt itself
Into the sea! and, other times, to see
The beachy girdle of the ocean
Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock.
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors! O, if this were seen,®
The happiest youth—viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue—'
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
'Tis not ten }ears gone.
Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends.
Did feast together, and, in two years after,
Were they at wars. It is but eight years since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul;
Who, like a brother, toiled in my affairs.
And laid his love and life under my foot;
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of. Richard,
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by,^
(You, cousin Nevil,'' as I may remember,)
[7'o Warwk k.
1 This mode of phraseology, where only two persons are addressed, is
nsed again in King Henry VI. Part 2.
2 This and the three following lines are from the quarto copy.
3 The reference is to King Richard II. Act iv. Sc. 2: but neither War¬
wick nor the king were present at that conversation. Henry had then as¬
cended the throne.
* The earldom of Warwick was at this time intlie family of Benuckamp,
94
SEC(JND PART OP
[ACT m
VV hen Richard—with his eyes brimfull of tears,
Then checked and rated by Northumberland—
Did speak these words, now proved a prophecy ?
Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;
Though then, Heaven knows, I had no such intent.
But that necessity so bowed the state.
That I and greatness were compelled to kiss:
The time shall come, thus did he follow it.
The time loill come, that ford sin, gathering head.
Shall break into corruption ;—so went on.
Foretelling this same time's condition.
And the division of our amity.
War. There is a history in all men's lives.
Figuring the nature of the times deceased;
Tlie which observed, a man may prophesy.
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life; which in their seeds.
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time;
And, by the necessary form of this.
King Richard might create a perfect guess.
That great Northumberland, then false to him.
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness;
Which should not find a ground to root upon.
Unless on you.
K. Hen. Are these things then necessities ?
Then let us meet them like necessities:—
And that same word even now cries out on us;
They say, the bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.
War. It cannot be, my lord;
Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo.
The numbers of the feared:—Please it your grace
To go to bed; upon my life, my lord.
The powers that you already have sent forth,
and did not come into that of the JVemls till many years after; when Anne,
the daughter of this earl, married Richard JVevil, son of the earl of Salis¬
bury, who ma'ces a conspicuous fi^re in the Third Part of King Henry
V I. under the title of earl of Warwick,
60. 11.]
RI^G HENRY IV.
55
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I have received
A certain instance, that Glendower is dead.'
your majesty hath been this fortnight ill;
And these unseasoned hours, perforce, must add
Unto your sickness.
K. Hen. I will take your counsel;
And, were these inward wars once out of hand.
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [^Exeunt.
SCENE II. Court before Justice Shallow's House in
Gloucestershire.
Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting; Mouldy,
Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-calf, and Servants,
behind.
Shal. Come on, come on, come on ; give me your
hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by
the rood.® And how doth my good cousin Silence ?
Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.
Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow.''
and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter
Ellen ?
Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.
Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin
William is become a good scholar. He is at Oxford
still, is he not ?
Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost.
Shal. He must then to the inns of court shortly
I was once of Clement's inn, where, I think, they will
talk of mad Shallow yet.
Sil. You were called—^lusty Shallow, then, cousin.
Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I
would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too.
There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and
1 Glendower did not die till after king Henry IV Shakspeare was led
into this error by Holinshed.
2 The rood is the cross or crucifix [rode, Sax.).
56
SECOND PART OF
[ACT in
black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, and Will
Squele, a Cotswold man,'—you had not four such
swinge-bucklers^ in all the inns of court again: and,
I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas®
were; and had the best of them all at commandment.
Then was Jack Falstaff, now sir John, a boy, and
page to Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk.
Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon
about soldiers ?
Shal. The same sir John, the very same. I saw
him break Skogan's * head at the court gate, when he
was a crack,® not thus high; and the very same day
did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer,
behind Gray's Inn. O, the mad days that I have
spent! and to see how many of mine old acquaintance
are dead!
Sil. We shall all follow, cousin.
Shal. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure:
death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all: all shall
die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair ?
Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there.
Shal. Death is certain.—Is old Double of your
town living yet ?
Sil. Dead, sir.
Shal. Dead !—See, see !—he drew a good bow :—
And dead !—he shot a fine shoot:—John of Gaunt
loved him well, and betted much money on his head.
Dead!—he would have clapped i' the clout at twelve
score; ® and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen
and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a
1 The Cotswold hills in Gloucestershije were famous for rural sports
of all kinds.
2 Swinge-hucklers and swash-bucklers were terms implying rakes and
rioters.
3 " Buon a-roha as we say, good stuff; a good, wholesome, plump-checked
wench." Fiona.
4 Shakspeare probably got his idea of Scogan from his jests, which
were published by Andrew Bordein the reign of king Henry Vlll.
5 A crack is a boy.
6 Hit the white mark at twelve score yards. By the statute 33 Hen
Vlll. c. y, every person turned of seventeen years of age, who shoots at a
less distance than twelve score, is to forfeit six shillings and eight pence
sc. ii.]
king henry iv.
51
aian's heart good to see. How a score of ewes
now ?
Sil Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes
may be worth ten pounds.
SJial, And is old Double dead ?
. Enter Bardolph, and one with him.
Sil. Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men, as
I think.
Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen : I beseech
you, which is justice Shallow.^
Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of
this county, and one of the king's justices of the peace.
What is your good pleasure with me ?
Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you ; my
captain, sir John Falstaff; a tall gentleman, by Heaven,
and a most gallant leader.
Shal. He greets me well, sir: I knew him a good
backsword-man. How doth the good knight.? may
I ask how my lady his wife doth.?
Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommo¬
dated, than with a wife.
Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well
said indeed too. Better accommodated!—it is good :
yea, indeed, it is; good phrases are surely, and ever
were, very commendable. Accommodated!—it comes
from accommodo: very good ; a good phrase.^
Bard. Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word.
Phrase, call you it ? By this good day, I know not
the phrase; but I will maintain the word with my
sword, to be a soldierlike word, and a word of ex¬
ceeding good command. Accommodated: that is,
when a man is, as they say, accommodated; or, when
a man is,—being,—whereby,—he may be thought to
be accommodated; which is an excellent thing.
' It appears that it was fashionable in the Poet's time to introduce tnis
word accommodate upon all occasions. Ben Jonson, in his Discoveries,
calls it one of the perfumed terms of tiie time.
VOL. IV. 8
58 ' second part of
[act 111
Enter Falstaff.
Shal. It is very just.—Look, here comes good sir
John.—Give me your good hand, give me your wor¬
ship's good hand. By my troth, you loo^ well, and
bear your years very well: welcome, good sir John.
Fal. I am glad to see you well, good master Robert
Shallow.—Master Sure-card, as I think.
Shal. No, sir John: it is my cousin Silence, in
commission with me.
Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you should
be of the peace.
Sil. Your good worship is welcome.
Fal. Fie! this is hot weather.—Gentlemen, have
you prbvided me here half a dozen sufficient men ?
Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit ?
Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you.
Shal. Where's the roll ? where's the roll ? where's
the roll ?—Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so:
Yea, marry, sir.—Ralph Mouldy:—let them appear as
I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let me see;
where is Mouldy ?
Moul. Here, an't please you.
Shal. What think you, sir John ? a good-limbed
fellow; young, strong, and of good friends.
Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ?
Moul. Yea, an't please you.
Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used.
Shal. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! things
that are mouldy, lack use. Very singular good!—In
faith, well said, sir John; very well said.
Fal. Prick him. [To Shallow.
Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an you
could have let me alone; my old dame will be undone
now, for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery;
you need not to have pricked me ; there are other men
fitter to go out than I.
Fal. Go to; peace. Mouldy, you shall go. Mouldy,
It is time you were spent.
Moul Spent!
II.]
KING HENRY JV.
59
Shal. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside. Know
vou where you are ?—For the other, sir John,—let me
see.—Simon Shadow '
Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under ; he's
like to be a cold soldier.
Shal. Where's Shadow ?
Shad. Here, sir.
Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou ^
Shad. My mother's son, sir.
Fal. Thy mother's son! like enough; and thy
father's shadow; so the son of the female is the shad¬
ow of the male. It is often so, indeed ; but not much
of the father's substance.
Shal. Do you like him, sir John ?
Fal. Shadow will serve for summer,—prick him;—
for we have a number of shadows to fill up the muster
book.
Shal. Thomas Wart!
Fal. Where's he ?
Wart. Here, sir.
Fal. Is thy name Wart ?
Wart. Yea, sir.
Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart.
Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John ?
Fal. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built
pon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins;
prkk him no more.
Shal. Ha, ha, ha!—^you can do it, sir; you can do
it: I commend you well.—Francis Feeble !
Fee. Here, sir.
Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble
Fee. A woman's tailor, sir.
Shal. Shall I prick him, sir ?
Fal. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor,
he would have pricked you.—Wilt thou make as many
holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done in a
woman's petticoat ?
Fee. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no
more.
Fal. W ell said, good woman's tailor! well said.
60
SECOND PART OF
[ACT III.
courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valiant as the
wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse.—Prick
the woman's tailor well, master Shallow ; deep, master
Shallow.
Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir.
Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor; that thou
might'st mend him and make him fit to go. I cannot
put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of so
many thousands. Let that suffice, most forcible
Feeble.
Fee. It shall suffice, sir.
Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble.—Who
is next.^
Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green!
Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf.
Bull. Here, sir.
Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow !—Come, prick me
Bull-calf till he roar again.
Bull. O Lord! good my lord captain,—
Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked ?
Bull. O Lord, sir I I am a diseased man.
Fal. What disease hast thou ?
Bull. A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, sir; which I
caught with ringing in the king's affairs, upon his coro¬
nation-day, sir.
Fal. Come, thou shaft go to the wars in a gown ; we
will have away thy cold; and I will take such order,
that thy friends shall ring for thee.—Is here all ?
Slud. Here is two' more called than your number;
you must have but four here, sir;—and so", I pray you,
go in with me to dinner.
Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth,
master Shallow.
Shal. O, sir John, do you remember since we lay
all night in the windmill in Saint George's Fields ?
Fal. No more of that, good master Shallow, no
more of that.
1 There is in fact, but one more called tlian Falstaff required ; perhaps
wp. might, wiih Mr Capel, omit the word two.
sc. ll.J
KING HENRY IV.
61
Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane
Night-work alive
Fnl. She lives, master Shallow.
Shal. She never could away with me.
Fal. Never, never ; she would always say, she could
not abide masier Shallow.
■ Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart.
'She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own
ivell ?
Fal. Old, old, master Shallow.
Shal. Nay, she must be old ; she cannot choose but
be old ; certain, she's old ; and had Robin Night-work
by old Night-work, before I came to Clement's Inn.
Sil. That's fifty-five years ago.
Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that
this knight and I have seen !—Ha, sir John, said I well.^
.Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, mas¬
ter Shallow.
Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have ,
m faith, sir John, we have ; our watch-word was. Hem.,
boys!—Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to dinner.—
O, the days that we have seen !—Come, come.
[^Fjxeunt Fal., Shal., and Silence
Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my
friend; and here is four Harry ten shillings' in French
crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be
hanged, sir, as go; and yet, for mine own part, sir, I
do not care ; but rather, because I am unwilling, and,
for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my
friends ; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part, so
much.
Bard. Go to; stand aside.
Maul. And, good master corporal captain, for mv old
dame's sake, stand my friend; she has nobody to do
any thing about her, when I am gone; and she is old,
and cannot help herself; you shall have forty, sir. ■
Bard. Go to; stand aside.
1 There were no reins of ten shillings value in Henry tlie Fourtli's time
Bhakspeare's Harry ten shillings were those of Henry VH. or VHI.
62
SECOND PART OF
[act in
Fee. By my troth, I ^are not;—a man can die
hut once ;—we owe God a death ;—I'll ne'er bear a
base mind an't be my destinyj so; an't be not, so
No man's too good to serve his prince; and, let it go
which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the
next.
Bard. Well said : thou'rt a good fellow
Fee. Faith, I'll bear no base mind.
Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices.
Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ?
Shal. Four, of which you please.
Bard. Sir, a word with you.—I have three pound
to free Mouldy and Bull-calf.
Fal. Go to 5 well.
Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have ?
Fal. Do you choose for me.
Shal. Marry then, Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and
Shadow.
Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf;—For you. Mouldy,
stay at home till you are past service;—and, for your,
part. Bull-calf, grow till you come unto it; I will
none of you.
Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong,
they are your likeliest men, and I would have you
served with the best.
Fal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to
choose a man ? Care I for the limb, the thewes,^ the
stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give
me the spirit, master Shallow.—Here's Wart;—you
see what a ragged appearance it is: he shall charge
you, and discharge you, with the motion of a pewterer's
hammer; come off, and on, swifter than he that gib-
bets-on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-faced
fellow. Shadow,—give me this man ; he presents no
mark to the enemy ; the foeman may with as great aim
r Shakspeare uses thtwes in a sense almost peculiar to himself, tor muc-
cji/ar strength or sinews.
sc. 11.]
KING HENRY IV.
level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat,—
how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run
off! O, give me the spare men, and spare me the
great ones.—Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, Bar-
dolph.
Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse' thus, thus, thus.
Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So;—very
well;—go to ;—very good :—exceeding good.—O,
give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald shot.®
—Well said, i' faith. Wart; thou art a good scab; hold,
there's a tester for thee.
Shal. He is not his craft's-master, he doth not do it
right. I remember at MUe-end Green,® (when I lay
at Clement's Inn,—I was then sir Dagonet in Arthur's
show,^) there was a little quiver ® fellow, and 'a would
manage you his piece thus; and 'a would about, and
about, and come you in, and come you in; rah, tah,
tah, would 'a say; bounce, would 'a say; and away
again would 'a go, and again would 'a come.—I shall
never see such a fellow.
Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shallow.
—God keep you, master Silence ; I will not use many
words with you.—Fare you well, gentlemen both ; I
thank you; I must a dozen mile to-night.—Bardolph,
give the soldiers coats.
Shal. Sir John, •Heaven bless you, and prosper your
affairs, and send us peace! As you return, visit my
- Traverse was an ancient military term for march !
■« Shot, for shooter.
3 Mile-end Green was the place for public sports and exercises.
* Arthur's shrno was an exhibition of Toxopholites, styling themselves
The Auncient Order, Society, and Unitie laudable of Prince Anhure
and his Knightly Armory of tiie Round Table." The associates were
fifty-eight in number. According to their historian and poet, Ricliard
Robinson, this society was established by charter under king Henry the
Eighth, who, " when he sawe a good archer indeede, he chose him and
ordained such a one for a knight of this order." Robinson's book was
printed in 1.583. Sir Dagonet, thougli one of the knights, is also repre¬
sented in the romance as king Arthur's fool. This society is also noticed
by Richard Mulcaster (who was a member) in his book Concerning the
Training up of Children, 1.5^1, in a passage communicated to Malone by
tlie Rev. Mr. Bowie.
® Quiver is nimble, active.
64
SECOND PART OF
[ACT III
house; let our old acquaintance be renewed ; perad-
venture, I will with you to the court.
Fal. I would you would, master Shallow.
Shot. Go to; I have spoke, at a word. Fare you
well. [Exeunt Shallow and Silence.
Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar-
dolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardoi..ph,
Recruits, ^c.] As I return, I will fetch off these jus¬
tices ; 1 do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord,
Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
This same starved justice hath done nothing but
prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats
he had done about Turnbull-street! ^ and every third
word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's
tribute. I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like a
man made after supper of a cheese-paring; when he
was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked
radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a
knife; he was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any
thick sight were invincible; ® he was the very Genius
of famine ; [yet lecherous as a monkey, and the whores
called him mandrake.] He came ever in the rear-ward
of the fashion ; [and sung those tunes to the over-
scutched ® huswives that he heard the carmen whistle,
and sware they were his fancies, or his gtiod-nights.'']
And now is this Vice's dagger ® become a squire; and
talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had been
sworn brother to him ; and I'll be sworn he never saw
him but once in the Tilt-yard; and then he burst ® bis
head, for crowding.among the marshal's men. I saw
1 TurihuU-street, or Twnball-strect, is a corruption of Tumviill-siretL
near Clerkenwell; anciently the resort of bullies, rogues, and other disso¬
lute persons.
2 Steeveas has adopted Rowe's alteration of this wojd mvincible to iti-
visible. The word may be metaphorically used for vot to be masitred oi
taken in.
3 i. e. whipped, carted, A scuicher was a whip, accoidiiig to Cotgrave,
< Titles of little poeihs. The sentences in brackets are not in the folic
oflG2.3.
5 For some account of tlie Vice and his dagger of lalh, the reader may
see Twelfth Night, Act iv. Sc. 2.
6 Burst, brast and broken, were formerly synonymous; as may be seen
under the words break and broken in Baret.
8C i.] king hfinry iv. 65
it, and told John of Gaunt, he beat his own nam«^,
for jou might have trussed him, and all his apparel,
mto an eel-skin ; the case of a treble hautboy was a
mansion for him, a court: and now has he land and
beeves. Well; I will be acquainted with him, if I
return; and it shall go hard, but I will make him a
philosopher's two stones to me: If the young dace be
a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in the law of
nature, but 1 may snap at him. Let time shape, and
there ail end. \_Exit
ACT IV.
SCENE I. A Forest in Yorkshire.
Enter the Archbishop q/" York, Mowbray, Hastings,
and others.
Arch. What is this forest called ?
Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your
grace.
Arch. Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers
forth,
To know the numbers of our enemies.
Hast. We have sent forth already.
Arch.' 'Tis well done
My friends, and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have received
New-dated letters from Northumberland ;
Their cold intent, tenor, and substance, thus:—
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
As might hold sortance' with his quality,
Thu which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes.
To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers,
I Be suitable.
VOL. IV. 9
66
second part of
[act iv
That your attempts may overlive the hazard,
And fearful meeting of their opposite.
Mowh. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch
ground,
And dash themselves to pieces.
Enter a Messenger.
Hast. Now, what news ^
Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile.
In goodly form, comes on the enemy;
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand.
Mmvk' The just proportion that we gave them out
fjet us sway ^ on, and face them in the field
Enter Westmoreland.
Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here
Mowh. I think it is my lord of Westmoreland.
West. Health and fair greeting from our general.
The prince lord John and duke of Lancaster.
Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace
What doth concern your coming ?
West. Then, my lord.
Unto your grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Ijcd on by bloody ® youth, guarded ^ with rage.
And countenanced by boys, and beggary ;
I say, if damned commotion so appeared
In his true, native, and most proper shape,—
Vou, reverend father, and these noble lords
[lad not been here, *o dress the ugly form
> To sxoai) was sometimes used for a rushing, hasty movement
2 Baret distinguishes between bloody, full of blood, sanguineous and
bloody, desirous of blood, sanguinarius. In this speech Shakspeare uses
the word in both senses.
3 Guar led is a metaphoi taken from dress; to guard being to ornament
mth ffuards or facings
KING HENRY IV.
67
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honors. You, lord aichbishop,—
Whose see is by a civil peace maintained ;
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touched,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutored;
Whose white investments' figure innocence,
The dove and Very blessed spirit of peace,—
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself.
Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war ?
Turning your books to graves,^ your ink to blood.
Your pens to lances; and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet, and a point of war^ii
Arch, Wherefore do I this ?—so the question
stands.
Briefly to this end.—We are all diseased ;
And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours.
Have brought ourselves in\o a burning fever.
And we must bleed for it; of which disease
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died.
But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland,
i take not on me here as a physician;
Nor do I as an enemy to peace.
Troop in the throngs of military men ;
But, rather, show a while like fearful war.
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness;
And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weighed
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer.
And find our griefs heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth run.
And are enforced from our most quiet sphere'
1 " Formerly all bishops wore white, even when they travelled."—Hodys
History of Convocations, p. 141. This white investment was the episcopal
rochet.
Warburton very plausibly reads g'lrtiue.?; Steevens proposed"greniies.
It should be remarked that greaves, or leg-armor, is sometimes spelled
gtaves.
3 The old copies read, " from our most quiet there.^ Warburton made
the alteration.
68
second part of
[act IV.
By the rough torrent of Ovxasion ;
And have the summary of ail our griefs,
When time shall serve, to show in articles;
Which, long ere this, we offered to the king.
And might by no suit gain our audience.
When we are wronged, and would unfold t»ur griefs.
We are denied access unto his person ^
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The dangers of the days but newly gone,
(Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples
Of every minut(i's instance,® (present now,)
Have put us in, these ill-beseeming arms ;
Not to break peace, or any branch of it;
But to establish here a peace indeed.
Concurring both in name and quality.
West. When ever yet was your appeal denied ?
Wherein have you been galled by the king ?
What peer hath been suborned to grate on you f
That you should seal this lawless, bloody book
Of forged rebellion with a seal divine.
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge
Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth,
To brother born a household cruelty,
I make my quarrel in particular.^
West. There is no need of any such redress ,
Or, if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mowb. Why not to him, in part; and to us all.
That feel the bruises of the days before;
And suffer the condition of these times
r In Holinshed, the archbishop says," Where he and his companne were
in armes, it was for feare of the king, to whom he coulu have no free ac-
cesse, by reason of such a multitude of flatterers as were about him."
2 "Examples which every minute instances or supplies;" which even
the present minute presses on their notice.
3 This line is omitted in the folio.
4«The second line of this obscure speech is omitted in the folio. Some-
(Jiing appears to be wanting to render it intelligible. Johnson proposes
to substitute the word quarrel for brother in the first line, and suggests the
following paraphrase; "My general cause of discontent is public niisinan
ogemeiii; my particular cause a domestic injury done to my na'airal
brother," who had been beheaded by the king's order.
sc. 1]
KING HENRY IV
69
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honors
West. O, my good lord Mowbray,*
Construe the times to their necessities,
And you shall say indeed,—it is the time.
And not the king, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me.
Either from the king, or in the present time.
That you should have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on. Were you not restored
To all the duke of Norfolk's seigniories.
Your noble and right well-remembered father's
Mowb. What thing in honor had my father lost,
That need to be revived and breathed in me ?
The king that loved him, as the state stood then,
Was, force perforce, compelled to banish him.
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he,—
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats.
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur.
Their armed staves® in charge, their beavers down.
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights ® of steel.
And the loud trumpet blowing them together
Then, then, when there was nothing could have stayed
My father fiom the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the king did throw his warder down.
His own life hung upon the staff he threw ;
Then threw he down himself; and all their lives.
That by indictment, and by dint of sword.
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know
not what.
The earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman ;
Who knows, on whom fortune would then have smiled ?
But, if your father had been victor there,
1 The thirty-seven following lines are not in the quarto.
2 i. e. their lances fixed in the rest for the encounter.
3 The perforated part of the helmets, througli which they could see to
direct their aim (visiere, Fr.).
* This is a mistake ; he was duke of Herefc rd.
70
second part op
[act iv.
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;
For all the country, in a general voice,
Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers, and love*
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
And blessed, and graced indeed, more than the king.
But this is mere digression from my purpose.—
Here come I from our princely general.
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace,
That he will give you audience ; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just.
You shall enjoy them; every thing set off.
That might so much as think you enemies.
Moiob. But he hath forced us to compel this ofler
And it proceeds from policy, not love.
West. Mowbray, you overween, to take it so
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear;
For, lo! within a ken our army lies;
Upon mine honor, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
• Our men more perfect in the use of arms.
Our armor all as strong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good.—
Say you not, then, our offer is compelled.
Mmvh. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley
West. That argues but the shame of your offence
A rotten case abides no handling.
Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission.
In very ample virtue of his father.
To hear, and absolutely, to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ?
West. That is intended in the general'^ name
I muse, you make so slight a question.
Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this
schedule;
For this contains our general grievances.—
Each several article herein redressed;
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinewed to this action,
Acquitted by a true, substantial form,
king henry iv.
71
And present execution of our wills
To us,-and to our purposes, consigned,—'
We come within our awful ® banks again.
And knit our powers to the arm of peace
West. This will I show the general. Please jou
lords,
In sight of both our battles we may meet:
And either end in peace, which Heaven so frame;
Or to the place of difference call the swords
Which must decide it.
Arch. My lord, we will do so.
[Exit West.
Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me,
That no conditions of pur peace can stand.
Hast. Fear you not that. If we can make our peace
Upon such large terms, and so absolute.
As our conditions shall consist® upon.
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such.
That every slight and false-derived cause.
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason.
Shall, to the king, taste of this action;
That, were our royal faiths * martyrs in love.
We shall be winnowed with so rough a wind.
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff.
And good from bad find no partition.
Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this; the king is
weary
Of dainty and such picking ' grievances ;
For he hath found,—to end one doubt by death,
Revives two greater in the heirs of life. \
And therefore will he wipe his tables ® clean;
Atd keep no telltale to his memory,
1 The old copy reads confined. Johnson proposed to read consigned;
which must be understood in the Latin sense, covsignatiis, signed, sealeil,
raliJUd, confirmed; which was indeed the old meaning. ShakspeEure usee
consign and consigning in other places in this sense.
2 .dufiid for lawful; or under the due awe of authority.
3 To (onsist, to rest; consisto.—Buret.
* The faith due to a king.
5 Insignificant
® Alluding to table books of slate, ivory, &c.
72
SECOND PART OF
[act iv.
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance. For full well he knows
He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occasion.
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
That, plucking to unfix an enemy,
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife.
That hath enraged him on to offer strokes.
As he is striking, holds his infant up,
And hangs resolved correction in the arm
That was upreared to execution.
Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement;
So that his power, like to a fangless lion.
May offer, but not hold.
Arch. 'Tis very true;—
And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal.
If we do now make our atonement well.
Our peace will, like a broken limb united.
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Mowb. Be it so.
Here is returned my lord of Westmoreland.
Re-enter Westmoreland.
West. The prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your
lordship
lb meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies.?
* Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then set
forward.
Arch. Before, and greet his grace: my lord, we
come. I Exeunt
sc. ii.]
king henry iv.
"3
SCENE II. Another Part of the Forest
Enter, from one side, Mowbray, the Arclibishop,
Hastings, and others: from the other side. Prince
John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers, and
Attendants.
P. John. You are well encountered here, my cousin
Mowbray.—
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop;
And so to you, lord Hastings,—and to all.—
My lord of York, it better showed with you.
When that your flock, assembled by the bell.
Encircled you, to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text.
Than now to see you here an iron man,^
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man that sits within a monarch's heart.
And ripens in the sunshine of his favor.
Would he abuse the countenance of the king.
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach.
In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop.
It is even so.—Who hath not heard it spoken.
How deep you were within the books of God ?
To us, the speaker in his parliament;
To us, the imagined voice of God himself;
The very opener, and intelligencer.
Between the grace, the sanctities of Heaven,
Arid our dull workings.® O, who shall believe.
But you misuse the reverence of your place;
Employ the countenance and grace of Heaven,
As a false favorite doth his prince's name.
In deeds dishonorable ? You have taken up,®
1 Holinshed says of the archbishop, that, " coining forth amongst thens
dad in armour, he encouraged and pricked them fourth to take tlie enier-
piize in hand."
2 Dull workings are labors of thought,
3 Raised up in arms,
VOL. IV. 10
74
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV.
Under the counterfeited zeal of God,
The subjects of Heaven's substitute, my father;
And, ixjth against the peace of Heaven and him.
Have here up-swarmed them.
Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster
f am not here against your father's peace ;
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time rnisordered doth, in common sense,'
Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form.
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief;
The which hath been with scorn shoved from the court
Whereon this Hydra son of war is born;
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charmed asleep,
With grant of our most just and right desires;
And true obedience of this madness cured.
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.
Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
To the last man.
Hast. And though we here fall down.
We have supplies to second our attempt.
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them;
And so, success® of mischief shall be born;
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up.
Whiles England shall have generation.
P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much toe
shallow.
To sound the bottom of the after-times.
West. Pleaseth your grace to answer them directly,
How far-forth do you like their articles ?
P. John. I like them all, and do allow them well;
And swear here by the honor of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook;
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning, and authority.—
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redressed;
Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you.
' ColMnon sense is the gynertd sense of general danger.
8 Succession.
sc. II.
KING HENRV IV.
5
Discharge your powers' unto their several counties,
As we will ours; and here, between the armifes,
Let's drink together friendly, and embrace ;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home.
Of our restored love and amity.
Ai'ch. I take your princely word for these redresses
P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word
And thereupon I drink unto your grace.
Hast. Go, captain, [To an Officer.] and deliver to
the army
This news of peace; let them have pay, and part;
I know it will well please them. Hie thee, captain.
[Exit Officer
Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland.
West. I pledge your grace ; and, if you knew what
pains
I have bestowed to breed this present peace.
You would drink freely; but my love to you
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
Arch. I do not doubt you.
West. I am glad of it. •
Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
Motvb. You wish me health in very happy season;
For I am, on the sudden, something ill.
Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry;
But heaviness foreruns the good event.
West. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow
Serves to say thus,—Some good thing comes to-morrow.
Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.
Mowh. So much the worse, if your own rule be true.
[Shouts loithin.
P. John. The word of peace is rendered. Haik,
how they shout!
Moivb. This had been cheerful, after victory.
Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest,
1 It was Westmoreland who made this deceitful proposal, as appears
firoin Holinshed:—" The earl of Westmoreland, using more policie than
the rest, said, whereas our people have been long in armour, let them de¬
part home to their woonted trades; In the mean time let us drink togither
in signe of agreement, that the people on both sides may see it, and know
that it is true, that we be light at a point."
76
second part of
[ACr iv
For then l^th parties nobly are subdued,
And neither party loser.
P. John. Go, my lord.
And let our army be discharged too.—
[Exit Westmoreland.
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains
March by us; that we may peruse the men
We should have coped withal.
Arch. Go, good lord Hastings,
And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by.
[Exit Hastings.
P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night
together.—
Re-enter Westmoreland.
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ?
West. The leaders, having charge from you to stand
Will not go off until they hear you speak.
P. John. They know their duties.
Re-enter Hastings.
Hast. My lord, our army is dispersed already
Like youthful steers unyoked, they take their courses
East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up,
Each hurries toward his home, and sporting-place.
West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings ; for the which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason ;—
And you, lord archbishop,—and you, lord Mowbray,—
Of capital treason I attach you both.
Moioh. Is this proceeding Just and honorable.?
W^est. Is your assembly so ?
Arch. Will you thus break your faith ?
P. John. I pawned thee none.
I promised you redress of these same grievances.
Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine homir,
I will perform with a most Christian care.
But, for you, rebels,—look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours.
sc. III.l
king henry iv
77
Most sliallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly' brought here, and foolishly sent hence.—
Strike up our drums, pursue the scattered stray;
Heaven, and not we, have safely fought to-day.—
Some guard these traitors to the block of death ;
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. [^Exeunt'
SCENE III. Another Part of the Forest. Alarums,
Excursions.
Enter Falstaff and Colevile, meeting.
Fat. What's your name, sir ? of what condition are
you; and of what place, I pray ?
Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is—Cole -
vile of the dale.
Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight is
your degree and your place, the dale. Colevile shall
still be your name; a traitor your degree; and the
dungeon your place,—a place deep enough: so shall
you still be Colevile of the dale.
Cole. Are not you sir John Falstalf?
Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do
ye yield, sir ?. or shall I sweat for you ? If I do sweat,
they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy
death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do
observance to my mercy.
Cole. I think you are sir John Falstaff; and in
that thought, yield me.
Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly
of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any
other word but my name. An I had but a belly of
any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow
in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes
me.—Here comes our general.
I i. e. foolishly.
® "It cannot but raise some indignation to find this horrid violation of
faith passed over thus sliglitly by the Poet without any note of censure
or detestation."—Johnson.
78
second part of
[act iv
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland,
and others.
P. John. The heat is past; follow no further now;—
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.—
[Exit West.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other, break some gallows' back.
Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be
thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was
the reward of valor. Do you think me a swallow, an
arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my poor and old motion,
the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither
with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have
foundered nine score and odd posts; and here, travel-
tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate
valor, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furi
ous knight, and valorous enemy. But what of that ?
He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with
the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, 1 came, saw, and
overcame.
P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your
deserving.
Fal. I know not; here he is, and here I yield him ,
and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the
rest of this day's deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have
it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on
the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot. To the which
course, if I be enforced, if you do not all show like
gilt two-pences to me ; and I, in the clear sky of fame,
o'ersliine you as much as the full moon doth the cin¬
ders of the element,' which show like pins' heads to
her; believe not the word of the noble. Therefore
let me have right, and let desert mount.
' P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount
Fal. Let it shine then.
1 A lu^crous term for the stara-
sc. Ill ]
KING HENRY IV.
79
P. John. Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.
P. John. Is thy name Cole vile
Cole. It is, my lord
P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal. And a famous true subject took him.
Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are,
That led me hither; had they been ruled by me.
You should have won them dearer than you have.
Fal. I know not how they sold themselves; but
thou,^ like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away; and
I thank thee for thee.
Re-enter Westmoreland.
P. John. Now, have you left pursuit.?
West. Retreat is made, and execution stayed.
P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates.
To York, to present execution.®—
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure.
[^Exeunt some with Colevile
And now despatch we toward the court, my lords;
I hear, the king my father is sore sick.
Our news shall go before us to his majesty,—
Which, cousin, you shall bear,—to comfort him;
And we with sober speed will follow you.
Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go
1 It appears that Colevile was desired to be pronounced as a trisyl¬
lable ; it is often spelled CoUevilte in the old copies.
2 "At the king's coming to Durham the lord Hastings, sir John Cole¬
vile of the dale, &c. being convicted of the conspiracy, were there behead¬
ed."—Holinshed, p. 530. It is to be observed that there are two accounts
of the termination of the archbishop of York's conspiracy, both of which
are given by Holinshed. He states that on the archbishop and earl mar¬
shal submitting to tha king and to his son prince John, there present,
" their troopes skaled and fledde ther wayes; but being pursued, mar.y
were taken, many slain, &c.; the archbishop and earl marshall were
brought to Pomfret to the king, who from thence went to Yorke, whither
the prisoners were also brought, and there beheaded" It is this last account
that Shakspeare has followed, but with some variation; for the names of
Colevile and Hastings are not mentioned among those who were behead
•d at York.
80
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV
through Glostershire; and, when you come to court,
stand my good lord,^ 'pray, in your good report.
P.John. Fare you well, Falstaff; I, in my condi¬
tion,^
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit.
Fal. 1 would you had but the wit; 'twere better
than your dukedom.—Good faith, this same young,
sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man cannot
make him laugh ;—but that's no marvel; he drinks no
wine. There's never any of these demure boys come
to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their
blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into
a kind of male green-sickness ; and then, when they
marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools and
cowards;—which some of us should be too, but for in¬
flammation. A good sherris sack hath a twofold
operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries
me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapors
which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, for-
getive,^ full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes;
which delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which
is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second prop¬
erty of your excellent sherris is,—the warming of the
blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver
white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and
cowardice: but the sherris warms it, and makes it
course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It il-
lurnineth the face ; which, as a beacon, gives warning
to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm : and
then the vital commoners, and inland petty spirits,
muster me all to their captain, the heart; who, great,
and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of cour¬
age ; and this valor comes of sherris. So that skill in
the weapon is nothing, without sack; for that sets it
a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a
1 Stand my good lord, or he my good lord, means stand my friend, he my
patron or hen^actor, report well ot me.
2 Condition is most frequently used by Shalcspeare for nature, disposition.
The prince may therefore mean, «I shall, in my good nature, speak bettei
»f you than you deserve."
3 Inventive, imaginative
sc. iv.]
king henry iv.
81
devil till sack commences it, and sets it in act and
use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is valiant,
for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father,
•/ '
he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, hus¬
banded, and tilled, with excellent endeavor of drinking
good, and good store of fertile sherris; that he is be¬
come very hot, and valiant. If I had a thousand sons,
the first human principle I would teach them, should
ue,—to forswear thin potations, and addict themselves
o sack.
Enter Bardolph.
How now, Bardolph ?
Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone.
Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire; and
there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire. I
have him already tempering between my finger and my
thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come away.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. Westminster. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humfhrev,
Warwick, and others.
K. Hen. Now, lords, if Heaven doth give successful
end
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors.
We will our youth lead on to higher fields,
And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
Our navy is addressed,® our power collected.
Our substitutes in absence well invested.
And every thing lies level to our wish ;
Only, we want a little personal strength;
And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot,
Come underneath the yoke of government.
t It was anciently supposed that all the mines of gold, &c. were giiard-
ed by evil spirits. See the Secret Wonders of Nature and Art, by Edw
Fenton, 15()9, p. 91.
a Ready prepared.
vol. tv. 11
B3
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV.
IVar. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty
Shall soon enjoy.
K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster,
Where is the prince your brother ?
P. Humph. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at
Windsor.
K. Hen. And how accompanied ?
P. Humph. I do not know, my lord
K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence,
with him ?
P. Humph. No, my good lord; he is in presence
here.
Cla. What would my lord and father
K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clar
ence.
How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas;
Thou hast a better place in his affection.
Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy;
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren.—
Therefore, omit him not; blunt not his love ;
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace.
By seeming cold or careless of his will.
For he is gracious, if he be observed
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity:
Yet, notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint;
As humorous® as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.®
His temper, therefore, must be well observed.
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
1 i. e. if he has respectful attenlion shown him,
® Humorous for capricious.
3 Alluding to the opinion of some philosophers, that the vapors being
congealed in the air by cold (which is tlm most intense in the morning^
and being afterwards rarefied and let loose by tlie warmth of the sun, oc
casion those sudden and impetuous gusts of wind which are called Jicaes
Shakspeare uses the word again in King Henry VI. and in his Venus and
Adonis.
6C. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
83
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth,
But, being moody, give him line and scope ;
rill that his passions, like a whale on ground.
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,
Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in;
That the united vessel of their blood.
Mingled with venom of suggestion,'
(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,)
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder.
Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love.
K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him,
Thomas ?
Cla. He is not there to-day; he dines in London.
K. Hen. And how accompanied ? canst thou tell
that ?
Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers
K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds;
And he, the noble image of my youth.
Is overspread with them. Therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ;
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape.
In forms imaginary, the ungqided days.
And rotten times, that you shall look upon.
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors.
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall his affections fly
Towards fronting peril and opposed decay!
War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite
The prince but studies his companions.
Like a strange tongue; wherein, to gain the language,
'Tis needful, that the most immodest word
Be looked upon, and learned ; which once attained,
1 Though their blood be inflamed by the temptutipns to which youth u
peculiarly subject
■64
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV
Vour highness knows, comes to no further use,
But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms.
The prince will, in the perfectness of time.
Cast off his followers; and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live.
By which his grace must mete the lives of others ;
rurning past evils to advantages.
K. Hen. 'Tis seldom—when the hee doth leave her
comh
In the dead carrion.—Who's here ? Westmoreland ?
Enter Westmoreland.
West. Health to my sovereign ! and new happiness
Added to that that I am to deliver!
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand
Mowbray, the hishoj) Scroop, Hastings, and all.
Are brought to the correction of your law;
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed,
But peace puts forth her olive every where.
The manner how this action hath been borne.
Here at more leisure may your highness read ;
With every course, in his particular.^
K. Hen. O, Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day. Look ! here's more news
Enter Harcoijrt.
Har. From enemies Heaven keep your majesty
And, when they stand against you, may they fall
As those that 1 am come to tell you of!
The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph,
With a great power of English, and of Scots^
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown.
The manner and true order of the fight, ,
This packet, please it jT»u, contains at largo
I The detail contained in prince John's letter.
BC. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
85
K. Hen. And wherefore should these g;ood news
make me sick ?
VVill fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters.^
She either gives a stomach, and no food,—
Sucli are the poor, in health; or else a feast.
And takes away the stomach,—such are the rich.
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.
[ should rejoice now at this happy news;
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy.
0 me! come near me, now I am much ill. [^Swoom.
P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty!
Cla. O my royal father!
West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself; lookup!
War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits
Are with his highness very ordinary.
Stand from him; give hipa air; he'll straight be well.
Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs;
The incessant care and labor of his mind
Hath wrought the mure,^ that should confine it in.
So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.
P. Humph. The people fear me; for they do ob¬
serve
Unfathered heirs,® and loathly birds of nature.
The seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found some months asleep, and leaped them over.
Cla. The river hath thrice flowed, no ebb between:
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles.
Say, it did so, a little time before
That our great grandsire, Edward, sicked and died.
War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers.
^P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end.
K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me
hence
Into some other chamber; softly, 'pray.
[They convey the King into an inner part of
the room, and place him on a bed.
Mure for wdU ia another of Shakspeare's Latiniams. It waa not in
frequent use by his contemporaries.
2 That is, equivocal births, monsters.
86
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ;
Unless some dull' and favorable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
War. Call for the music in the other room.
Ks Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here
Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War. Less noise, less noise.
Enter Prince Henry.
P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ?
Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none
abroad !
How doth the king ?
P. Humph. Exceeding ill.
P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet}
Tell it him.
P. Humph. He altered much upon the hearing it.
P. Hen. If he be sick
With joy, he will recover without physic.
War. Not so much noise, my lords;—sweet prince,
speak low;
The king your father is disposed to sleep.
Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room.
War. Will't please your grace to go along with us ?
P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the king.*
\_Exeunt all but P. Henry
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow ?
O polished perturbation ! golden care!
That keeps the ports of slumber open vi"ide
To many a watchful night!—sleep with it now.
Vet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet,
I Dvll and sloio were synonymous. " Dullness, slowness; tarditas,
tardivete. Somewhat dull or slowe; tardiusculus, tardelet;" says Baret.
But Shakspeare uses duiness for drowsiness in the Tempest And Baret
has also this sdnse:—" Slow, dull, asleepe, drousie, astonied, heavie ; tor-
pidus." It has always been thought that slow music induces sleep.
8 The hint only of this beautiful scene is taken from Holinsbed, p. 54]
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY IV.
61
As^e, whose brow, with homely biggin ' bound,
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty !
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, .thou dost sit
Like a rich armor worn in heat of day,
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather, which stirs not;
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move.—My gracious lord!—my father!—
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep.
That from this golden rigol ® hath divorced
So many English kings. Thy due, from me,
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ;
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness.
Shall, O, dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ;
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood.
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,—
[Putting it on his head
Which Heaven shall guard ; and put the world's whole
strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honor from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit.
K. Hen. Warwick! Gloster ! Clarence ! •
Re-enter Warwick, and the rest.
Via. Doth the king call 1
War. What would your majesty How fares your
grace ?
K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, mv
lords ?
Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege,
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
K. Hen. The prince of Wales - Where is he?
let me see him.
He is not here.
1 A bigirin was a head-band of coarse cloth; so called because such a
forehead-cloth was worn by the Beguines, an order of nuns.
2 i. e. circle; probably from tlie old Italian rigolo, ii small wheel.
88
SECOND FAKT OF
fACT iV
fVar. This door is open; he is gone this way.
P. Humph. He came not- through the chambei
where we staid.
K. Hen. Where is the crown ? who took it from my
pillow ?
War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence ;—go, seek
■ him out;
Is he so hasty that he doth suppose
My sleep my death ?
Find him, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither.
\^ExU Warwick
This part of his conjoins with my disease.
And helps to end me.—See, sons, what things you are !
How quickly nature falls into revolt.
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish, over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with
care.
Their bones with industry ;
For this they have engrossed and piled up
The cankered heaps of strange-achieved gold ;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with euts, and martial exercises;
When, like the bee, tolling from every flower
The virtuous sweets ;
Our thighs packed with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive-; and, like the bees.
Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste
Yields his engrossments' to the ending father.
Re-enter Warwick.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determined me ?
War. My I % I found the prince in the next room
Washing wit. dly tears his gentle cheeks ;
With such a deep demeanor in great sorrow.
> Accumulations
sc. iv.] king henry iv. 89
That tyranny, which never quaffed but blood,
Would, by beholding him, have washed his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the
crown ?
Re-enter Prince Henry.
liO, where he comes.—Come hither to me, Harry.—
Depart the chamber ; leave us here alone.
[Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey,
Lords, ^c.
P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again.
K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that
thought;
I stay too long by thee; I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair.
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honors
Before thy hour be ripe ? O, foolish youth!
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind.
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou hast stolen that, which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offence; and, at my death.
Thou hast sealed up my expectation ;'
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not.
And thou wilt have me die assured of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts.
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart.
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour.''
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear.
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse,
Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head ;
Only compound me with forgotten dust;
r i. e. confirmed my opinion.
vnl iv. 12
90
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV
Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
E'or now a time is come to mock at form ;
Harry the fifth is crowned.—Up, vanity!'
Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence '
And to the English court assemble now.
From every region, apes of idleness!
Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum.
Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance,
llevel the night; rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ?
Be happy; he will trouble you no more.
England shall double gild his treble gilt;
England shall give him office, honor, might;
For the fifth Harry from curbed license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent.
O, my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows !
When that mv care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege I'but lor my teats,
[^Kneeling
The moist impediments unto my speech,
1 had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke.
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown;
And he that wears the crown immortally.
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more,
Than as your honor, and as your renown,
I iOt me no more from this obedience rise.
Which rny most true and inward-duteous spirit
Teachcth this prostrate and exterior bending !'
1 The Varioram Shaikspeare reads;—
"Let me no iinre from this obedience rise
(Which my most true and inward duteous spirit
Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending !
The sense appears to be, "Let me no more rise from this o&eisitnee,
which my most loyal and inwardij duteous spirit tear heth this prostrate
8C. IV .]
KING HBNRY IV.
91
Heaven wilne.ss with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your majesty.
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
O, let me in my present wildness die;
And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed !
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,)
1 spake unto the crown as having sense,
And thus upbraided it:—The care on thee depending^
Hath fed upon the body of my father;
Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious.
Preserving life in med'^cine potable ; *
But thou, most fine, most honored, most renowned.
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head;
To try with it,—as with an enemy.
That had before my face murdered my father,-—
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy.
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ;
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did, with the least affection of a welcome, '
Give entertainment to the might of it, ,
Let God forever keep it from my head!
And make me as the poorest vassal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! .
K. Hen. O, my son!
Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed ;
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son,
and exterior bending." Obeisance and obedience were formerly used in
diacriminately tlie one for the other. Truth is always used for loyalty.
• It was long a prevailing opinion tiiat a solution of gold had gren<
medicinal virtues ; and that the incorruptibility of the metal might ba
communicated to the body impregnated with it. Potable gold was one of
the paua'-.ea of ancient quacks.
92
SECOND PART OF
lACT lY
By Avhat by-paths, and indirect, crook'd ways,
I met this crown ; and I myself know well,
How troublesome it sat upon my head :
To thee it shall descend with better quiet.
Better opinion, better confirmation ;
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seemed in me,
But as an honor snatched with boisterous hand;
And I had many living, to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances;
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed.
Wounding supposed peace.^ All these bold fears,®
Thou see'st, with peril I have answered;
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument; and now my death
Changes the mode ; ® for what in me was purchased.
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort;
So thou the garland wear'st successively.^
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do.
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green;
And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out;
By whose fell working I was first advanced.
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displaced ; which to avoid,
I cut them® off; and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land;
Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so.
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
■
1 Supposed peace is imagined peace, counterfat, not reai.
^ Fears are objects of fear, terrors.
3 The mode is the state or form of things.
i. e. by order of succession.
5 Mason proposes to read," I cut some offf which seems, indeed, neces
lary. The sense would then be, " Some I have cut off, and many I intended
X* lead to the Holy liand."
PC. IV.]
KING HENKY IV.
93
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive !
And grant it may with thee in true peace live!
P. Hen. My gracious liege.
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me:
Then plain, and right, must my possession he";
Which I, with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, Lords,
and others.
K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lan
caster.
P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal
father!
K. Hen. Thou hring'st me happiness, and peace,
son John;
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this hare, withered trunk : upon thy sight.
My worldly business makes a period.
Whiye is my lord of Warwick ?
P. Hen. My lord of Warwick!
K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ?
War. 'Tis called Jerusalem, my noble lord.
K. Hen. Laud he to God !—even there my ine
must end.'
It hath been prophesied to me many years,
I should not die hut in Jerusalem ;
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land.—
But hear me to that chamber : there I'll lie ,
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. ^Exeunt
I " At length he recovered his speech and understanding, and perceiving
himsnlfe in a strange place, which he knew not, he willed to know if tlie
chamber had anie particular name, whereunto answer was made, that it
was called Jerusalem. Then said the king. Lauds be given to the Father
of Heaven, for now I know that I shall die here in this chamber, according
to the prophesie, of me declared, that I shoild depart this life in Jen».
saleni."—Holinsked, p. 541.
94
second part op
[act v.
ACT V.
SCENE I. Glostershire. • A Hall in Shallow'a
House.
Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page.
Shal. By cock and pye,' sir, you shall not away to
night. What, Davy, .1 say !
Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow.
Shal. 1 will not excuse you; you shall not be ex
cused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no
excuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused.—Why,
Davy!
Enter Davy.
Davy. Here, sir.
Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy,—let me see, Davy; let
me see.—Yea, marry, William cook, bid him come
hither.—Sir John, you shall not be excused. .
Davy. Marry, sir, thus;—those precepts cannot be
served: and, again, sir,—Shall we sow tlie headland
with wheat ?
Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William
cook. Are there no young pigeons ?
Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note,
for shoeing, and plough-irons.
Shal. Let it be cast, and paid.—Sir John, you shall
not be excused.
Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must
needs be had.—And, sir, do you mean to stop any of
William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day
at Hinckley fair ?
Shal. He shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy;
couple of short-legged hens; a joint of mutton ; and
auj^ pretty ittle tiny kickshaws, tell William cook.
1 This acijuraion, which seems to have been a popular substitute fof
profane swearing, occurs in several old plays.
BC I.]
KING HENRY IV.
95
Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir ?
Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him well; a friend
i' the court is better than a penny in purse.^ Use his
men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, and will
backbite.
Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir; for
they have marvellous foul linen.
Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy business,
Davy.
Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William
Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill.
Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against
that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my
knowledge.
Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir;
but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some
countenance at his friend's request. An honest man,
sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave is not. I
have served your worship truly, sir, this eight years ;
and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a
knave against an honest man, I have but a very little
credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest
friend, sir ; therefore, I beseech your worship, let him
be countenanced.
Shal. Go to; I say, he shall have no wrong. Look
about, Davy. Davy.] Where are you, sir John
Come, ofif with your boots.—Give me your hand, mas¬
ter Bardolph.
Bard. I am glad to see your worship.
Shal. 1 thank thee with all my heart, kind master
Bardolph:—and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the
Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow.
Fal. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow,
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph
and Page.] If 1 were sawed into quantities, I
should make four dozen of such bearded hermit's-staves
as master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see
the semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his.
' " A friend in court is worth a penny in purse," is one of Camde I's
prover'ual sentences See his Remaines, 4to, l(i05.
96
SECOND PART GT
[act v.
They, by observing him, do bear themselves like
foolish justices; he, by conversing with them, is turned
into a justice-like serving-man : their spirits are so mar¬
ried in conjunction with the participation of society,
that they flock together in consent, like so many wild
geese. If I had a suit to master Shallow, I would
humor his men, with the imputation of being near their
master; if to his nien, I would curry with master Shal¬
low, that no man could better command his servants.
11 is certain, that either wise bearing, or ignorant car¬
riage, is caught, as men take diseases, one of another
therefore, let men take heed of their company. I wih
devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep
prince Harry in continual laughter, the wearing-out of
six fashions, (which is four terms, or two actions,") and
he shall laugh without intervallums. O, it is much, that
a lie, with a slight oath, and a jest, with a sad brow,
will do with a fellow that never had the ache in his
shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh, till his face be
like a wet cloak ill laid up.
Slidl. [^fVithin.'] Sir John!
Fal. I come, master Shallow; I come, master Shal¬
low. [Exit Falstaff.
SCENE II. Westminster. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Warwick and the Lord Chief Justice.
War. How now, my lord chief justice ? 'whither
aw.'iy ?
Ch. Just. How doth the king ?
War. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended.
Ch. Just. I hope, not dead.
War. He's walked the way of nature;
And, to our purposes, he lives no more.
Ch. Just. I would his majesty had called me with
him.
1 Actions for debt
sc. II.] KING HENRY IV. ^ 97
The service that I truly did his life,
Hath left me open to all injuries.
War. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not
Ch. Just. I know he doth not; and do arm myself,
To welcome the condition of the time ;
Which cannot look more hideously upon me '
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.
Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Clarence,
.Westmoreland, and others.
War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry.
0 that the living Harry had the temper
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen !
How many nobles then should hold their places.
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort!
Ch. Just. Alas I I fear all will be overturned.
P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. ^
P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin.
P. John. We meet like men that had forgjt to
speak.
War. We do remember, but our argument
Is all too heavv to admit much talk.
P. John. Well, peace "be with him that hath made
us heavy I
Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier!
P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend,
indeed;
And I dare swear, you borrow not that face
Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, your own.
P. John. Though no man be assured what grace to
find.
You stand in coldest expectation.
1 am the sorrier; 'would 'twere otherwise.
Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff
fair;
Which swims against your stream of quality.
Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in honor,
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul;
And ne\'er shall you see, that I will beg
VOL. IV. 13
98
SECOND PART OP
[ACT V
A ragged and forestalled remission.—*
If truth and upright innocency fail me,
ril to the king my master that is dead,
And tell him who hath sent me after him
War. Here comes the prince.
Enter King Henry V.
Ch. Just. Good morrow; and Heaven save your
majesty I
Kin^. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,
iSits not so easy on me as you think.—
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear;
This is the English, not the Turkish court;
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds.
But Harry, Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers;
For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you:
Sorrow so royally in you appears,
ThatT will deeply put the fashion on.
And wear it in my heart. Why, then, be sad ;
But entertain no more of it, good brothers,
Than a joint burden laid upon us all.
For me, by Heaven, I bid you be assured,
I'll be your father and your brother too :
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares.
Yet weep, that Harry's dead ; and so will I:
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears.
By number, into hours of happiness.
P. John, ^c. We hope no other from your majesty
King. You all look strangely on me;—and you
most; [To the Chief Justice.
You are, I think, assured I love you not.
Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured rightly,
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
King. No!
How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid ujjon me ?
1 " A raeged and forestalled remission" is a remission or pardon ob
taincd by beggarly supplication. Forestalling is prevention.
80. 11.]
KING HENRY IV.
99
What! .ate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
The immediate heir of England ? Was this easy
May this be washed in Lethe, and forgotten ?
Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father'
The image of his power lay then in me ;
And, in the administration of his law.
Whiles 1 was busy for the commonwealth.
Your highness pleased to forget'my place.
The majesty and power of law and Justice,
The image of the king whom I presented.
And struck me in my very seat of judgment;®
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority.
And did commit you. If the deed were ill.
Be you contented, wearing now the garland.
To have a son set your decrees at nought;
To pluck down justice from your awful bench;
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword -
That guards the peace and safety of your person,
Nay, more; to spurn at your most royal image.
And mock your workings in a second body.
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours;
Be now the father, and propose a son: ®
Hear your own dignities so much profaned.
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted,
Behold yourself so by a son disdained ;
And then imagine me taking your part.
And, in your power, soft silencing your son.
After this cold considerance, sentence me ;
1 Was this easy? was this a MM offence ?
2 It has already been remarked that sir William Gascoigne, the chief
justice in this play, died in the reign of Henry IV.; and consequently this
scene has no foundation in fact. Shakspeare was misled by Stowe, or
probably was careless about the matter. While Gascoigne was at the
oar, Henry of Bolingbroke was his client, who appointed him his attorney
to sue out his livery in the Court of Wards: but Richard H. defeated his
purpose. When Bolingbroke became Henry IV., he appointed Gascoigne
chief justice. In that station he acquired the character of a learned, up¬
right wise, and intrepid judge. The story of his committing the prince is
told by sir Thomas Elyot, in his book entitled The Governor; but Shaks¬
peare followed the Chronicles.
3 i. e image to yourself that you have a son.
100
SECOND PART OF
rACT V
And, as you are a king, speak in your state,'
What I have done, that misbecame my place,
My person, or my liege's sovereignty.
'King. You are right, justice, and you v^'^eigh this
well;
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword;
And 1 do wish your honors may increase,
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did.
So shall I live to speak my father's words;—
Happy am /, lliat have a man so bold,
That dares do justice on my proper son ;
And not less happy, having such a son.
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice.—You did commit me:
For which I do commit into your hand
The unstained sword that you have used to bear;
With this remembrance,—That you use the same
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit.
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand;
You shall be as a father to my youth:
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear;
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practised, wise directions. '
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ;—
My father is gone wild into his grave,''
For in his tomb lie my affections ;
And with his spirit sadly I survive.
To mock the expectation of the world;
To frustrate prophecies; and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
Hath proudly flowed in vanity, till now.
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea;
Where it shall mingle with the state® of floods,
r In your regal character and office.
2 The meaning may be, My wild dispositions having ceased on mj
father's death, and being now, as it were, buried in his tomb, he and wili
ness are interred in the same grave.
3 Thit is, with the majestic dignity of the ocean, the chief of floods.
BC. III.]
KING HENRY IV
101
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of parliament;
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel,
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best-governed nation;
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
As things acquainted and familiar to us;
In which you, father, shall have foremost hand —
the Lord Chief Justice
Our coronation done, we will accite.
As I before remembered, all our state ;
And (God consigning to my good intents)
No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say.
Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. [^Exeunt,
SCENE III. Glostershire. The Garden of Shal¬
low's House.
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph, the
Page, and Davy.
Shal. Nay, you' shall see mine orchard; where, in
an arboi> we will eat a last year's pippin of my own
grafting, vvith a dish of carraways,' and so forth
corne, cousin Silence;—and then to bed.
Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling,
and a rich.
ShaL Barren, barren, barren; beggars all beggars
all, sir John :—marry, good air.—Spread, Davy; spread,
Davy; well said, Davy.
Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is
your serving-man, and your husbandman.
Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good
r This passage, which was long a subject of dispute, some pertinaciously
maintaining that earraways meant apples of tliat name, has been at length
properly explained by the following quotations from Cogan's Haven of
Health, 1599:—" For the same purpose cartway seeds are used to be made
in comfits, and to be eaten with apples, and surely very good for that pur¬
pose, for all such things as breed wind, would be eaten with other things
that breake wind." Apples and earraways were formerly always eaten
together; and it is said that they are still served up on particular days at
Trinity college, Cambridge.
102
second part of
[act v.
varlet, sir John. —By the mass, I have drunk too much
sack at supper; a good varlet. Now sit down,
now sit down ;—come, cousin.
Sil. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a,—we shall
Do nothing hut eat, and make good cheer, [Singing
And praise Heaven for the merry year,
When flesh is cheap, and females dear,
And lusty lads roam here and there.
So merrily.
And ever among so merrily.
Fal. There's a merry heart!—Good master Silence,
I'll give you a health for that anon.
Conspirators against the King.
Sir Thomas Grey, )
Sir Thomas Erpingham, N
froellen, (
Macmorris, (
Jamy, j
Bates, \
Court, > Soldiers in the same.
Williams, )
Nym, \ formerly Servants to Falstaff, now Soldien
KARnOT.PIT, W ^ ^ '
'I tnint same.
Bardolph
Pistol,
Boy, Servant to them.
A Herald. Chorus.
Charles the Sixth, King of France.
Lewis, the Dauphin.
Dukes q/"Burgundy, Orleans, and Bonrbon.
The Constable'of France-
RaMBURES, ) rT_ I r J
f. \ French Lords.
Grandpree, )
Governor q/'Harfleur.
Montjoy, a French Herald.
Ambassadors to the King of England.
Isabel, Queen q/" France.
Katharine, Daughter q/" Charles and Isabel.
Alice, a Lady attending on the Princess Katharine.
Quickly, Pistol's Wife, an Hostess.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers,
Messengers, and Attendants.
The SCENE, at the beginning of the Flay, lies in Eng¬
land; but afterwards whullu in France. ■
(116)
KING HENRY THE FIFTH
Enter Chorus.
0, for a muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention !
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,
And monarchs to behold the swelling scent;!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself.
Assume the port of Mars; and, at his heels.
Leashed in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire,
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,
The flat, unraised spirit, that hath dared.
On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth
So great an object. Can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France.^ or may we cram
Within this wooden O,* the very casques,
That did affright the air at Agincourt ?
O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may
Attest, in little place, a million ; ' • •
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces ® work.
Suppose, within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high, upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder.
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide one man,
And make imaginary puissance ;
Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
' O, for circle," alluding to the circular form of the theatre.
® " Imaginary forces." Imaginary for imaginalive, or your powers oj
fancy.
(117)
118
KING HENR\ V,
[act L
Printing theii proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings.
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times;
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass. For the which supply,
Admit me chorus to this history;
Who, prologue like, your humble patience pray
Gently to hear, kindly to Judge, our play.
ACT I.
SCENE L London.' An Antechamber in the
King's Palace.
Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop
of Ely.®
Canterbury. My lord, I'll tell you,—that self bill is
urged.
Which in the eleventh year o'the last king's reign
Was like, and had indeed against us passed.
But that the scambling and uiujuict time
Di3 push it out of further question.
Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now ?
Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against us,
We lose the better half of our possession;
For all the temporal lands, which men devout
By testament have given to the church.
Would they strip from us: being valued thus,
1 This first scene was added in the folio, together with the choruses and
other amplifications. It appears from Hall and Holinshed, that the events
passed at Leicester, where king Henry V. held a parliament in the second
year of his reign. But the chorus at the beginning of tlie second act
shows that the Poet intended to make London the place of his first scena
2 >' Canterbury and Ely." Henry Chicheley, a Carthusian monk, re¬
cently promoted to the see of Canterbury John Eordham, bishop of Ely
consecrated 1388, died 142G.
sc. I.]
KING HENRY V.
119
As much as would maintain, to the king's honor,
Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights;
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; ,
And, to relief of lazars, and weak age.
Of indigent, faint souls, past corporal toil,
A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied;
And to the coffers of the king beside,
A thousand pounds b_y the year. Thus runs the bill.
Ely. This would drink deep.
Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all
Ely. But what prevention ?
Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard.
Ely. And a true lover of the holy church.
Cant. The courses of his youth promised it not
The breath no sooner left his father's body.
But that his wildness, mortified in him.
Seemed to die too;' yea, at that very moment.
Consideration like an angel came,
And whipped the offending Adam out of him;
Leaving his body as a paradise.
To envelop and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made;
Never came reformation in a flood.
With such a heady current, scouring faults;
Nor never hydra-headed wilfulness
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once.
As in this king.
Ely. We are blessed in the change.
Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity.
And, all admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire, the king were made a prelate .
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs.
You would say,—it hath been all in all his study:
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
A fearful battle rendered you in music :
Turn him to any cause of policy,
r The same thought occurs in the preceding play, where Kng tleof)
V. says:—
" My ft ther is gone wild into his grave,
For in his tomb lie my affections."
120
KING HENRY V.
[ACT 1
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,
The air, a chartered libertine, is still.
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences ;
So that the art and practic part of life
Must be the mistress to his theoric ; ^
Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it,
Since his addiction was to courses vain ;
His companies unlettered, rude, and shallow ;
His hours filled up with riots, banquets, sports;
And never noted in him any study.
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity.
Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best.
Neighbored by fruit of baser quality.
And so the prince obscured his contemplation
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt,
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,
Unseen, yet crescive - in his faculty.
Cant. It must be so; for miracles are ceased ;
And therefore we must needs admit the means,
How things are perfected.
Ely. But, my good lord.
How now for mitigation of this bill
Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty
Incline to it, or no ?
Cant. He seems indifferent;
Or, rather, swaying more upon our part.
Than cherishing the exhibitors against us.
For I have made an offer to his majesty,—
Upon our spiritual convocation;
And in regard of causes now in hand,
Wiiich I have opened to his grace at large
• He discourses with so much skill on all subjects, " that his theory
must have been taup:ht by art and practice." Practic and theoric, or miher
prartt^we and theonque, was the old orthography of practice and theory.
2 This expressive word is used by Drant, in his Translation of Horace's
Art 01 Poetry 1567.
sc. Il.I
king henry v.
121
As touching France,—to give a greater sum
Than ever at one time the clergy yet
Did to his predecessors part withal.
Ely. How did this offer seem received, my lord ^
Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty;
Save, that there was not time enough to hear
(As, I perceived, his grace would fain have done)
'ihe severals, and unhidden passages '
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms;
And, generally, to the crown and seat of France,
Derived from Edward his great grandfather.
Ely. What was the impediment that broke this off.^
Cant. The French ambassador upon that instant
Craved audience; and the hour I think is come.
To give him hearing. Is it four o'clock ?
Ely. • It is.
Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy;
Which I could, with a ready guess, declare.
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.
Ely. I'll wait upon you; and I long to hear it.
* lExeunt.
SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the
same.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, Bedford, Exeter,
Warwick, Westmoreland, and Attendants.
K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury.''.
Exe. Not here in presence.
K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle.®
West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege ?
K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin; we would be resolved,
1 " The severals and unhidden passages." The particulars and dear, un¬
concealed circumstances of his true titles, &c.
2 " Send for him, good uncle." The person here addressed was Thomas
Beaufort, half brother to king Henry IV., being one of the sons of John
of Gaunt by Katharine Swynford. He was not made duke of Exeter till
the year after the battle of Agincourt, 1416. He was properly now only
earl of Dorset Shakspeare may have confounded this character with John
Holland, duke of Exeter, who married Elizabeth, tlie king's aunt He was
executed at Plashey, in 1400. The old play began with the next speech.
VOL. IV. 16
122
KING-HENRY V.
[ACT I
Before we hear him, of some things of weight,
That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.
Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop of
Ely.
Cant. God, and his angels, guard your sacred throne,
And make you long become it!
K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. *
My learned lord, we pray you to proceed ;
And justly and religiously unfold.
Why the law Salique, that they have in France,
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim.
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord.
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,
Or nicely charge your understanding soul
With opening titles miscreate,' whose right
Suits not in native colors with the truth ;
For God doth know, how many, now in health,
Shall drop their blood in approbation
Of what your reverence shall incite us to.
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,
How you awake the sleeping sword of war.
We charge you in the name of God, take heed;
For never two such kingdoms did contend.
Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint,
'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords
That make such waste in brief mortality.
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord ;
And we will hear, note, and believe in heart.
That what you speak is in your conscience washed
i^s pure as sin with baptism.
Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign,—and you
peers.
That owe your lives, your faith, and services.
1 Or burden your knowing or conscious soul with displa3ring false titles
in a specious manner or opening pretensions, which, il shown in their
native colors, would appear to be false.
SC IIJ
KING HENRY V.
123
To this imperial throne.—There is no bar'
To make against your highness' claim to France,
But this, which they produce from Pharamond,—
In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant,
No woman sftall succeed in Salique land;
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze,
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar.
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm.
That the land Salique lies in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;
Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxoii'
There left behind and settled certain French ;
Who, holding in disdain the German women,
For some dishonest manners of their life.
Established there this law,—to wit, no female
Should be inheritrix in Salique land;
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
Is at this day in Germany called—Meisen.
Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law
Was not devised for the realm of Fiance ;
Nor did the French possess the Salique land
Until four hundred one-and-twenly years
After defunction of king Pharamond,
Idly supposed the founder of this law;
Who died within the year of our redemption
Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great
Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French
Beyond the river Sala, in the year
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say.
King Pepin, which deposed Childerick,
Did, as heir general, being descended
Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair,
Make claim and title to the crown of France.
Hugh Capet also,—that usurped the crown
Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male
Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great,—
1 " There is no bar," &c. The whole speech is taken from Ho-
linshcd.
124
KING HENRY V.
[ACT 1
To fine' his title with some show of tuth,
^hough, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,)
Conveyed ® himself as heir to the lady Lingare,
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son
Of Charles the Great. Also king Lewis the Tenth,'
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
Could not keep quiet in his conscience.
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied
That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother.
Was lineal of the lady Ermengare,
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain:
By the which marriage, the line of Charles the Great
Was reunited to the crown of France.
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun,
King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim,
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear
To hold in right and title of the female.
So do the kings of France unto this day ;
Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law,
To bar your highness claiming from the female;
And rather choose to hide them in a net.
Than amply to imbare^ their crooked titles
Usurped from you and your progenitors.
K. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make
this claim ?
Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!
For in the book of Numbers is it writ,—
When the son dies, let the inheritance
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord.
Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag,
Look back unto your mighty ancestors;
Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb,
1 Tofnt is to embellish, to trim, to make showy or specious: Limare
The folio reads find.
2 Shakspeare found this expression in Holinshed; and, though it sounds
odd to modern ears, it is classical.
3 This sliould be Lewis the Ninth, as it stands in Hall's Chronicle.
Shakspeare has been led into the error by Holinshed, w) ose Chronicle he
followed. »
The folio reads imharre; the quarto imbace.
sc. II.J
KING HENRY V.
m
From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike spirit.
And your great uncle's, Edward the Black Prince ;
Who on the French ground played a tragedy,
Making defeat on the full power of France;
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility.^
O, noble English, that could entertain
With half their forces the full pride of France;
And let another half stand laughing by,
All out of work, and cold for action!
Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,
And with your puissant arm renew their feats.
You are their heir; you sit upon their throne;
The blood and courage that renowned them.
Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant liege
Is in the very May-morn of his youth.
Ripe i'or exploits and mighty enterprises.
Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself.
As did the former lions of your blood.
West. They know your grace hath cause, and
means, and might;
So hath your highness; ^ never king of England
Had n( bles richer, and more loyal subjects;
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England,
And lie pavilioned in the fields of France.
Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege.
With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right.
In aid whereof, we of the spirituality
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum.
As never did the clergy at one time
Bring in to any of your ancestors.
K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the
French,
But lay down our proportions to defend
I Tliis alludes to the battle of Cressy, as described by Holinslied vol
U.p.372.
* i. e. your highness hath indeed what they think and know you have.
126
king henry v.
[act i.
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
With ail advantages.
Cant. They oi those marches,^ gracious sovereign,
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
Our inland from the pilfering borderers.
K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers
only,
J3ut fear the main intendment® of the Scot,
Who hath been still a giddy neighbor to us.
For you shall read, that my great grandfather
Never went with his forces into France,
But that the Scot on his unfurnished kingdom
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach,
With ample and brimfulness of his force ;
Galling the gleaned land with hot essays ;
Girding, with grievous siege, castles and towns ,
That England, being empty of defence.
Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighborhood.®
Cant. She hath'been then more feared than harmed^
my liege.
For hear her but exanipled by herself —
When all her chivalry hath been in France,
And she a mourning widow of her nobles.
She hath herself not only well defended,
But taken, and impounded as a stray.
The king of Scots; whom she did send to France,
To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings ;
And make her chronicle as rich with praise.
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea
With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries.
West. But there's a saying, very old and true,—
If that you will France win,
Then ic ith Scotland first begin.
For once the eagle England being in prey.
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot
1 The marches are the borders.
2 The ■main-i.dciidvieiit is the principal purpose, that he will bend his
whole force a^nst us; the Bellum in aliquem iniendere of Livy.
" 'The quarto reads, " at the bruit thereof."
sc. II.]
KING HENRY V.
127
Comes siieaiving, and so sucks her princely eggs;
Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat,
To spoil and havock more than she can eat.
Exe. It follows, then, the cat must stay at home.
Vet that is but a crushed necessity ;'
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries.
And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.
While that the armed hand doth fight abroad.
The advised head defends itself at home ;
For government, though high, and low, and lower,
Put into parts, doth keep in one concent; ®
Congruing in a full and natural close,
Like music.
Cant. True , therefore doth Heaven divide
The state of man in divers functions.
Setting endeavor in continual motion;
To which .is fixed, as an aim or butt.
Obedience; for so work the honey bees;
Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
The act® of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king, and officers of sorts; *
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home;
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ;
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings.
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;
Which pillage, ihey with merry march bring home
To the tent-royal of their emperor ;
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold;
The civil ® citizens kneading up the honey,
' "Yet that is but a crushed necessity." This is the reading ol the
folio. The editors of late editloja have adopted the reading of the quarto
copy, " cursed necessity."
2 Concent is connected harmony in general, and not confined to any
specific consonance. Concenlio and concentus are both used by Cicero
for the union of voices or instnimeuts, in what we should now call a chant*
or concert.
3 " The act of order " is the statute or law of order ; as appears from the
reading of the quarto. " Creatures that by awe ordain an act of order to
a peopled kingdom."
4 i. e. of difterent degrees: if it be not an error of the press tor sort,
L 6. rank,
5 " The dvH citizens kneading up the honey ' CixU is grave. See
128
' KING HENRY V.
fAOT I
The poor mo^hanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o'er to executors' pale
The lazy, yawning drone. I this infer,—
That many things, having full reference
To one concent, may work contrariousl}';
As many arrows, loosed several ways.
Fly to one mark;
As many several ways meet in one town ;
As many fresh streams run in one self-sea ,
As many lines close in the dial's centre;
So may a thousand actions, once afoot.
End in one purpose, and be all well borne
Without defeat.® Therefore to France, my liege.
Divide your happy England into four;
Whereof take you one quarter into France, .
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
If we, with thrice that power left at home,
Cannot defend our own door from the dog, •
Let us be worried; and our nation h>se
The name of hardiness, and policy.
K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from, the
dauphin.
\^ExU an Attendant. Tlie King ascenHs
his throne.
Now are we well resolved ; and by God's help.
And yours, the noble sinews of our power,—
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe,
Or break it all to pieces. Or there we'll sit.
Ruling, in large and ample einpery,®
O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms;
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn.
Twelfth Night, Act iii. Sc. 4. Johnson observes, to knead the honey is
not physically true. The bees do, in fact, knead the wax more than the
honey.
1 " Executors," for execvfioners. Thus also Burton, in his Anatomy of
Melancholy, p. 38, ed. 1632:—
" Tremble at an executor, and yet not feare hell-fire."
a « Without defeat." The quartos read, "Without defect."
3 " ampery." This word, which signifies dominion, is now obsolete.
sc. II.]
KING HKNRY V.
129
Tombless, with no remembrance over them.
Either our history shall, with full mouth,
Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave,
Ijike Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,
Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph.'
Enter Ambassadors of France.
Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure
Of our fair cousin dauphin ; for, we hear.
Your greeting is from him, not from the king.
Amb. May it please your majesty to give us leave.
Freely to render what we have in charge;
Or shall we sparingly show you far off
The dauphin's meaning, and our embassy ?
K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king,
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject.
As are our wretches fettered in our prisons:
Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness,
Tell us the dauphin's mind.
Amb. Thus, then, in few:—•
Your highness, lately sending into France,
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right
Of your great predecessor, king Edward the Third.
In answer of which claim, the pririce our master
Says,—that you savor too much of your youth ;
And bids you be advised, there's nought in France,
That can be with a nimble galliard® won;
You cannot revel into dukedoms there.
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this.
Desires you, let the dukedoms that you claim.
Hear no more of you. This the dauphin speaks.
r The quartos read, " — with a paper epitaph." Either a paper or a
teaxen epitaph is an epitaph easily destroyed; one that can confer no last¬
ing honor on the dead. Steevens thinks that the allusion is to toaxcn
tablets, as any thing written upon them was easily effaced. Mr. Gifford
Bays, tliat a waxen epitaph was an epitaph affixed to tlie hearse or grave
with wax. But the expression may be merely metaphorical, and not allu
sive to either.
2 k galliard was an ancient sprightly dance,.as its name implies.
VOL IV. 17
130
king henky a*.
[act i.
K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ?
Exe. Tennis-balls, mj liege.'
K. Hen. We are glad the dauphin is so pleasant
with us;
His present, and your pains, we thank you for.
When we have matched our rackets to these balls,
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set.
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.®
Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wranglei.
That all the courts of France will be disturbed
With chaces.® And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days.
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valued this poor seat of England;
And therefore, living hence,'' did give ourself
To barbarous license; as 'tis ever common.
That men are merriest when they are /lom home.
But tell the dauphin,—I will keep my state;
Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness.
When I do rouse me in my throne of France ;
For that I have laid by my majesty,®
And plodded like a man for working-days;
But I will rise there with so full a glory.
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince,—this mock of his
Hath turned his balls to gun-stones; ® and his soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them ; for many a thousand widows
in the old play of King Henry V. this present consists of a gUdca
hat of tennis-balls, and a carpet.
The hazard is a place in the tennis-court, into which the ball is som«$-
times struck.
^ A chace at tennis is that spot where a ball falls, beyond which tne
adversary must strike his ball to gain a point or chace. At long tennis it
is the spot where the ball leaves off rolling. We see, therefore, why the
king lias called himself a wrangler.
4 Tiiat is, away from this seat or throne.
Tc qualify myself for this undertaking, i have descended from my
station, and studieid the arts of life in a lower character.
6 " Hath turned his balls to gun-stones." When ordnance were first
used, they discharged balls of stone.
sc. Xl.j
i king henry v.
13J
•
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husband.s'
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down
And some are yet ungotten, and unborn,
That shall have cause to curse the dauphin's scorn
But this lies all within the will of God,
To whom 1 do appeal; and in whose name.
Tell you the dauphin, 1 am coming on.
To venge me as I may, and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallowed cause.
So, get you hence in peace; and tell the dauphin,
His jest will savor but of shallow wit.
When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.—
Convey them with safe conduct.—-Fare you well.
{^Exeunt Ambassadors
Exe. This was a merry message.
K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it.
[^Descends from his throne
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour.
That may give furtherance to our expedition;
For we have now no thought in us but France,
Save those to God, that run before our business.
Therefore, let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon.
That may, with reasonable swiftness, add
More feathers to our wings; for, God before.
We'll chide this dauphin at his father's door.
Therefore, let every man now task his thought.
That this fair action may on foot be brought. \^Exeunt
ACT II.
Enter Chorus.
Cho. Now all the youth of England are on fire
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
Now thrive the armorers, and honor's thought
132
KING HENRY V.
[ACT II.
Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse;
Following the mirror of all Christian kings,
With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits Expectation in the air;
And hides a sword, from hilt unto the point.
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,^
Promised to Harry, and his followers.
The French, advised by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation.
Shake in their fear; and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.
O, England!—model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart,— '
What mightst thou do, that honor would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural!
But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men-
One, Richard earl of Cambridge ; ® and the second,
Henry lord Scroop ^ of Masham; and the third.
Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland—
Have, for the gilt of France, (O guilt, indeed!)
Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France;
And by their hands this grace of kings must die
(If hell and treason hold their promises,)
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton
Linger your patience on; and well digest
The abuse of distance, while we force a play.^
The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ;
' In ancient representations of trophies, &c. it is common to see swoids
encircled with crowns. Shakspeare's image is supposed to be taken from
a wood cut in the first edition of Holinshed.
2 " Richard earl of Cambridge " was Richard de Conisbury, younger
son of Edmund Langley, duke of York. He was father of Richard duke
of York, and grandfatlier of Edward the Fourth.
3 " Henry lord Scroop " was a third husband of Joan duchess of York, •
mother-in-law of Richard earl of Cambridge.
* The old copy reads:—
Linger your patience on, and we'll digest
The abuse of distance; force a play."
The alteration was made by Pope.
sc. I.] •
king henry v.
133
The king is set from London; and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton
There is the playhouse now ; there must you sit;
And thence to France shall we convey you safe,
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may.
We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
Uut, till the king come forth, and but till then.
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene[ E.iti
SCENE I. The same. Eastcheap.
Enter Nym and Bardolph.
Bard. Well met, corporal Nym.
Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. * .
Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet
Nym. For my part, I care not. I say little: but
when time shall serve, there shall be smiles f—but
that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will
wink, and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one; but
what though ? It will toast cheese; and it will endure
cold as another man's sword will; and there's the
humor of it.
Burd. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you friends;
^ " But till the king come forth, and hd till then,
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene."
The old copy reads :—
" But till the king come forth, and not till then."
The emendation was proposed by Mr. Roderick, and deserves admission
into ^ae text Malone has plainly shown that it is a-common typograph¬
ical "rror. The objection is, that a scene in London intervenes; but this
may be obviated by transposing that scene to the end of the first act The
division into acts and scenes, it should be recollected, is tlie arbitrary work
of Mr. Rowe and the subsequent editors; and the first act of this play, as
It is now divided, is unusually short This chorus has slipped out of its
place.
2 " When time shall serve, there shall be smiles" Dr.Farmer thought
that this was an error of the press for smites, i. e. blows, a word used in the
Poet's age, and still provincially current The passage, as it stands, has
been explained:—" i care not whether we are friends at present; however,
when time shall serve, we shall be in good humor with each other; but bo
it as it may."
134
KING HENRY V.
t ?
Con. Stars, my lord.
Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.
Con. And yet my sky shall not want.
Dau. That may be, for you bear a many super¬
fluously ! and 'twere more honor, some were away.
Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; who
t "Like a Kerne of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strail
Irossers." This expression is here merely fi;;urative, as Theobald long
since observed, for femoribus dentulatis. But it is certain tliat the Irish
Iros.ttrs, or trowsers, were anciently the direct contrary to the modei-n gar¬
ments of that name. "Their troioses, commonly spelt tross Over-lusty, i. e. over-saucy.
176
king henry v.
[ACT IV
But freshly looRs, and over-bears attaint,
With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty;
That every wretch, pining and pale before.
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
A largess universal, like the sun.
His liberal eye doth give to every one.
Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all,
Behold, as may unworthiness define,
A little touch of Harry in the night.
And so our scene must to the battle fly;
Where (O for pity!) we shall much disgrace—
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
Right ill-disposed, in brawl ridiculous—
The name of Agincourt. Yet, sit and see ;
Minding' true things, by what their mockeries be.
[^Exii
SCENE I. The English Camp at Agincourt.
Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster.
K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great
danger;
Vhe greater therefore should our courage be.—
Good morrow, brother Bedford.—God Almighty!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil.
Would men observingly distil it out;
For our bad neighbor makes us early stirrers.
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry.
Besides, they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all; admonishing.
That we should dress us fairly for our end.''
Thus may we gather honey from the weed.
And make"a moral of the devil himself.
i •■'Mindinff true things." To mind is the same as to call to remen
orance. Such is the Scotch use of tlie word at this day.
9 « To dress is to make ready, to prepare (paro, Lat).
sc. I.]
KINO HENRY v.
177
Enter Erpingham.'
Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham.
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
Erp. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me betler,
Since I may say—now lie 1 like a king.
K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present
pains,
Upon example ; so the spirit is eased ;
And, when the mind is quickened, out of doubt.
The organs, though defunct and dead before.
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity.®
Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.—Brothers both
Commend me to the princes in our camp;
Do my good morrow to them; and, anon.
Desire them all to my pavilion.
Glo. We shall, my liege.
\^Exeunt Gloster and Bedford.
Erp. Shall I attend your grace ?
K. Hen. No, my good knight;
Go with my brothers to my lords of England.
I and my bosom must debate awhile.
And then I would no other company.
Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
[^Exit Erpingham.
K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart; thou speakest
cheerfully.
Enter Pistol
Pist. Qui va la ?
K. Hen. A friend.
Pist. Discuss unto me. Art thou officer;
Or art thou base, common, and popular ?
» Sir rhomas Erpingham came over with Bolingbroke from Bretagne
and was one of the commissioners to receive king Richard's abdication
lie was at this time warden of Dover castle, and his arms are still visible
on the side of the Roman Pharos.
Legerity is lightness, nimbleness.
vol. iv. 23
178
KING HENRY V.
[ACT IV
K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike ?
K. Hen. Even so. What are you ?
Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor.
K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king.
Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame;
Of parents good, of fist most valiant,
i kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name ?
K. Hen. Harry le Roy.
Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name ; art thou of Cornish
crew ?
K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman.
Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen ?
K. Hen. Yes.
Pist. Tell him, Pll knock his leek about his pate,
Cpon Saint Davy's day.
K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap
that day, lest he knock that about yours.
Pist. Art thou his friend ?
K. Hen. And his kinsman too.
Pist. Ihejigo for thee then!
K. Hen. I thank you. God be with you !
Pist. My name is Pistol called. [Exit
K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness.
Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally.
Gow. Captain Fluellen!
Flu. So! -in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak
lower. It is the greatest admiration in the imivtirsal
'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and
laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the
pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great,
you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle
taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp; I warrant
you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and
the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety
of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise.
bc. l.j
king henry v.
179
Gow. Why, the eneniy is loud ; you heard him all
night.
Flu. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should
also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a praiing
coxcomb; in your own conscience now ?
Goto. I will speak lower.
Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
^Exeunt Gower and Fluellen.
K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion.
There is much care and valor in this Welshman.
Enter Bates, Court, and Williams.
Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning
v/hich breaks yonder ?
Bates.. I think it be; but we have no great cause
to desire the approach of day.
Wdl. We see yonder the beginning of the day,
but, I think, we shall never see the end of it.—Who
goes there ?
K. Hen. A friend.
Will. Under what captain serve you ?
K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham.
Will. A good old commander, and a most kind
gentleman. I pray you, what thinks he of our estate r
K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that
look to be washed off the next tide.
Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king ?
K Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For,
though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a
man, as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to
me, the element shows to him as it doth to me; all
his senses have but human, conditions his ceremonies
laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and
though his affections are higher mounted than ours,
yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing;*
• i. e. but human qualities.
9 When the hawk descended in its flight, it was said to stoop.
180
KLNG HENRY V
[act iv.
therefore, when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his
fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are.
Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any
appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dis¬
hearten his army.
Bates. He may show what outward courage he
will; but, 1 believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could
wish himself in the Thames up to the neck; and so
I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so
we were quit here.
K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience
of the king; I think he would not wish himself any
where but where he is.
Bates. Then, would he were here alone ; so should
he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's
lives saved.
K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish
him here alone; howsoever you speak this, to feel
other men's minds. Methinks I could no.t die any
where so contented, as in the ^ng's company; his
cause being just, and his quarrel honorable.
IVill. That's more than we know.
Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for
we know enough, if we know we are the king's sub¬
jects ; if his cause be wrong, out obedience to the
king wipes the crime of it out of us.
Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king
himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all
those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a
battle, shall Join together at the latter day, and cry
all—We-died at such a place; some, swearing; some,
crying for a surgeon; some, upon their wives left poor
behind them; some, upon the debts they owe; some,
upon their children rawly' left. I am afeard there
are few die well, that die in battle; for how can thej
charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their
argument ? Now, if these men do not die well, i
will be a black matter for the king that led them to
' i. e. their children left imnuitiirdy, left young and helpless.
sc. I.] KING HENRT V. 181
it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of
subjection.
K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent
alxMit merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea,
the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should
be imposed upon his father that sent him; or if a
servant, under his master's command, transporting a
sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and die in
many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business
of the master the author of the servant's damnation.
—But this is not so: the king is not bound to answer
the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his
son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose
not their death, when they purpose their services.
Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spot¬
less, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try
it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure,
have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived
murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken
seals of perjury; ^ some, making the wars their bul¬
wark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of
peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men
have defeated the law, and outrun native punishment,^
though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to
fly from God: war is his beadle, war is his vengeance ;
so that here men are punished, for before-breach of
the king's laws, in now the king's quarrel; where
they feared the death, they have borne life away; and
Avhere they would be safe, they perish. Then if they
die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of their
damnation, than he was before guilty of those im])ie-
ties for the which they are now visited. Every sub¬
ject's duty is the king's ; but every subject's soul is his
own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do
as every sick man in his bed—wash every mote out of
1 «— beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury. Thus in the
song at tlie Deginning of the fourth act of Measure for Mbasu e :—
" That so sweetly were forsworn—
Seals of love, but sealed in vain."
8 L e. the punishment they are born to.
KING HENRY V.
[ACT IV
his conscience; and dying so, death is to him advan¬
tage ; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein
such preparation was gained; and, in him that escapes,
it were not sin to think, that making God so free an
offer, he let him outlive that day to see his greatness,
and to teach others how they should prepare.
Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is
ujK>n his own head; the king is not to answer for it.
Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me;
and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.
K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not
be ransomed.
Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully;
but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed,
and we ne'er the wiser.
K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his
word after.
Will. 'Mass, you'll pay' him then ! That's a peril¬
ous shot out of an elder gun,® that a poor and private
displeasure can do against a monarch ! You may as
well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in
his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust
his word after! Come, 'tis a foolish saying.
K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round ; I
should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.
Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.
K. Hen. I embrace it.
Will. How shall I know thee again ?
K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will
wear it in my bonnet; then, if ever thou darest ac¬
knowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.
Will. Here's my glove ; give me another of thine.
K. Hen. There.
Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever
thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my
glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.
1 To pa}/ here signiries to bring to account, to punish.
2 «That's a perilous shot out of an elder gun." In the quarto the
thought is more opened—It is a great displeasure that an elder gun can u4
against a cannon, or a subject against a monarch.
8C. 1.]
KING HENRY V.
183
K. Hen. if ever I live to see it, I will challenge u.
Will. Thou darest as well be hanged.
K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in
ine king's company.
Will. Keep thy word ; fare thee well.
Bates 3e friends, you English fools, be friends; we
have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how
to reckon.
K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French
crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear them
on their shoulders: But it is no English treason to cut
French crowns; and, to-morrow,-the king himself will
be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers.
Upon the king!' let us our lives, our souls.
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and
Our sins, lay on the king;—we must bear all.
O hard condition ! twin-born with greatness.
Subjected to the breath of every fool.
Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing I
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect.
That private men enjoy I
And what have kings, that privates have not too.
Save ceremony, save general ceremony ?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ?
What are thy rents ? what are thy comings in?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth ! .
What is thy soul of adoration ?®
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men ?
Wherein thou art less happy, being feared.
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet.
But poisoned flattery ? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
1 'i'his bea.itiful speech was added after the first edition.
2 « What is i/i iy soul of adoration ?" This is the reading oT the old
copy, which Maloiie changed to
" What is Iht soul of adoration?"
184
KING HENRY V.
[ACT iv
Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation ?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending ?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee
Command the health of it ? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose:
I am a king, that find thee; and 1 know,
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial.
The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl.
The farced' title running 'fore the king.
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of jiomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,—
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical.
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave;
Who, with a body filled, and vacant mind.
Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn.
Doth rise, and help Hyperion^ to his horse;
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labor, to his grave:
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
\Vinding up days with toil, and nights with sl(;ep.
Had the forehand and vantage of a king.
Tiie slave, a member of the country's peace.
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots.
What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace.
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.®
Enter Erpingham.
Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your alisencei
Seek through your camp to find you.
1 Farced is stuffed.
2 Apollo. See Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2.
3 To advantage is a verb used by Shakspeare in other places. It was
formerly in general use.
sc. I.J
KING HENRY V,
185
K. Hen. Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent ;
I'll be before thee.
Erp. I shall do't, my lord. [Exit.
K. Hen. O, God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts'
Possess them not with fear; take from them now^
The sense of reckoning of the opposed numbers:
Pluck their hearts from them not to-day, O Lord!
O, not to-day! Think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!
I Richard's body have interred new;
And on it have bestowed more contrite tears,
Than from it issued forced drops of blood.
■Five hundred poor I have in yearly paj,
Who twice a day their withered hands hold up
Toward heaven to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chantries,® where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do:
Though all that I can do, is nothing worth;
Since that my penitence comes after all.
Imploring pardon.
Enter Gloster.
Glo. My liege!
K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ?—Ay
I know thy errand ; 1 will go with thee.—
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
[Exeunt
> The late editions exhibit the passage thus :—
« take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them !—Not to-day, O Lord,
O, not to-day, think not upon," &c.
2 « Two chantries." One of these was for Carthusian monks, and was
called Bethlehem ; the other was for religious men and women of llie orde?
of saint Bridget, and was named Sion. They were on opposite sides of
the Thames, and adjoined the royal manor of Sheen, now called Rich
moud.
VOL. IV. 24
186
KING HENRY V
[ACT IV
SCENE II. The French Camp.
Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and others
Orl. The sun doth gild our armor; up, my lords.
Dau Montez a cheval:—My horse! valet! lac.
quay ? hal
Orl. O brave spirit!
Dau Via!^—les eaux et la terre
Orl. Rien puis ? Pair et le feu
Dau Ciel! cousin Orleans.
Enter Constable.
Now, my lord constable.
Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh
Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides;
lhat their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And doubt® them with superfluous courage. Ha!
Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses'
blood ?
How shall we then behold their natural tears
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. The English are embattled, you French peers.
Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to
horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls.
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
T here is not work enough for all our hands;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins.
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain,
' f^ia, an exclamation of encouragement—on, away ; of Italian oiigin.
2 « That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
Ano doubt them with superfluous courage."
This i^ the reading of the»folio, which Malone has altered to dout, i. e. de
uU, in provincial language
sc. ll.j
king henry v.
187
That our Fniuch gallants shall to-day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on them
The vapoi of our valor will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,—
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle,—were enough
To purge this field of such a hildiiig foe;
Though we, upon this mountain's basis by.
Took stand for idle speculation:
But that our honors must not. What's to say
A very little little let us do.
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket-sonuance,' and the note to mount;
For our approach shall so much dare the field.
That England shall crouch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandpre.
Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
France ?
Yon island carrions,® desperate of their bones,
Ill-favoredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains® poorly are let loose.
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,*
1 Ths tuchet-somiance was a flourish on the trumpet as a signal to pre
pare to march. The phrase is derived from the Italian toccata, a prelude
or flourish, and suonanza, a sound, a resounding. Thus in the Devil's
Law Case, 1()23, two tuckets by two several trumpets.
^ "Yon island carrions." The description of the English is founded on
Holinshed's melancholy account, speaking of the march from Harfleur to
Agincourt;—" The Englishmen were brought into great misery in tliis
journey; their victual was in a manner all spent, and now could they get
none:—rest none could they take, for their enemies were ever at hand to
give them allarmes: daily it rained, and nightly it freezed; of fewel there
was great scarcity, but of fluxes great plenty ; money they had enougli,
but wares to bestow it upon, for their releife or comforte, had they little or
none."
3 Their ragged curtains are tli.eir colors. ,
* Ancient candlesticks were otleii in the, form of human figures, holding
Jie soci et tor tlie liglits in tliiiir extended hands. *
188
king henry v.
[act iv
With torch-staves in their hand : and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips;
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes;
And in their pale, dull mouths the gimmaL bit
Lies foul with chewed grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows.
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words,
To demonstrate the life of such a battle,
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for
death.
Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh
suits.
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them ?
Con. I stay but for my guard.^ On, to the field;
I will the banner from a trumpet take.
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt
SCENE III. 77ie English Cawijj.
Enter the English Host; Gloster, Bedford, Exeter,
Salisbury, and Westmoreland.
Glo. Where is the king ?
Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle.
West. Of fighting men they have full threescore
thousand.
Exe. There's five to one ; besides, they all are fresh.
Sal. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds.
God be with you, princes all; I'll to my charge.
If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven,
1 The gimmal bit was probably a bit in which two parts or links were
united, as in the gimmal ring, so called because they were double linked ;
from gemellus, Lat.
2 " I stay but for rny guard." Dr. Johnson and Mr. Steevens were of
opinion that guard, here means rather sometliing of ornament, tlian an at
tendaiA or attendants.
sc. jii.j
KING HENRY V
189
Then, joylully,—mj noble lord of Bedford,—
My dear lord Gloster,—and my good lord Exeter,
And my kind kinsman,'—warriors all, adieu!
Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go
with thee!
Exe. Farewell, kind lord ; fight valiantly to-day.
And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, ,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valor.
\^Exit Salisbury
Bed. He is as full of valor, as of kindness;
Princely in both.
West. O that we now had here
Enter King Henry.
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day!
K. Hen. What's he that wishes so ?
My cousin Westmoreland —No, my fair cousin.
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, 1 am not covetous for gold;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns® me not, if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But, if it be a sin to covet honor,
1 am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! 1 would not lose so great an honor.
As one man more, methinks, would share from me.
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host.
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
^ " And my kind kinsman." This is addressed to Westmcreland by Die
speaker, who was Thomas MoniaciUe, ear of Salisbury : he was not, in
point of fact, related to Westmoreland ; there was only a kind of conne<>-
tion by marriage between their families.
2 In the quarto this speech is addressed to Warwick.
3 To yeam is to grieve Ji vex.
190
KING HENRY V.
fACT IV
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called—the feast of Crispian
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will st^id a tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age.
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends.
And say—To-mojrow is Saint Crispian ;
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
And say. These ivounds I had on Crispin''s day.
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot.
But he'll remember, with advantages.
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words—
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,—
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by.
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered :
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,
For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition : ®
And gentlemen in England, now abed.
Shall think themselves accursed, they were not heie :
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks.
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
1 "The feast of Crispian." The battle of Agincourt was foight upon
e battle of
Agincourt; and tlicse last were allowed tlie chief seats at all feasts ai|d
public meetings.
sc. 111.]
king henry v,
491
Enter Salisbury.
Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself wllh speed;
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so.
West Perish the man whose mind is backward
now!
K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from Eng¬
land, cousin ?
West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone,
Without more help, might fight this battle out!
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwished five thou¬
sand men ;'
Which likes me better, than to wish us one.—
You know your places. God be with you all'
Tucket. Enter Montjoy.
Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king
Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound.
Before thy most assured overthrow;
For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf.
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy
The constable desires thee—thou wilt mind ^
Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
B'rom off these fields, where (wretches) their poor
bodies
Must lie and fester.
K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ?
Mont. The constable of France.
K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back;
1 " — thou hast unwished five thousand men." By wishing only thy¬
self and me, tliou hast wished five thousand men away. The Poet, inat¬
tentive to numbers, puts Jive thousand; but in the last scene the French are
said to be full threescore thousand, which Exeter declares to be five to
one ; the numbers of the Jlnglish are variously stated; Il(ilin,shed makes
them fifteen thousand, others but nine thousand.
2 L e. remind.
19^
-king henry v.
[act iv.
Bid them achieve me, and then sell mj bones.
Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows thus ^
The man, that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt.
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's woik.
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills.
They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet
them.
And draw their honors reeking up to heaven ;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall bre/boit intermission.
sc. l.J
KING HENRY VI.
233
Enter a third Messengei.
3 Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments,
Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,—
I must inform you of a dismal fight.
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French.
IVin. What! wherein Talbot overcame is'tso.?
3 Mess. O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'er-
thrown;
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord.
Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
Having full scarce six thousand in his troop,
By three-and-twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon.
No leisure had he to enrank his men;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers ;
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, plucked out of hedges,
They pitched in the ground confusedly.
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued ;
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought.
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance.
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him ,
Here, there, and every where, enraged, he slew.
The French exclaimed, the devil was in arms;
Ail the whole army stood agazed on him:
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain.
And rushed into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the conquest fully been sealed up.
If sir John Fastolfe ' had not played the coward ;
He, being in the vaward, (placed behind.
With purpose to relieve and follow them,)
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
Inclosed were they with their enemies.
1 For an account of tliis sir John Fastolfe, vide Bioffraphia Britannica
by Kippis, vol. v.; in which is his life, written by Mr. Gough.
VOL. IV .30
234
first fart of
[act i.
A base Walloon, to win the dauphin's grace,
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back ;
Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength.
Durst not presume to look once in the face.
Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself,
For living idly here, in pomp and ease.
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
Unto his dastard foeman is betrayed.
3 Bless. O, no; he lives; but is took prisoner.
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford ;
Most of the rest slaughtered, or took, likewise.
Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay
I'll hale the dauphin headlong from his throne;
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend ;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours
Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make.
To keep our great saint George's feast withal.
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take.
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.
3 Mess. So you had need ; for Orleans is besieged,
The English army is grown weak and faint;
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply.
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny.
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry §worn
Either to quell the dauphin utterly.
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
Bed. I do remember it; and here take leave
To go about my preparation. E:iit
Glo. I'll to the tower, with all the haste I can.
To view the artillery and munition ;
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit
Exe. Xo Eltham will I, where the young king is.
Being ordained his special governor ;
And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit
Win. Each hath his place and function to attend
I am left out; for me nothing remains.
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office;
BC. li.J
KING HENRY VI.
235
The king from Eltham I intend to steal/
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.
[^Exit. Scene closes
SCENE II. France. Before Orleans.
Enter Charles, loith his Forces; Alen^on, Reignier,
and others.
Char. Mars his true moving,® even as in the heavens,
So in the earth, to this day is not known.
Late did he shine upon the English side;
Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment, but we have ?
At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans ;
Otherwhiles, the famished English, like pale ghosts.
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.
Alen. They wan| their porridge, and their fat bull-
beeves.
Either they must be dieted like mules.
And have their provender tied to their mouths.
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.
Reig. Let's raise the siege ; why live we idly here ?
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear.
Remaineth none but mad-brained Salisburv:
And he may well in fretting spend his gall;
Nor men, ilor money, hath he to make war.
Char. Sound, sound alarum ; we will rush on them.
Now for the honor of the forlorn French.—
Ilim I forgive my death, that killeth me.
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. \_Exeunt
1 The old copy reads send; the present reading was proposed by Mason,
who observes that the king was not at this time in the power of the'car¬
dinal, but under the care of the duke of Exeter. The second article of
accusation brought against the bishop by the duke of Gloucester is, "that
he purposed and disposed him to set hand on the king's person, and to have
removed him from Eltluim to Windsor, to the intent to put him in governance
as him list"—Holinshed, vol. iii. p. 591.
2 « You are as ignorant in the true movings of my muse as the astron¬
omers are in tlie true movings of Mars, which to this day they could nevci
Attain to."- - Gabriel Harvefs Hunt is up, by J\fash, 1596, Preface.
236
first part of
[act i
Alarums; Excursions; qfiemoards a Retreat.
Re-enter Charles, Alen^on, Keignier, and others.
Char. Who ever saw the like ? what men have I ?—
Dogs! cowards! dastards !—I would ne'er have fled, '
But that they left me 'midst my enemies.
Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ;
He fighteth as one weary of his life.
The other lords, like lions wanting food,
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.
Alen. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records,
England all Olivers and Rowlands ^ bred.
During the time Edward the Third did reign
More truly now may this be verified ;
For none but Samsons and Goliasses
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten !
Lean, raw-boned rascals ! who would e'er suppose
They had such courage and audacity ?
Char. Let's leave this town; for they are hair-
brained slaves.
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager.
Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth
The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege.
Reig. I think, by some odd gimmals ^ or device.
Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on:
Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone. *
Alen. Be it so.
Enter the Bastard of Orleans.
Bast Where's the prince dauphin? I have news
for him.
1 These were two of the most famous in the list of Charlemag'ne's
twelve peers; and their exploits are the theme of the old romances. From
the equally doughty and unheard-of exploits of these champions, arose the
saying of Giving a Rowland for an Oliver, for giving a person as good as
he brings.
2 By gimmnl.i, gimbols, gimmers, or gimowes, any kind of device or ma¬
chinery producing motion was meant. Baret has "the gimetr or hinge of
» door"
BC. II.]
KliSG HENRY VI.
237
Char. Bastard ^ of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.
Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheei
appalled.
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ?
Be not dismayed, for succor is at hand.
A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which, by a vision sent to her from Heaven,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege.
And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome ; ®
What's past, and what's to come, she can descry.
Speak ; shall I call her in ? Believe my words.
For they are certain and infallible.
Char. Go, call her in. [^Exit Bastard.] But, first
to try her skill,
Reignier, stand thou as dauphin in my place.
Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern.—
By this mean shall we sound what skill she hath.
[Retires,
Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans, and others.
Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous
feats ?
Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile
me ?—
Where is the dauphin ?—Come, come from behind ;
1 know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amazed ; there's nothing hid from me :
In private will I talk with thee apart.—
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while.
Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.
Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
My wit untrained in any kind of art."
Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleased
1 Bastard was not in former times a title of reproach.
2 Warburton says that" there were no nine sibyls of Rome; it is a mis¬
take for the nine Sibylline Oracles brought to one of the Tarquins." But
tlie Poet followed the popular books of his day, which say that " the ten
sibyls were women lhat htul the spirit of prophecy (enumerating tliem), and
thai', tliey prophesied of Christ."
t238
FIRST PART OF
FACT 1
To shine on my contemptible estate.
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
And to sun's parching heat displayed my cheeks,
God's mother deigned to appear to me;
And, in a vision full of majesty,
Willed me to leave my base vocation.
And free my country from calamity.
Her aid she promised, and assured success:
In complete glory she revealed herself;
And, whereas I was black and swart before.
With those clear rays which she infused on me.
That beauty am I blessed with, which you see.
Ask me what question thou canst possible.
And I will answer unpremeditated ;
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st.
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
Resolve on this' thou shalt be fortunate.
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.
Char. Thou hast astonished me with thy high terms
Only this proof I'll of thy valor make.—
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me ;
And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
Otherwise, I renounce all confidence.
Puc. I am prepared ; here is my keen-edged sword,
Decked with five flower-de-luces on each side ;
The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's church¬
yard.
Out of a great deed of old iron I chose forth.
Char. Then come, o' God's name ; I fear no woman.
Pvc. And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.
{Tl^yjight
Char. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon,
And fightest with the sword of Deborah. .
Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too
weak.
Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou tliat must help
me.
Impatiently I burn with thy desire ;
r L e. be convinced of it
BC. II.l
KING HENRT VI.
239
My heart and hands thou hast at once sulidued.
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be;
'Tis the French dauphin sueth thus to thee.
Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love,
For my profession's sacred from above :
When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
Then will I think upon a recompense.
Char. Mean time, look gracious on thy prostrate
thrall.
Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.
Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock,
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.
Reig. Shcill we disturb him, since he keeps no
mean
Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do
know:
These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.
Reig. My lord, where are you ? what devise you
on .?*
Shall we give over Orleans, or no ?
Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!
Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.
Char. What she says, I'll confirm ; we'll fight it out
Puc. Assigned am I to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect saint Martin's summer,^ halcyon days.
Since I have entered into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water.
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself.
Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought.
Witii Henry's death, the English circle ends:
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am 1 like that proud, insulting ship.
Which Ceesar and his fortune bare at once.
Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove
1 i. e. expect prosperity after misfortune, like fair weather at Martlemait,
after winter has begun.
2 Mahomet had a dove " which he used to feed witli wheat out of his
ear; which dove, when it was hungry, lighted on Mahomet's shou'dei, and
240
FIRST PART OF
[act i.
Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
Helen, the mother of gieat Constantino,
Nor yet saint Philip's daughters,^ were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fallen down on the earth.
How may I reverently worship thee enough ?
Alen. Leave olf delays, and let us raise the siege.
Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our
honors;
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortalized.
Char.' Presently we'll try:—Come, let's away
about it:
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [^Exeunt.
SCENE HI. London. Hill before the Tower-
Enter, at the gates, the Duke of Gloster, with his
Serving-men in blue coats.
Glo. I am come to survey the tower this day,
Since Henry's death, I fear there is conveyance.®—
Where be these warders, that they wait not here ?
Open the gates ; Gloster it is that calls.
[Servants knock
1 Ward. [^Within.'] Who is there that knocks so
imperiously ?
1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster.
2 Ward. [^Within.'] Whoe'er he be, you maj' not
be let in.
1 Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villains ?
1 JVard. iWithin.'] The Lord protect him! so we
answer him:
We do no otherwise than we are willed.
Glo. Who willed you ? or whose will stands, but
mine ?
thrust its bill in to find its breakfast, Mahomet persuading the rude and
simple Arabians that it was the Holy Ghost"—RaleigfCs Hist, of the
World, part i. c. vi.
' Meaning tha four daughters of Philip mentioned in Acts xxi. 9
8 Conveyance anciently signified any kind of furtive knavery or privy
stealing.
sc. 111.]
KING HENRY VI.
i241
There's none protector of the realm, but I.—
Break up the gates; I'll be your warrantize:
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms ?
Servants rush at the tower gates. Enter^ to the gates,
WooDviLLE, the Lieutenant.
iVood. \JVithin.'] What noise is this.? what traitors
have we here.?
Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear.?
Open the gates; here's Gloster, that would enter.
Wood. [Within.'] Have ■ patience, noble duke; 1
may not open :
The cardinal of Winchester forbids ;
From him I have express commandment.
That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in.
Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore me.?
Arrogant Winchester.? that haughty prelate.
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook.?
Thou art no friend to God, or to the king:
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.
1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector;
Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.
Enter Winchester, attended by a train of Servants
in tawny coats.
Win. How now, ambitious Humphry.? what means
this.?
Glo. Pieled priest,' dost thou command me to be
shut out.?
Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor,
And not protector of the king or realm.
Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator:
Thou, that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord;
Thou, that giv'st whores indulgences to sin; ®
1 L e. haid; alluding to his shaven crown.
2 The public stews in Southwark were under the jurisdiction of the
bishop of Winchester.
VOL. IV. 31
242
FIRST PART OF
[ACT I
I'll canvas' thee in thy broad cardinal's hat.
If thou proceed in this thy insolence.
Win. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.
Glo. 1 will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth
I'll use, to carry thee out of this place.
Win. Do what thou dar'st: I beard chee to thy face.
Glo. What ? am I dared, and bearded to my face ?—
Draw, -men, for all this* privileged place ;
Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard,
[Gloster and his men attack the Bishop.
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly:
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat;
In spite of pope or dignities of church.
Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.
Win. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope
Glo. Winchester goose,® I cry^—a rope ! a rope !
Now beat them hence: why do you let them stay I
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.
Out, tawny coats!—out, scarlet hypocrite!
Here a great tumult. In the midst of it^ enter the
Mayor of London, and Officers.
May. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magis¬
trates.
Thus contumeliously should break the peace !
Glo. Peace, mayor: thou know'st little of my
wrongs:
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,
Hath here distrained the tower to his use.
Win. Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens;
One that still motions war, and never peace,
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines;
1 To canvas was «to toss in a sieve; a punishment (says Cotgrave
inflicted on such as commit gross absurdities."
2 A Winchester goose was a particular stage of the disease contracted
m the stews
sc. III.]
KING HENRY VI.
243
That seeks to overthrow religion,
Because he is protector of the realm;
And would have armor here out of the tower,
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince.
Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but blows.
[Here they skirmish again.
May. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife.
But to make open proclamation :—
Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst. ^
Off. All manner of men, assembled here in arms this
day against God's peace and the king's, loe charge
and command you, in his highness' name, to repair
to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear,
handle, or use, any siootA, weapon, or dagger, hence-
fonvard, upon pain of death.
Glo.^ Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law;
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.
Win. Gloster, we'll meet; to thy dear cost, be sure.
Thy heart-blood I will have, for this day's work.
May. I'll call for clubs,' if you will not away:
This cardinal is more haughty than the devil.
Glo. Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou
mayst.
Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head;
For I intend to have it ere long. [Exeunt-
May. See the coast cleared, and then we will
depart.—
Good God! that nobles should such stomachs bear!
I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt.
' The practice of callings out Clvbs ! clubs! to call out the London ap
prentices upon the oecasion of any afiray in the streets, has been befc.>«
explained.
244
first part of
[act x.
SCENE IV. France. Before Orleans.
Enter, on the walls, the Master Gunner and his Son
M. Gun, Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is be¬
sieged ;
And how the English have the suburbs won.
Son. Eather, I know; and oft have shot at them,
Ilowe'er, unfortunate, I missed my aim.
M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled
by me:
Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
Something I must do, to procure me grace:
The prince's espials have informed me.
How the English, in the suburbs close intrenched,
Wont,' through a secret grate of iron bars
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city;
And thence discover how, with most advantage,
They may vex us, with shot, or with assault.
To intercept this inconvenience,
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed;
And fully even these three days have I watched,
If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch.
For I can stay no longer.
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. \_Exit.
Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care:
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.
Enter, in an upper chamber of a tower, the Lords
Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Glansdale,
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and others.
Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again returned!
How wert thou handled, being prisoner.?
Or by what means gott'st thou to be released ?
Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top.
I The old copy reads went; the emendation is Mr. Tyrwhitt'a
80 IV.]
KING HENRY VI.
245
Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner,
Called—the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles;
For him I was exchanged and ransomed.
But with a baser man of arms by far,
Once, in contempt, they would have bartered me;
Which I, disdaining, scorned; and craved death
Rather than I would be so vile esteemed.'
In fine, redeemed I was as I desired.
But,.0 ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart!
Whom with my bare fists I would execute.
If I now had him brought into my power.
Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert entertained.
Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious
taunts.
In open market-place produced they me.
To be a public spectacle to all:
Here, said they, is the terror of the. French,^
The scare-crow that affrights our children so.
Then broke I from the officers that led me,
And with my nails digged stones out of the ground
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deemed me not secure ;
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread.
That they supposed I could rend bars of steel.
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
That walked about me every minute-while,
And if I did but stir out of my bed.
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.
Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endured;
But we will be revenged sufficiently.
Now it is supper-time in Orleans ;
1 The old copy reads " piUd esteemed."
2 "This man [Talbot]-was to the French people a very scourge and
a daily terror, insomuch that as his person was fearful and terrible
to his adversaries present, so his name and fame was spiteful and
dreadful to the cimmon people absent; insomuch that women in France,
to feare their yong children, would crye the Talbct cometh." —HalV»
Chronicle.
246
first part op
[act i.
Here, through this grate, I can count every one
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify;
Let us look in ; the sight will much delight thee —
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale
Let me have your express opinions.
Where is best place to make our battery next.
Gar. I think, at the north gate, for there stand lords
Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.
Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famished,
Oi with light skirmishes enfeebled.
[»S/toi from the town. Salisbury and Sir
Tho. Gargrave fall.
Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners
Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man !
Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath
crossed us ?—
Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak;
How Ibr'st thou, mirror of all martial men ?
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!
Accursed tower I accursed, fatal hand,
That hath contrived this woful tragedy!
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ;
Henry the Fifth he first trained to the wars;
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up.
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.—
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury ? though thy speech doth fail,
One eye thou hast to look to Heaven for grace;
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.—
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive.
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands !—
Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.—
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ?
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
Thou shalt not die, whiles
1 Camden saya, in his Remaines, that the French scarce knew the nsa
of great ordnance till the siege of Mans in 1455, when a breach was made
in the walls of that town by the English, under the conduct of this earl of
Salisbury *, and tiiat he was the first English gentleman that was slain by
a cannon ball.
sc. v.]
KING HENRY VI.
247
He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me;
As who should say, When I am dead and gone^
Remember to avenge me on the French.—
Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,^
IMay on the lute, beholding the towns burn.
Wretched shall France be only in my name.
[Thunder heard; afterwards an alarum.
What stir is this ? Avhat tumult's in the heavens.?
Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise .?
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. My lord, my lord, the French have gathered
head.
The dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle joined,—
A holy prophetess, new risen up,—
Is come with a great power to raise the siege.
(^Salisbury groan>.
Tal. Hear^ hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan !
It irks his heart, he cannot be revenged —
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you.—
Pucelle or puzzel,® dolphin or dogfish,
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.—
Convey me Salisbury into his tent.
And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.
[Exeunt, bearing out the bodies.
SCENE V. The same. Before one of the gates
Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the
Dauphin, and driveth him in. Then
Enter Joan la Pocelle, driving Englishmen before
her. Then enter Talbot.
Tal. Where is my strength, rny valor, and my force'
Our English troops retire ; I cannot stay them;
A woman, clad in armor, chaseth them.
1 In the old copy, the word JVero is wanting.
' Pvzzel means a dirty wench or a drab; « from puzza, i. e mains foetor,'
says Minsheu.
248
hrst part of
rACT 1
Enter La Pocelle.
Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee
Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee ;
Blood will I draw on thee,' thou art a witch,
And straightway give thy soul to him thou seiv'st.
Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace
thee. ^They fight,
Tal. He ,ens, can you suffer hell sq to prevail '
My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage,
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.
But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.
Puc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come
I must go victual Orleans forthwith
O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength
Go, go, cheer up thy hungry, starved men;
Help Salisbury to make his testament.
This day is ours, as many more shall be.
[PucELLE enters the town, with Soldiers
Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel .
I know not where I am, nor what I do.
A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,®
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists,
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench,'
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away.
They called us, for our fierceness, English dogs ;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.
short alarum.
Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight.
Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead :
Sheep run not half so timorous ® from the wolf.
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard.
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.
\Alarum. Another skirmish.
1 The superstition of those times taught that he who could draw t
witch's blood was free from lt,er power.
2 A'luding to Hannibal's stratagem to escape, by fixing bundles of
lighted iwigs on the horns of oxen, recorded by Livy, lib.xxij. c. xyj
3 Old copy, treachermis. Corrected by Pope.
BC. VI.]
KING HENRY VI.
249
It will not be.—Retire into your trenches.
You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.—
Pucelle is entered into Orleans,
In spite of us, or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
[Alarunu Retreat. Exeunt Talbot ard
his Forces, &c.
SCENE VI. The same.
Enter, on the walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignier,
Alen^on, and Soldiers.
Puc. Advance our waving colors on the walls;
Rescued is Orleans from the English wolves.'—
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath performed her word.
Char. Divinest creature, bright Aslrea's daughter.
How shall I honor thee for this success ?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens.
That one day. bloomed, and fruitful were the next.®—
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!—
Recovered is the town of Orleans;
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.
Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the
town ?
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires.
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.
Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy
When they shall hear how we have played the men.
Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won,
For which, I will divide my crown with her ;
And all the priests and friars in my realm
1 Wolves. Thiis the second folio; the first omits that word, and the epi-
tliet bright, prefixed to Astrea, in the next line but one.
2 The Adonis horti were nothing but portable earthen pots, with some
lettut e or fennel gro\ving in them.
VOL. IV. 32
250
first part of
[act IL
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear,
Than Rhodope's, of Memphis, ever was.'
In memory of her, when she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich-jeweled coffer of Darius,*
Transported shall be at high* festivals
Before the kings and queens of France.
No longer on saint Dennis will we cry.
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
Come in ; and let us banquet royally.
After this golden day of victory. \_Flourish Exeunt
ACT II.
SCENE I. The same.
Enter, to the gates, a French Sergeant, and two
Sentinels.
Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant.
If any noise or soldier you perceive.
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign.
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.
1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. \^Exit Sergeant.]
Thus are poor Servitors
CVhen others sleep upon their quiet beds)
onstrained to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.
1 The old copy reads;—
" Than Rhodophe's or Memphis ever was."
Rhodopt, or Rhodopis, a celebrated courtesan, who was a slave in the
same service with Alsop, at Samos.
2 «In what price the noble poems of Homer were holden by Alexander
the Great, insomuch that everie night they were layd under his pillow, and
by day were carried in the rich jetcel coffer off Darius, lately before van.
quished by him."—Puttenham's Arte off Englishe Poesit, 15^.
king henry vi.
251
Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and Forces^
with scaling-ladders; their drums heating a dead
march,
Tal. Lord regent,—and redoubted Burgundy,—
By whose approach, the regions of Artois,
Walloon and Picardy, are friends to us,—
I'his happy night the Frenchmen are'secure,
Having all day caroused and banqueted.
Embrace we then this opportunity;
As fitting best to quittance their deceit.
Contrived by art, and baleful sorcery.
Bed. Coward of France !—how much he wrongs
his fame.
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude.
To join with witches, and the help of hell.
Bur. Traitors have never other company.—
But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure
Tal. A maid, they say.
Bed. A maid ! and be so martial!
Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long;
If underneath the standard of the French,
She carry armor as she hath begun.
Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits
God is our fortress; in whose conquering name.
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.
Tal. Not all together; better far, I guess.
That we do make our entrance several ways;
That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rise against their force.
Bed. Agreed ; I'll to yon corner.
Bur. And I to this.
Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his
grave.—
Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, shall this night appear
How much in duty I am bound to both.
[The English scale the Walls, crying St. George
A Talbot! and all enter by the town.
252
first part op
[act ii.
Sent. [Wiihin.'l Arm, arm! the enemy doth make
assault!
[The French leap over the loalls in
their shirts.
Enteri several ways, Bastard, Alein^on, Re:ignikr,
half ready and half unready.
Alen. How now, my lords ? what, all" unready ^ so
Bast. U nreadyay, and glad we 'scaped so well.
lieig. 'Twas time, 1 trow, to wake and leave our
beds.
Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.
Alen. Of all exploits, since first I followed arms.
Never heard I of a.warlike enterprise
More venturous, or desperate than this.
Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.
Reig. If not of hell, the Heavens, sure, favor him
Alen. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped
Enter Charles and La Pucelle.
Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard.
Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame ?
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal.
Make us partakers of a little gain.
That now our loss might be ten times so much
Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his
friend ?
At all times will you have my power alike ?
Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail.
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me ?—
improvident soldiers I had your watch been good.
Phis sudden mischief never could have fallen.
Char. Duke of Alen^on, this was your default;
That, being captain of the watch to-night.
Did look no better to that weighty charge.
Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government.
We had not been thus shamefully surprised.
1 Unready is undressed
sc. II.l
KING HENRY VI.
253
Bmt. Mine was secure.
Rei^. And so was mine, my lord
Char. And for myself, most part of ail this night.
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct,
i was employed in passing to and fro,
Ahout; relieving of the sentinels.
I'hen how, or which way, should they first break in ?
Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case.
How, or which way ; 'tis sure, they found some place
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made;
And now there rests no other shift but this,—
To gather our soldiers, scattered and dispersed.
And lay new platforms' to endamage them.
Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying A Talbot!
A Talbot' They Jly, leaving their clothes behind.
Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
For I have loaden me with many spoils.
Using no other weapon but his name. {^Exit.
SCENE II. Orleans. Within the Town.
Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, ana
others.
Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled,
Whose pitchy mantle over-veiled the earth.
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.
[Retreat sounded
Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury;
And here advance it in the market-place.
The middle centre of this cursed town.—
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him.
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night
1 Plans, schemes.
254
FIRST PART OF
fACT It
And, that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happened in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interred ;
Upon the which, that every one may read.
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans ;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
I muse, we met not with the dauphin's grace;
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc;
Nor any of his false confederates.
Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight
began.
Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds.
They did amongst the troops of armed men.
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.
Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern,
For smoke and dusky vapors of the night)
Am sure 1 scared the dauphin, and his trull;
When arm in arm they both came swiftly running.
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,
That could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here.
We'll follow them with all the power we have.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
So much applauded through the realm of France ?
Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with
him ?
Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne,
With modesty admiring thy renown.
By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies; *
That she may beast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.
1 L e. where she dwells
sc. III.]
king henry vi.
85o
Bnr. Is it even so ? Nay, then, 1 see our wars
Will turn unto a peaceful, comic sport.
When ladies crave to be encountered with.—
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world of men
Could not prevail with all their oratory.
Yet hath a woman's kindness overruled.—
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks;
And in submission will attend on her.—
Will not your honors bear me company ?
Bed. No, truly ; it is more than manners will;
And I have heard it said,—unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.
Tal. Well, then, alone, since there's no remedy,
1 mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
Come hither, captain. \^lVhispers.'\—You perceive my
mind.
Capt. 1 do, my lord; and mean accordingly.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE III. Auvergne. Court of the Castte.
Enter the Countess and her Porter.
Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge ;
And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me.
Port. Madam, 1 will. [Exit.
Count. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight.
And his achievements of no less account.
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears.
To give their censure' of these rare reports.
Enter Messenger and Talbot.
Mess. Madam,
According as 30ur ladyship desired.
By message craved, so is lord Talbot come.
1 . e. judgment, opinio'i.
256
FIRST PART OP
[ACT a
Count. And he is welcome. What. is this the man ?
Mess. Madam, it is.
Count. Is this the scourge of Franco ?
Is this the Talbot, so much feared abroad.
That with his name the mothers still their babes ?
I see report is fabulous and false;
I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspect.
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf.
It cannot be, this weak and writhled^ shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.
Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.
Count. What means ho now?—Go ask him, whiihef
he goes.
Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot; for my lady craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.
Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
I go to certify her, Talbot's here.
Re-enter Porter, with keys.
Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner
Tal. Prisoner! to whom ?
Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord
And for that cause I trained thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me.
For in my gallery thy picture hangs;
But now the substance shall endure the like;
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine.
That hast by tyranny, these many years.
Wasted our country, slain our citizens.
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Tal. Ha, ha, ha!
Count. Laughest thou, wretch ? Thy mirth sha 1
turn to moan.
Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond,
I Writhled for wrinkled.
sc. 111.]
KING HENRY VI.
257
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow,
Whereon to practise your severity.
Count. Why, art not thou the man ?
I am indeed
Count. Then have I substance too.
Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself.
You are deceived ; my Substance is not here;
For what you see, is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity.
1 tell you, madam, were the whole frame here.
It is of such a spacious, lofty pitch.
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it;
Count. This is a riddling merchant' for the nonce
He will be here, and yet he is not here.
How can these contrarieties agree
Tal. That will I show you presently.
He winds a horn. Drums heard; then a peal of ord
nance. The gates being forced, enter Soldiers.
How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded.
That Talbot is but shadow of himself.^
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength.
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks;
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns.
And in a moment makes them desolate.
Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse;
1 find thou art no less than fame hath bruited.
And more than may be gathered by thy shape.
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;
For I am sorry, that with reverence
1 did not entertain thee as thou art.
Tal. Be not dismayed, fair lady; nor misconstrue
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outw ard composition of his body.
What you have done hath not offended me;
No other satisfaction do I crave.
But only (with your patience) that we may
1 The term merchant seems anciently to have been used on these familiu
occasions in contradistinction to gentleman.
VOL. IV. 3.t
258
fIRST part of
[ACT U
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have ;
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
Count. With all my heart; and think me honored
To feast so great a warrior in my house. \^Exeunt
SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden.,
Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick ,
Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and another
Lawyer.'
Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this
silence ?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth ?
Suff. Within the Temple hall we were too loud.
The garden here is more convenient.
Plan. Then say at once, if I maintained the truth,
Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error ?
Suff. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law;
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will.
Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be¬
tween us.
War. Between two hawks, which flies the highei
pitch,
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth.
Between two blades, which bears the better temper,
Between two horses, which doth bear him best.
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment;
But in these nice, sharp quillets of the law.
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
Plan Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance.
The truth appears so naked on my side,
Tliat any purblind eye may find it out.
Som. And on my side it is so well apparelled,
1 We should read a lawyer. This lawyer was probably Roger Ncvyla
who was afterwards hanged. See W. Wyrcester, p. 478.
8c iv j
king henry yi.
259
So clear, so shining, and so evident.
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.
Plan. Since you are tongue-tied, and so loath to
speak.
In dumb significants' proclaim your thoughts :
Let him, that is a true-born gentleman.
And stands upon the honor of his birth.
If he suppose that 1 have pleaded truth.
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth.
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
War. I love no colors; ® and, without all color
Of base, insinuating flattery,
1 pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Suff. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset;
And say withal, I think he held the right.
Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen ; and pluck no more,
Till you conclude—that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropped from the tree.
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.
Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected;
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.
Plan. And 1.
Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here.
Giving my .verdict on the white rose side.
Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off;
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red.
And fall on my side so against your will.
Ver. If I, my iord, for my opinion bleed.
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt.
And keep me on the side where still I am.
Som. Well, well, come on. Who else?
Lato. Unless my study and my books be false
The argument you held, was wrong in you;
[To Somerset
In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too.
• Sifrns or tokens.
■ Cidors is here used ambiguously for tints and deceits.
2G0
FIRST PART OF
[ACT II
'Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument?
Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that,
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.
Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit oui
roses; _
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
The truth on our side.
Som. No, Plantagenet,
'Tis not for fear; but anger,—that thy cheeks
Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses;
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ?
Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ?
Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his
truth;
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.
Som. Well, ril find friends to wear my" bleeding
roses.
That shall maintain what I have said is true,
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.
Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand
I scorn thee and thy faction,' peevish boy.
Suff. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.
Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and
thee.
Suff. Pll turn my part thereof into thy throat.
Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole!
We grace the yeoman, by conversing witli him.
War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Som¬
erset !
His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence,®
Third son to the third Edward, king of England;
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ?
1 Theobald altered fashion, whidi is the reading of the oid copy, to
fadion. Warburton contends that " by fashion is meant the badge of the
red rose."
2 The Poet mistakes. Plantagenet's paternal grandfather was Edmund
of Langley, duke of York. His maternal grandfatlier was Roger Morti¬
mer, earl of March, who was the son of Philippa, the daughter of Lionel,
diil.'e of" Clarence. The duke, therefore, was his maternal great great
prandf-ither.
sc. IV.]
KINO HENRY VI.
■261
Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege,'
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
On any plor of ground in Christendom.
Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's day.?
And,-by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted.
Corrupted, and exempt® from ancient gentry ?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ;
And, till thou he restored, thou art a yeoman.
Plan. My father was attached, not attainted;
'Condemned to die for treason, hut no traitor; ■
And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
Were growing time once ripened to my will.
For your partaker^ Poole, and you yourself,
I'll note you in my hook of memory.
To scourge you for this apprehension.
Look to it well; and say you are well warned.
Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
And know us, by these colors, for thy foes;
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear.
Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry ro.se
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hale.
Will I forever, and my faction, wear;
Until it wither with me to my grave.
Or flourish to the height of my degree.
Suff. Go forward, and be choked with thy ambition '
And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [^Exit.
Som. Have with thee, Poole.—Farewell, ambitious
Richard. [^Exit
Plan. How I am braved, and must perforce en
dure it!
War. This blot, that they object against your house,
1 It does not appear that the Temple had any privilege of sanctuary at this
time, being then, as now, the residence of law students. The author
might imagine it to have derived some such privilege from the hnights
templars, or knights hospitallers, both religious orders, its former inhab¬
itants.
2 Exempt for excluded.
3 Partaker, in ancient language, signifies one who takes part with anoth
er: an accomplice, a confederate.
262
FIRST PART OF
[act ii.
Shall be wiped out in the next parliament,
Called for the truce of Winchester and Gloster;.
And, if thou be not then created York,
I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee.
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose.
And here I prophesy,—This brawl to-day,
Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden.
Shall send, between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same
Laio. And so will I.
Plan. Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say.
This quarrel will drink blood another day.
SCENE V. The same. A Room in the
Enter Mortimer,^ brought in a chair by two
Mor. Kind keepers of my weak, decaying
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.—
Even like a man new haled from the rack.
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment;
And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death,
Nestor-like aged, in an age of care.
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes—like lamps whose wasting oil is spent—
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; ®
Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief.
And pithless arms, like to a withered vine
1 This is at vanance with the strict truth of history. Edmund Mort>
mer, who was trusted and employed by Henry V. throughout his reign,
died of the plague in his own castle at Trim, in Ireland, in 1424-5; being
then only thirty-two years old.
< Exigent is here used for end.
[^Exeunt
Tower.
Keepers
age.
sc. v.]
KING HENRY Vl.
2G3
That droops his sapless branches to the ground; —
Yet are these feet—whose strengthless stay is numb,
Unable to support this lump of clay—
Swift winged with desire to get a grave,
As witting I no other comfort have.—
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ?
1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber;
And answer was returned that he will come.
Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.—
Poor gentleman 1 his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
^efore whose glory I was great in arms,)
This loathsome sequestration have I had;
And even since then hath Richard been obscured.
Deprived of honor and inheritance :
But now, the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence :
I would his troubles likewise were expired.
That so he might recover what was lost.
Enter Richard Plantagenet.
1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend ? Is he come '
Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used.
Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes.
Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp.
0, tell me, when my lips do touch his checks.
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.—
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock.
Why didst thou say—of late thou wert desjtised ?
Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine' arm,
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.'
This day, in argument upon a case,
1 Disease for uneasiness, trouble, or gnef. It is used -n this sense by
ithor ancient wi iters.
264
FIRST PART OP
[act II
Some words there^rew 'twixt Somerset and me;
Among which terms he used his lavish tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death;
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him:
Therefore, good uncle,—for my father's sake.
In honor of a true Plantagenet,
And for alliance' sake,—declare the cause
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprisoned mc
And hath detained me, all my flowering youth,
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine.
Was cursed instrument of his decease.
Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.
Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit.
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king.
Deposed his nephew' Richard ; Edward's son.
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent;
During whose reign, the Percies of the north.
Finding his usurpation most unjust.
Endeavored my advancement to the throne:
The reason moved these warlike lords to this.
Was—for that (young king Richard thus removed.
Leaving no heir begotten of his body)
I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother 1 derived am
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son
To king Edward the Third, whereas he
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree.
Being but fourth of that heroic line.
But mark; as, in this haughty, great attempt.
They labored to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the Fifth—
I J^ephew has sometimes the power of the Latin nepos, si^ifying
grandchild, and is used with great laxity among our ancient English
writers. It is here used instead of co iwtn.
sc. v.]
KING HENRY Vl.
265
Succeeding his father Bolingbioke—did reign,
Thy father, earl of Cambridge,—then derived
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York,—
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was.
Again, in pity of my hard distress,
Levied an army; weening^ to redeem.
And have installed me in the diadem;
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl.
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppressed.
Plan. Of which, my lord, your honor is the last.
Mor. True ; and thou seest that I no issue have ;
And that my fainting words do warrant death :
Thou art my heir; the rest, 1 wish thee gather:®
But yet be wary in thy studious «are.
Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me;
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.
Mor. ''Vith silence, nephew, be thou politic;
Strong-h ic-1 is the house of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be removed.
But now th}i uncle is removing hence ;
As princes do ."^heir courts, when they are cloyed
With long continuance in a settled place.
Plan. O, unci^, 'would some part of my young
years
Might but redeem thn passage of your age!
Mot. Thou dost th>.m wrong me; as the slaughterer
doth.
Which giveth many wounis, when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sor.'ow for my good;
Only, give order for my fune/al;
And so farewell; and fair be aH thy hopes!
And prosperous be thy life, in peace and war! [Dies.
Plan. And peace, no war, beLU thy parting soul!
t L e. thinking. This is another falsification of history. Cambiidga
leviejl no army; but was apprehended at Southan oton, the night before
Henry sailed from that town for France, on the inti rmation of this very
earl of March.
s i. e. I acknowledge thee to be my heir; the conseq fences which mail
be collected from thence, I recommend it thee to draw.
VOL. IV. 34
266
first part of
[act iii
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And like a hermit overpassed thj dajs.—
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.—
Keepers, convey him hence; and I myseL
Will see his burial better than his life.—
[Exeunt Keepers, hearing out Mot.timer.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Choked with ambition of the meaner sort:'
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries.
Which Somerset hath offered to my house,
I doubt not, but with honor to redress:
And therefore haste I to the parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood.
Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit
ACT III.
SCENE I. The same. The Parliament House.*
Flourish.
Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloster, Warwick,
Somerset, and Suffolk ; the Bishop of Winches¬
ter, Richard Plantagenet, and others. Gloster
offers to put up a bill:^ Winchester snatches it and
tears it.
Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines.
With written pamphlets studiously devised,
1 i. e. oppressed by those whose right to the crown was not so good as
his own; or, according to Warburton, becoming the instrument of others
in tlieir rebellious intrigues, rather than asserting his own claims.
2 This parliament was held in 1426 at Leiceste-, though here repre¬
sented to have been held in London. King Henry was now in the fifth
year of his age. In the first parliament, which was held at London shortly
after his father's death, his mother, queen Katliarine, brought the young
king from Windsor to the metropolis and sa' on the throne with the infant
in her lap.
3 u e. articles of accusation.
sc. r.]
KING HENRY VI.
267
Humphre} of Gloster ? If thou canst accuse,
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention suddenly;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands m5
patience,
Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonored me.
Think not, although in writing I preferred
The manner of thy vile, outrageous crimes.
That therefore I have forged, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness.
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissensions pranks.
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A mar/"of thy profession and degree;
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest.^
in that thou laid'st a trap to take my life.
As well at London bridge, as at the tower ?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted.
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.—Lords, vouchsafe
To give ine bearing what I shall reply;
If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse,
'As he will have me, how am I so poor?
Or hoAV haps it, I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ^
And for dissension, who preferreth peace
More than I do,—except I be provoked ?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
It is not that, that hath incensed the duke:
It is, because no one should sway but he ;
' No one, but he, should ne about the king,
And that engenders thunder in his breast.
And makes him roar these accusations forth
But he shall know, I am as good
268
FIRST PART OF
[ACT III.
Glo,
As good ^
Thou bastard of rny grandfather! —'
Win. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in another's throne ?
Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest ?
Win. And am I not a prelate of the church
Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
And useth it to patronage his theft.
Win. Unrcverent Gloster!
Glo. Thou art reverent
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
Win. This Rome shall remedy.
Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
Som. Methinks my lord should be religious.
And know the office that belongs to such.
War. Methinks his lordship should be humbler ,
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. •
Som. Yes, when his holy state is touched so near.
War. State holy, or unhallowed, what of.that.?
Is not his grace protector to the king ?
Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue.
Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should;
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords f
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. \^Aside
K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail.
To join your hearts in love and amity.
O, what a scandal is it to our crown.
That two such noble peers as ye, should jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell.
Civil dissension is a viperous worm.
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.-
[A noise loithin; Down with the tawny coats I
What tumult's this ?
War.
Roam thither then
1 The bishop 6f Winchester was an illegitimate son of John of Gaunt,
duke of Lancaster, by Katliarine Swynford, whom the duke aRerwards
married.
sc. 1)
king henry vi.
269
War. An uproar, I dare warrant,
Begun through malice of the bishop's men.
\_A noise again; Stones! stones!
Enter the Mayor of London, attended.
May. O, my good lords,—and virtuous Henry,
Pity the city of London, pity us! ^
The bishop and the duke of Gloster's men.
Forbidden late to carry any weapon.
Have filled their pockets full of pebble-stones;
And, banding themselves in contrary parts.
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate.
That many have their giddy brains knocked out:
Our windows are broke down in every street.
And we, for fear, compelled to shut our shops.
Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of Gloster and
with bloody pates.
K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself.
To hold your slaughtering hands, and keep tiie peace
Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife.
1 Serv. Nay, if we be
Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth.
2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
[Skirmish again
Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,
And set this unaccustomed fight aside.
3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright; and, for your royal birth.
Inferior to none but his majesty ;
And ere that we will suffer such a prince.
So kind a father of the commonweal.
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,'
We, and our wives, and children, all will fight.
And have our bodies slaughtered by thy Toes.
1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead.
[Skirmish again
1 L 0. a bookish person, a pedant, applied in contempt to a scholar.
•270
FIRST FART OF
[ACT 111
Glo. Stay, stay, I say
A nd, if you love me, as you say } ou do.
Let me pertuade you to forbear a while.
K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!—
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent ?
Who should be pitiful, if you Tie not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace.
If holy churchmen take delight in broils ?
War. My lord protector, yield;—yield, Winchesler;
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse,
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief, and what murder too.
Hath been enacted through your enmity;
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.,
Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield.
Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop,
Or 1 would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.
War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke
Hath banished moody, discontented fury.
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear.
Why look you still so stern and tragical?
Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
K. Hen. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you
preach.
That malice was a great and grievous sin;
And will not you maintain the thing you teach.
But prove a chief offender in the same ?
War. Sweet king!—the bishop hath a kindly gird.*
For shame, my lord of Winchester! relent.
What, shall a child instruct you what to do ?
Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee;
Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.
Glo. Ay; • but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.—
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen;
This token serveth for a flag of truce,
1 A kindly gird is a kind or gentle reproof. Others suppose the plirase
to mean " some yearnings of kindness."
|»C. I.
KING HENRY VI.
271
Betwi.vt ourselves, and all our followers.
So help me God, as I dissemble not!
Win. So help me God, as I intend it not! [Aside
K. Hen. O, loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster,
How joyful am I made by this contract!—
Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
1 Serv. Content; I'll to the surgeon's.
2 Serv. And so will i
3 Serv. And I will see what physic the lavern
affords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, ^c.
War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign ;
Which, in the right of Richard Plantagenet,
We do exhibit to your majesty.
Glo. Well urged, my lord of Warwick;—for, sweet
prince.
And if your grace mark every circumstance.
You have great reason to do Richard right;
Especially, for those occasions
At Eltham-place I told your majesty.
K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is.
That Richard be restored to his blood.
War. Let Richard be restored to his blood;
So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed.
Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.
K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone.
But all the whole inheritance I give.
That doth belong unto the house of York,
From whence you spring by lineal descent.
Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience.
And humble service, till the point of death.
K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against mj
foot;
And, in reguerdon of that duty done,
I girt thee with the valiant sword o^ York.
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet;
And rise created princely duke of York.
P'an. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall I
272
first fart of
[ACT 111
And as my duty springs, so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty !
All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke oi
York!
Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York!
[^ide
Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty,
To cross the seas, and to be crowned in France.
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends;
As it disanimates his enemies.
K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Henry
goes;
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
Glo. Your ships already are in readiness.
[^Exeunt all but Exeter.
Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers,
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love.
And will at last break out into a flame; .
As festered members rot but by degrees,
Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away.
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy,
Which in the time of Henry, named the Fifth,
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe,—
That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all;
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all:
Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish
His days may finish ere that hapless time. \^Exit.^
1 The duke of Exeter died shortly after the meeting of this parliament,
and tlie earl of Warwick was appointed governor or tutor to the king in
his room
sc. 11]
king henry vi.
273
SCENE 11. France. Before Rouen.
Enter La Pucelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed like
Countrymen, with sacks upon their backs.
Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen
Through which our policy must make a breach.
Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men.
That come to gather money for their corn.
If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,)
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends.
That Charles the dauphin may encounter them.
1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
Therefore we'll knock. ^Knocks
Guard. [fTti/un.] Qui est la?
Puc. Paisans, pauvres gens de France.
Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn.
Guard. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung.
[Opens the gate.
Puc. Now, Rouen,^ I'll shake thy bulwarks to the
ground. [Pucelle, ^c. enter the city.
Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Alen^on and
Forces.
Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem!
And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.
Bast. Here entered Pucelle, and her practisants ; ®
Now she is there, how will she specify
Where is the best and safest passage in ?
Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower
Which, once discerned, shows, that her meaning is,—
No way to that,® for weakness, which she entered.
1 Rouen was ancienlly written and pronounced Roan.
2 Practice, in the language of the time, was treachery, or insidious
stratagem. Practisants are therefore confederaies in treachery.
3 i. e. no way like or compared to that
VOL. IV. 35
274
first part of
[ACT ill
Enter La Pucelle on a battlement; holdh.g out a
torch, burning.
Puc. Behold this is the happy wedding torch,
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
But burning fatal to the Talbotites.
Bast. See, noble Charles ! the beacon of our friend,
The burning torch in yonder turret stands.
Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to the fall of all our foes!
Alen. Defer no time ; delays have dangerous ends ;
Enter, and cry—The dauphin !—presently,
And then do execution on the watch. [They enter.
Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English.
Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy
tears.
If Talbot but survive thy treachery.—
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress.
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares.
That hardly we escaped the pride' of France.
[Exeunt to the town.
Alarum: Excursions. Enter, from the town,
brought in sick in a chair, ivith Talbot, Burgundy,
and the English Forces. Then enter, on the ivalls.
La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alen^on, and
others.
Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for
bread ?
I think the duke of Burgundy will fast.
Before he'll buy again at such a rate.
'Tvvas full of darnel.® Do you like the taste ?
1 rride signifies haughty power.
2 ^ Darnel (says Gerarde, in his Herbal) hurteth the eyes, and maketh
them dim, if it happen either in come for breade, or drinke." La Pucelle
means to intimate that the com she carried with her had produced the
same effect on the guards of Rouen
sc. 11.]
king henry vi.
Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless courtesan.
f trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own.
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.
Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that
time.
Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this
treason !
Puc. What will you do, good gray-beard ? Break a
lance,
And run a tilt at death within a chair ?
, Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite.
Encompassed with thy lustful paramours!
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age.
And twit with cowardice a man half dead ?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again.
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
Puc. Are you so hot, sir?—Yet, Pucelle, hold thy
peace;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.—
[Talbot and the rest consult together.
God speed the parliament! Who shall be the speaker ?
Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field ?
Puc. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
To try if that our own be ours, or no.
Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alen^on, and the rest.
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ?
Alen. Seignior, no.
Tal. Seignior, hang!—Base muleteers ot t ranee!
Like peasant footboys do they keep the walls ;
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.
Puc. Captains, away : let's get us from the walls;
For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks.—
God be wi' you, my lord! we came, sir, but to tell you
That we are here.
[Exeunt La Pucelle, ^c.from the walls
Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long.
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame !—
Vow, Burgundy, by honor of thy house,
(Pricked on by public wrongs, sustained in France,)
276
first part of
ACT in
Either to get the town again, or die.
And I,—as sure as English Henry lives,
And as his father here was conqueror;
As sure as in this late-betrayed town
Great ('a3ur-de-lion's heart was buried ;
So sure I swear, to get the town, or die.
Bur^ My vows are equal partners with thy vows
Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
The valiant duke of Bedford.—Come, my lord,
We will bestow you in some better place.
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age.
Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonor me.
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen,
And will be partner of your weal, or woe.
Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.
Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read
That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick,^
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes.
Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts.
Because I ever found them as myself.
Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!—
Then be it so;—Heavens keep old Bedford safe!—
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
But gather we our forces out of hand.
And set upon our boasting enemy.
\Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces^
leaving Bedford, and others.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe
and a Captain.
Cap. Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such haste ?
Fast. Whither away ? to save myself by flight;
We are like to have the overthrow again.
Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot ?
Fast. Ay,
All the Tal hots in the world to save my life. \^Exit.
1 This is from llarding's Chronicle, who gives a like account of Uthei
Pendragon.
sc. II.]
KING HENRY VI.
277
Cap. Cowardly knight! Ill fortune follow thcc.
[^Exil
Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the town, La
PucEj.le, alen90n, Charles, ^c., and exeunt,
ffng-
Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when Heaven please ;
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
What is the trust or strength of foolish man ?
They, that of late were daring with their scoffs.
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
[Dies, and is carried off in his chair.*
Alarum: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others.
Tat. Lost, and recovered in a day again
This is a double honor. Burgundy.
Yet, Heavens have glory for this victory!
Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects
Thy noble deeds, as valor's monument.
Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucello
now ?
I think her old familiar is asleep.
Now Where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his
gleeks ? ®
What, all amort ? ® Rouen hangs her head for grief.
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order in the town.
Placing therein some expert officers ;
And then depart to Paris, to the king;
For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies.
Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy
Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget
The noble duke of Bedford, late deceased.
But see his exequies fulfilled in Rouen.
1 The duke of Bedford died at Rouen in September, 1435, but not ia
eny action before that town.
2 Scoffs.
8 L e. cast down, or dispirited.
278
first part of
(act 111
A braver soldier never couched lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in court:
But kings and mightiest potentates must die;
For that's the end of human misery. \_Exeunt
SCENE III. The same. The Plains near the City
Enter Charles, the Bastard, alen90n, La Pi celle,
and Forces.
Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident.
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered;
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive.
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while.
And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
We'll pull his plumes, and take away his tram,
If dauphin, and the rest, will be but ruled.
Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto,
And of thy cunning had no diffidence ;
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.
Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies.
And we will make thee famous through the world.
Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place.
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint;
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan devise.
By fair persuasions, mixed with sugared words,
We will entice the duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.
Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us.
But be extirped from our provinces.
Alen. Forever should they be expulsed from France,
And not have title to an earldom here.
Puc. Your honors shall perceive how I will work.
To bring: this matter to the wished end.
IDrums heard
so. 111.]
KING HENRY VI
279
Hark! by the sound of drum, you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
An English March. Enter, and pass over at a dis
tancii, Talbot and his Forces.
There goes the Talbot with his colors spread;
And all the troops of English after him.
A French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy and
Forces.
Now, in the rearward, comes the duke, and his;
Fortune, in favor, makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley; we will talk with him.
\^A parley sounded.
Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy.
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy ?
Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy country¬
man.
Bur. What say'st thou, Charles ? for I am marching
hence.
Char. Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with thy
words.
Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
Sfay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious.
Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defaced
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe!
As looks the mother on her lowly babe.
When death doth close his tender, dying eyes,
Sim, see, the pining malady of France;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
W hich thou thyself hast given her woful breast!
O, turn thy edged sword another way;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help!
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom.
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears.
And wash away thy country's stained spots!
iSO FIEST PART OF [ACT III.
f
Bur. Either she hath bewitched me with her words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims cn
thee,
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny
Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation.
That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake ?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashioned tliee that instrument of ill.
Who then but English Henry will be lord,"
And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive ?
Call we to mind,—and mark but this, for proof;—
Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe ?
And was he not in England prisoner.?
But, when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free,' without his ransom paid,
In spite of -Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then ! thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, return ; return, thou wandering lord ;
Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms.
Bur. I am vanquished : these haughty words of hers
Have battered me like roaring cannon-shot.
And made me almost yield upon my knees.—
Forgive me, country, and sweet conntrymen!
And, lords, accept this hearty, kind embrace:
My forces and my power of men are yours,
So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.
P'lic. Done like a Frenchman, turn, and turn again !
Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes
us fresh.
Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
Alen. Pucelle hath bravely played her part in this,
And doth deserve a coronet of gold.
Char.-' Now let us on, my lords, and Join our powers;
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt.
1 Another mistake. The duke was not liberated till after Burgundy's
decline to the French interest; which did not happen, by the way, tiU
sonu) years aftir the execution of La Pucelli!; nor was that during tn«
regency of York, but of Bedford.
sc. rv.
KING HENRT VI.
281
SCENE IV. Paris. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, and otner Lords, Ver¬
non, Basset, ^c. To them Txlbot, and sotne oj
his Officers.
Tul. My eracious prince,-^—and honorable peers,—
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
1 have a while given truce unto my wars,
To do my duty to my sovereign;
In sign whereof, this arm—that hath reclaimed
To your obedience fifty fortresses,
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem—
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet;
And, with submissive loyalty of heart.
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got.
First to my God, and next unto your grace.
K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster,'
That hath so long been resident in France ?
Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.
K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious lord!
When I was young, (as yet I am not old,)
I do remember how my father said,®
A stouter champion never handled sword.
Long since we were resolved of your truth,
Your faithful service, and your toil in war;
Yet never have you lasted our reward,
Or been reguerdoned with so much as thanks.
Because till now we never saw your face.
Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts.
We here create you earl of Shrewsbury;
And in our coronation take your place.
[Exeunt King Henry, Gloster, Talbot,
and Nobles.
1 Hanmer supplied the apparent deficiency in this line, ty njading:—
" Is this the famed lord Talbot," &c.
2 Malone remarks that « Henry was but nine months old when his
lather died."
vol.. IV. 36
283
FIRST PART OF
fACT IV
Per. Now, sir, to you, that were so hoi at sea.
Disgracing of these colors' that I wear
In honor of rny nohle lord of York,—
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?
Bas. Yes, sir; as well as y m dare patronage
The envious barking of your saucy tongue
Against my lord the duke of Somerset.
Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I'honor as he is.
Bas. Why, what is he ? as good a man as York.
Ver. Hark ye; not so': in witness, take ye that.
[Strikes him
Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such
That whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death ; ®
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost.
Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as yon,
And, after, meet you sooner than you would. [Exeunt
ACT IV.
SCENE I. The same. A Room of State.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, ExetUr, York, Suf¬
folk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Talbot,
the Governor of Paris, and others.
Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.
m,n. God save king Henry, of that name the
Sixth!
w Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,
[Governor kneels
1 i. e. the badge of a rose.
9 llv the ancient law, before the conqnest, fighting in the king's palace,
3r before the king's judges, was punished imih death.
sc. l.J
kino henry vi.
283
That you elect no other king but him;
Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends;
And none your foes, but such as shall pretend ^
Malicious practices against his state :
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!
\_Exeunt Gov. and his Train.
Enter Sir John Fastolfe.
Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
To haste unto your coronation,
A letter was delivered to my hands.
Writ to your grace from tlie duke of Burgundy.
Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee!
1 vowed, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,
[^Plucking it off
(Which T have done,) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree.—
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest:
This dastard, at the battle of Patay,®
When but in all I was six thousand strong.
And that the French were almost ten to one,—
Before we met, or that a stroke was given,
Like to a trusty squire, did run away;
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside.
Were there surprised and taken prisoners.
Then Judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
'I'his ornament of knighthood, yea, or no.
Glo. To say the truth,' this fact was infamous,
^ To pretend is to intend, to design.
2 The old copy has Poictiers instead of Patmj. The battle of Poictiers
was fought in 1357, the 31st of king Edward III., and the scene now lies in
the 7th of king Henry VI. viz. 1428. The action happened (according to
Hoi inshed) "neere unto a village in Beausse, called Pote'e.—From this
battel departed, without any stroke stricken, sir John Fastolfe, the same
yeere by his valiantnese elected into the order of the garter. But for
doubt of misdealing at this brunt, the duke of Bedford tooke from him the
image of St. George and his garter," &c.
284
first part of
[act iv
And ill beseeming any common man;
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader.
Tal. When first this order was ordained, my lords,
Knights of the gaiter were of noble birth ;
Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
But always resolute in most extremes.
He then, that is not furnished in this sort.
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
Profaning this most honorable order;
And should (if I were worthy to be judge)
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.
K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen ! thou hear'st thy
doom.
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight;
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.—
\^Exit Fastolfe
And now, my lord protector, view the letter
Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy.
Glo. What means his grace, that he hath changed
his style ? [Viewing the superscription
No more but, plain and bluntly,—To the King?
Hath he forgot he is his sovereign ?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Pretend some alteration in good will ?
What's here ?—I have upon especial cause,— [Reads.
Moved with compassion of my country''s wreck,
Together tvith the pitiful complaints
Of such as your oppression feeds upon,—
Forsaken your pern icious faction.
And joined with Charles, the rightful king of France
O monstrous treachery! Can this be so ?
That in alliance, amity, and oaths.
There should be found such false, dissembling guile ?
K. He7i. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt ?
Glo. He doth, my lord ; and is become your foe.
K. Hen. Is that the worst this huter doth contain f
Glo. It isthe worst, and all, niy lord, he writes
sc. J.]
king henry vi.
285
K. Hen. Why, then, lord Talbot there shall lalk
with him.
And give aim chastisement for this abuse :—
My lord, how say you ? are you not content.?
Tal. Content, my liege.? Yes; but that 1 am
prevented,'
I should have begged I might have been employed.
K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unlo
him straight:
1 iCt him perceive how ill we brook his treason;
And what offence it is to flout his friends.
Tal. I go, my lord ; in heart desiring still.
You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit
Enter Vernon and Basset.
Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign!
Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too!
York. This is my servant; hear him, noble prince !
Sam. And this is mine ; sweet Henry, favor him !
K. Hen. Be patient, lords; and give them leave to
speak.—
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim.?
And wherefore crave you combat.? or with whom .?
Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done me wrong
Bas. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.
K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both com¬
plain .?
Jirst let me know, and then I'll answer you.
Bas. Crossing the sea, from England into France^
This fellow here, with envious, carping tongue.
Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
Saj ing—the sanguine color of the leaves
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks.
When stubbornly he did repugn^ the truth.
About a certain question in the law.
Argued betwixt the duke of York and him;
' Prevented's anticipated.
2 To repugn is lo resist; from the Latin repugno.
286
FIRST PART OF
[ACT IV
With otlier vile and ignominious terms;
In confutation of which rude reproach,
And in defence of mj lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of law of arms.
Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord;
For though he seem, with forged, quaint conceit.
To set a gloss upon his bold intent.
Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him;
And he first took exceptions at this badge.
Pronouncing—that the paleness of this flower
Bewrayed the faintness of my master's heart.
York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?
Sam. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will
out.
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.
A'. Hen. Good Lord! what madness rules in brain¬
sick men;
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause.
Such factious emulations shall arise !—
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight.
And then your highness shall command a peace.
Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
York. There is my pledge ; accept it, Somerset.
Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.
Bas. Confirm it so, mine honorable lord.
Glo. Confirm it so ? Confounded be your strife!
And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
Presumptuous vassals! are you not ashamed.
With this immodest, clamorous outrage,
'I'o trouble and disturb the king and us?
And you, my lords,—methinks you do not weli,
To bear with their perverse objections;
Much less to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves.
Let me persuade you take a better course.
Exe. It grieves his highness;—Good my lords, be
friends.
8C. I.]
KING HENRY VI.
297
K. Hen Come hither, you that would be combat-
ants.
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favor,
Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.—
And you, my lords,—remember where we are ;
In France, amongst a fickle, wavering nation.
If they perceive dissension in our looks.
And that within ourselves we disagree.
How will their grudging stomachs be provoked
To wilful disobedience, and rebel!
Beside, what infamy will there arise.
When foreign princes shall be certified.
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard,
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility.
Destroyed themselves, and lost the realm of France!
O, think upon the conquest of my father.
My tender years; and let us not forego
That, for a trifle, that was bought with blood I
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
[^Putting on a red rose
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset than York.
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both;
As well may they upbraid me with my crown.
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crowned.
But your discretions better can persuade.
Than I am able to instruct or teach;
And therefore, as we hither came in peace.
So let us still continue peace and love.—
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in these parts of France ;
And good my lord of Somerset, unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;—
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
Go cheerfully together, and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, toy lord protector, and the rest.
After some respite, will return to Calais;
28S first part of [act iv
*
^Vorn thence to England; where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories,
With Charles, Alen^on, and that traitorous rout.
[^Flourish. Exeunt K. Hen., Geo., Som.,
Win., Suf., and Basset.
War. Mj' lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily, methought, did play the orator.
York. And so he did; but yet I like it not.
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
War. Tush! that was but his fancy ; blame him not;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
York. And if I wist he did,'—But let it rest;
Other affairs must now be managed.
\^Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon
Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen deciphered there
More rancorous spite, more furious, raging broils.
Than yet can be imagined or supposed.
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility.
This shouldering of each other in the court.
This factious bandying of their favorites,
But that it doth presage some ill event.
Tis much, when sceptres are in ehildren's hands,
But more, when envy® breeds unkind^ divisions.
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. \Exit
SCENE II. France. Before Bordeaux.
Enter Talbot, tetv/t his Forces.
Tel. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their general unto the wall.
* I'lie old copy reads, " And if i tvlsh he did an evident typograph
ical error. Some modern editions read, " And, if 1 wist, he did."
Envy, in old Knglish writers, fretjuently means nudice, enmity.
' flnkind is unnatural.
BC II. f
KING HENRY VI.
289
Tnimpet sounds a parley. Enter, on ^ne walls, the.
General of the French Forces, and others.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
Servant in arms to Harry king of England
And thus he would,—Open your city gates;
Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours.
And do him homage as obedient subjects,
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power;
But, if you frown upon this proffered peace,
lou tempt the fury of my three attendants.
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers.
If you forsake the offer of our loveJ
Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge!
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter, but by death;
For, I protest, we are well fortified,
And strong enough to issue out and fight
If thou retire, the dauphin, well appointed.
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee.
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitched,
To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress.
But death doth front thee vvith apparent spoil.
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament.
To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing, valiant man,
Of an invincible, unconquered spirit.
This is the latest glory of thy praise.
That I, thy enemy, due® thee withal;
For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
1 The old editions read «their love." Sir Thomas Hanmer altered it to
• our love."
8 Due for endue or giving due and merited praise.
VOL. IV. 37
290
first part of
[act ff.
Finish the process if his sandy hour,
These eyes, that see thee now well colored,
Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead.
l^Drum afar off
Hark! hark! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.
[^Exeunt General, ^c.from the walls.
Tal lie fables not; I hear the enemy;—
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.-
O, negligent and heedless discipline!
How are we parked, and bounded in a pale;
A little herd of England's timorous deer.
Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!
If we be English deer, be then in blood; ^
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch;
But raiher moody-mad, and desperate stags.
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay.
Sell every man his life -as dear as mine,
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.—
God, and saint George! Talbot, and England's right!
Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight! [^Exeunt.
SCENE III. Plains in Gascony.
Enter York, loith Forces; to him a Messenger.
4
York. Are not the speedy scouts returned again.
That dogged the mighty array of the dauphin ?
Mess. They are returned, my lord ; and give it out,
That he is marched to Bordeaux with his power.
To fight with Talbot As he marched along.
By your espials were discovered,
Two mightier troops than that the dauphin led ;
1 In hlood is a term of the forest; a deer was said to be in blood when in
vigor or in good oondition, and full of courage; here put in opposition to ras¬
cal, which was the term for the same animal when lean and out of condition
sc. Ill ]
KING HENRY VI.
2b.
Which joined with him, and made theii march for Bor¬
deaux.
York. A plague upon that villain Somerset;
That tnus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid;
And I am louted' by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier.
God comfort him in this necessity!
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.
Enter Sir William Lucy.
Lnicy. Thou princely leader of our English strength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot;
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron.
And hemmed about with grim destruction.
To Bordeaux, warlike duke! to Bordeaux, York!
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honor.
York. O God ! that Somerset—who in proud heart
Doth stop my"cornets—were in Talbot's place!
So should we save a valiant gentleman.
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep.
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.
Lucy. O, send some succor to the distressed lord!
York. He dies, we lose; 1 break my warlike word;
We mourn-, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.
Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's
soul!
And on his son, young John; whom, two hours since,
1 met in travel toward his warlike father!
This seven years did not Talbot see his son ;
And now they meet where both their lives are done.
I The meaning of this word here is evidently loitered, retarded; and the
lolfowing quotation from Cotgrave will show that this was sometimes the
sense of to lowl;—" Loricarder, to luskc, lowl, or lubber it; to loyter about
dke a master-less man."
292
FIRST PART OF
[ACT T?
York. Alas! what joys shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave!
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath,
That sundered friends greet in the hour of death.—
Lucy, farewell! no more my fortune can.
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.—
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. \_Extt
L/ucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
Sleeping ncglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror.
That ever-living man of memory,
Henry the Fifth.—Whiles they each other cross.
Lives, honors, lands, and all, hurry to loss. f Exit
SCENE IV. Oilier Plains of Gascony.
Enter Somerset, loith his Forces; an Officer of Tai.
box's with him.
Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them now
This expedition was by York, and Talbot,
Too rashly plotted; all our general force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honor.
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure :
York set him on to fight, and die in shame.
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.
Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me
Set from our o'ermatched forces forth for aid.
Enter Sir William Lucy.
Som. How now, sir William? whither were you sent.''
Lucy. Whither, my lord ? from bought and sold lord
Talbot
I This expression seems to hsve been proverbial; intimating that fonl
play had been used.
BC. iv:]
KING HENRY VI.
293
Who, ringed about' with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions.
And whiles the honorable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied Jimbs,
And, in advantage lingering,® looks for rescue.
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honor,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succors that should lend him aid.
While he, renowned, noble gentleman,
Yields up his life unto a world of odds.
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alen9on, Reignier, compass him about.
And Talbot perisheth by your default.
Som. York set him on; York shoald have sent
him aid.
Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims ;
Swearing that you withhold his levied host.
Collected for this expedition.
Som. York lies; he might have sent and had the
horse.
I owe him little duty, and less love ;
And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending.
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the- force oi
France,
Hath now entrapped the noble-minded Talbot.
Never to England shall he bear his life ;
But dies, betrayed to fortune by your strife.
Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen
straight;
Within six hours they will be at his aid.
L/iicy. Too late comes rescue ; he is ta'cn, or slain
For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in
you. I Exeunt
1 Encircled, environed.
9 Protracting his resistance by the advmUage of a strong post
294
FIKST PART OP
[act iv.
SCENE V. The English Camp near Bordeaux
Enter Talbot and John his Son
Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for theiM,
To tutor thee in stratagems of war;
That Talbot's name might be in thee revived,
When sapless age, and weak, unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But,—O malignant and ill-boding stars!—
Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided' danger:
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight: come, dally not; begone.
John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your son f
And shall I fly f O, if you love my mother.
Dishonor not her honorable name.
To make a bastard, and a slave of me ;
The world will say—He is not Talbot's blood.
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood.
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if 1 be slain.
John. He that flies so, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
John. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly
Your loss is great; so your regard® should be ;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast;
In yours they will; in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honor you have won ;
But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
You fled for vantage every one will swear;
But, if I bow, they'll say—it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
Rather than life preserved with infamy.
' Unavoided for unavoidable. ® Your care of your own safety.
8(j. vi.]
king henry vi.
295
Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb ?
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my m'other'.>
diiced without regard to anachronism.
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY VI.
313
Puc. O, give .me leave, I have deluded jou.
'Twas neither Charles, nor jet the duke I named,
But Reignier, king of Na])les, that prevailed.
IVar. A married man ! that's most intolerable*
York. Why, here's a girl! 1 think she knows not
well.
There were so many, whom she may accuse.
PFar. It's a sign, she hath been liberal and free.
York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.—
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee;
Use no entreatv, for it is in vain.
Puc. Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my
curse :
May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode!
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you ; till mischief, and despair.
Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves !
guarded
York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes.
Thou foul, accursed minister of hell!
Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended.
Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
With letters of commission from the king.
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
Moved with remorse; ^ of these outrageous broils,
Have earnestly implored a general peace
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ;
And here at hand the dauphin, and his train,
Approacheth, to confer about some matter.
York. Is all our travail turned to this effect ?
After the slaughter of so many peers.
So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers.
That in this quarrel have been overthrown,
And sold their bodies for their country's beneft
Shall we at last conclude efleminate peace ?
'■ Compassion, pity.
VOL. IV. 40
814
first part op
[act v.
Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
Bj treason, falsehood, and bj treachery,
Oiir great progenitors had coiupiered ?—
O Warwick, Warwick! 1 foresee with grief
The utter loss of all the realm of France.
IVar. Be patient, York ; if we conclude a peace, '
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants,
As little shall the Frenchman gain thereby.
Enter Charles, attended; Alencjon, Bastard, Reio-
nier, and others.
Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed.
That peaceful truce shall be proclaimed in France,
We come to be informed by yourselves
What the conditions of that league must be.
York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
The hollow passage of my poisoned voice.
By sight of these our baleful enemies.
Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus
That—in regard king Henry gives consent.
Of mere compassion, and of lenity.
To ease your country of distresslid war.
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,—
You shall become true liegemen to his crown.
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself.
Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him.
And still enjoy thy regal dignity.
Alen. Must he be then as shadow of himse.i.'
Adorn his temples with a coronet;
And yet, in substance and authority.
Retain but privilege of a private man ?
This profRn- is absurd and reasonless.
Char. 'Tis known, already, that I am possessed
With more than half the Gallian territories.
And therein reverenced Tor their lawful king.
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquished.
Detract so much from that prerogative.
As to be called but viceroy of the whole •*
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY VI.
315
No, lord ambassador; I'll rather keep
That which I have, than, coveting for more,
Be cast from possibility of all.
York. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means
Used intercession to obtain a league;
And, now the matter grows to compromise,
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison ?
Either accept the title thou usurp'st,
Of benefit' proceeding from our king.
And not of any challenge of desert.
Or we will plague thee With incessant wars.
Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
To cavil in the course of this contract.
If once it be neglected, ten to one.
We shall not find like opportunity.
Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy.
To save your subjects from such massacre,
And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen
By our proceeding in hostility.
And therefore take this compact of a truce.
Although you break it when your pleasure serves.
\^Aside to Charles
War. How say'st thou, Charles ? shall our condition
stand ?
Char. It shall:
Only reserved, you claim no interest
In any of our towns of garrison.
York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty j
As thou art knight, never to disobey.
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.—
[Chart,ES, and the rest, give tokens of fealty
So, now dismiss your army when ye please ;
Hang up your ensigns ; let your drums be still;
For here we entertain a solemn peace. [^Exeunt
1 « Be content to live as the beneficxanf of our king." Ben^ is here a
term of law.
316
first part of
[act-v
SCENE V. London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk
Gloster and Exeter following.
K Hen. Your v/or.drous rare description, noble carl.
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonished me.
Her virtues, graced with external gifts,
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart;
And, like as rigor in tempestuous gusts
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide;
So am 1 driven, by breath of her renown.
Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive
Where I may have fruition of her love.
Suff. Tush! my good lord I this superficial tale
Is but a preface of her worthy praise.
The chief perfections of that lovely dame
Had I sufficient -skill to utter them)
Vould make a volume of enticing lines.
Able to ravish any dull conceit.
And, which is more, she is not so divine.
So full replete with choice of all delights.
But, with as humble lowliness of mind.
She is content to be at your command;
Command, I mean, of virtuous, chaste intents.
To love and honor Henry as her lord.
K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent.
That Margaret may be England's royal queen.
Glo. So should 1 give consent to flatter sin.
You know, my lord, your highness is betrothed
Unto another lady of esteem ;
How shall we then dispense \Anth that contract,
And not deface your honor with reproach ?
Suff. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ;
Or one, that, at a triumph' having vowed
I A triumph then signified a public exhibition; such as a tournament
mask, or revoL
sc. v.]
KING HENRY VI.
317
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
By reason of his adversary's odds.
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds;
And therefore may be broke without offence.
Glo. Why, Avhat, I pray, is Margaret more than
that ?
H( r father is no better than an earl.
Although in glorious titles he excel.
Suff. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king,
The king of Naples, and Jerusalem ;
And of such great authority in France,
As his alliance will confirm our peace.
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.
Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do.
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.
Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal
dower;
While Reigiiier sooner will receive than give.
Suff. A dower, my lords! Disgrace not so youi
king.
That he should be so abject, base, and poor.
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love.
Henry is able to enrich his queen,
And not to seek a qiunni to make him rich;
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives.
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
Marriage is a matter of more worth,
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship:'
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects.
Must be companion of his nuptial bed :
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
It most of all these reasons bindeth us.
In our opinions she should be preferred.
For what is wedlock forced, but a hell.
An age of discord and continual strife ?
Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss.
And is a pattern of celestial peace.
Whom should we match \t ith Henry, being a .king,
1 By the intervention of another man's cnoice
318
FIRST PART OF
[ACT V
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
Mer peerless feature, joined with her birth,
Approves her fit for none, but for a king;
Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit,
(IMore than in women commonlj is seen,)
Will answer our hope in issue of a king;
For Henry, son unto a conqueror.
Is likely to beget more conquerors.
If with a lady of so high resolve.
As is fair Margaret, he be linked in love.
Then }ield, my lords; and here conclude with me,
'I'hat Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.
K. Hen. Whether it be through force of your
report.
My noble lord of Suffolk, or for that
hly tender youth was never yet attaint
With any passion of inflaming love,
I cannot tell; but this I am assured,
I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,
As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
Take, therefore, shipping ; post, my lord, to France ,
Agree to any covenants; and procure
That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
To cross the seas to England, and be crowned
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen.
For your expenses and sufficient charge.
Among the people gather ap a tenth.
Be gone, 1 say; for, till you do return,
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.
And you, good uncle, banish all offence;
If you do censure' me by what you were.
Not what you are, I know it will excuse
This sudden execution of my will.
And so conduct me, where from company
1 may revolve and ruminate my grief.'' [^EociU
1 To censure is here simply tojud^e.
2 Grief, in this line, stands for^ain, uneasiness; in tne next following
especially for sorrow.
sc. v.]
king henry vi.
310
Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.
[Exeunt Gloster and Exeter
Siiff. Thus Suffolk hath prevailed ; and thus he goes.
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece;
With hope to find the like event in love,
But prosper better than the Trojan did.
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
But 1 will rule both her, the king, and realm. [ Exit
Of this play there is no copy earlier than that of the folio in levjri
though the two succeeding parts are extant in two editions in quarto
That tiie second and third part# were published witliout the first, may be
admitted as no weak proof that the copies were surreptitiously obtained,
and that the printers of that time gave the public those plays, not such as
the author designed, but such as they could get them. That this play was
written before the two others is indubita.bly collected from the series of
Lvents; that it was written and played before Henry the Fifth is apparent,
because in the epilogue there is mention made of this play, and not of the
other parts:—
« Plenry the Sixth in swaddling bands crowned king,
Whose state so many had the managing.
That they lost France, and made his England bleed;
Which oft our stage hath shown.''
France is lost in this play. The two following contain, as the old title
imports, the contention of the houses of York and Lancaster.
The Second and Third Parts of Henry VI. were printed in ICOO.
When Henry V. was written, we know not; but it was printed likewise in
1600, and therefore before the publication of the first and second parts.
The First Part of Henry VI. had been often shown on the stage, and
would certainly have appeared in its place, had the author been thf
publisher. Johnson.
That the second and third parts, as they are now called, were printed
without tliefirst, is a proof, in my apprehension, that they were not written
by tlie same author; and the title of The Contention of the Houses of
Vork and Lancaster, being affixed to the two pieces which were printed
in quarto, is a proof that they were a distinct work, commencing where
tlie other ended, but not written at the same time; and that this play was
iieyer known by the title of The First Part of King Henry VI. till Heminge
and f^ondell gave it tJiat name in their volume, to distinguish it from tfie
two subsequent plays; which, being altered by Shakspeare, assumed tlie
new titles of the Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI. that they
migiit not be confounded with the original pieces on which they M-ere
formed. The first part was originally called The Historical Play of King
Hcniy VL Mai.onk.
From Malone's ample dissertation upon the three parts of Henry VI.
until Dyce, our poet has generally been refused in England all share in the
authorship of this first part. The extraordinary ostentation of manifold learn¬
ing in the playis not like Shakspeare, nor is the style of composition. Cole¬
ridge enjoins the comparison of Bedford's speech at the beginning of the
piece with the blank verse in Shakspeare's first genuine plays, and " if you do
not then feel the impossibility of its having been written by Shakspeare," he
says, "you may have ears—for so has anothir animal—but an ear you cannot
have." If the subject induced the poet to appropriate the piece as a supple-
orient to the completion of the two following parts, without question his share
in it is a very small one. That he himself, after the custom of the time,
originally composed the piece in company with other poets, is not credible,
because a man of Shakspeare's self-reliance must have early felt the unnat-
uralness of this habit. It is, on the other hand, probable that the piece
which he elaborated occupied various hands at the same time, because the
marks of them are plainly to be discerned.
If we take the piece purely in a dramatic point of view, and consider it as
a work for the stage, it affords, as we before said, an excellent lesson, in its
contrast to Shakspeare's general mode of proceeding. There is here no unity
of action, indeed not even, as in Pericles, a unity of person. If we look
strictly into the single scenes, they are so loosely united, that whole series
may be expunged without injuring the piece, indeed perhaps not without im¬
proving it—an attempt which even in Pericles could not be carried far. We
need only superficially perceive this, in order to feel how far removed the
dramatic works of art previous to Shakspeare were from that strong and syste¬
matic inner structure, which admits of no dismemberment without distortion.
Gervinus.
(320)
KING
SECOND PART OF
HENRY THE SIXTH.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
This and the Third Part of King Henry VI. contain that troublesome
period of this prince's reign, which took in tlie whole contention between
the houses of York and Lancaster; and under that title were these two
plays first acted and published. The present play opens with lung Henry's
marriage, which was in the twenty-third year of his reign [A. D. 14451,
and closes with the first battle\fought at St. Albans, and won by the York
faction, in the thirty-third year of his reign [A. D. 1455]; so that it com
prises the history and transactions of ten years.
The Contention of the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster
was published in quarto; the first part in 1594; the second, or True
Tragedy of Richard Duke of York, in 1595; and both were reprinted in
1(100. In a dissertation annexed to these plays, Mr. Malone has endeav¬
ored to establish the fact, that these two dramas were not originally written
by Shakspsare, but by some preceding author or authors before the year
1590; and that upon them Shakspeai-e formed this and the following
drama, altering, retrenching, or amplifying, as he thought proper. We
will endeavor to give a brief abstract of the principal arguments:—The
entry on the Stationers' books, in 1594, does not mention tlie name of
• Shakspeare ; nor are the plays printed with his name in the early editions ;
but, after the Poet's death, an edition was printed by one Pavier without
date, but really in 1619, with the name of Shakspeare on the title-page.
This is shown to be a common fraudulent practice of the booksellers of
that period. When Pavier republished The Contention of the Two
Houses, &c. in 1619, he omitted the words «as it was acted by tlie earl
of Pembrooke his servantes," which appeared on the original title-page,—
just as, on the republication of the old play of King John, in two parts, in
1611, the words "as it was acted in the honorable city of London" were
omitted; because the omitted words in both cases marked the respective
pieces not to be tlie production of Shakspeare. And as, in King John, the
letters W. Sh. were added, in 1611, to deceive the purchaser; so, in tlio ,
republication of The whole Contention, &c., Pavier, having dismissed tlie
words above-mentioned, inserted these—" Newly corrected and enlarged
by William Shakspere;" knoiving that these pieces had been made the
groundwork of two other plays; that they had in fact been corrected and
enlarged (though not in his ccpy, which was a mere reprint from the
edition of 1600), and exhibited under the titles of the Second and Third
Parts of King Henry VI.; and hoping that this new edition of the original
plays would pass for those altered and augmenled by Shakspeare, which
were then unpublished.
VOL «v. 41 (321)
322
KING HENRY VI.
A passage from Greene's Groats-worth of Wit, adduced by Mr. Tyr-
whitt, first suggested, and strongly supports, Malone's hypothesis. TliC
writer, Robert Greene, is supposed to address himself to his poetical friend,
George Peele, in these words:—"Yes, trust them not [alluding to the
players], for there is an upstart crowe bcai.ti/ied vxilh our feathers, that,
with his tygre's heart wrapt in a player's hide, supposes hee is well able
ti> bombastc out a blank verse as tlie best of you; and, being an absolute
Joannes factotum, is, in his own conceit, tlie only Shakescene in a coun¬
try."—" O tyger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide I " is a line in the old
quarto play entitled The First Part of the Contention, Slc. There seems
to bo no doubt that the allusion is to Shakspeare; that the old plays may
have been the production of Greene, Peele, and Marlowe, or some of them;
and that Greene could not conceal his mortification, at the fame of him¬
self and his associates, old and established playwrights, being eclipsed by
a new, upstart writer (for so he calls the Poet), who had then perhaps first
attracted the notice of the public by exhibiting two plays formed upon old
dramas written by them, considerably enlarged and improved. The very
term that Greene uses, " to bombaste out a blank verse," exactly corre¬
sponds with what has been now suggested. This new poet, says he,
knows as well as any man how to amplify and swell out a blank verse.
Shakspeare did for the old plays, what Berni had before done to the
Orlando Innamorato of Boiardo. He wrote new.beginnings to the acts;
he new versified, he new modeled, he transposed many of tlie parts; and
greatly amplified and improved the whole. Many li»es, however, and
whole speeches, which he thought sufficiently polished, he accepted, and
introduced, without any, or very slight, alterations.
Malone adopted tlie following expedient to mark these alterations and
adoptions, which has been followed in the present edition:—All those lines
which the Poet adopted without any alteration, are printed in the usual
manner; those speeches which he altered or expanded, are distinguished
by inverted commas; and to all lines entirely composed by himself aste¬
risks are prefixed.
The internal evidences upon which Malone re.ies, to establish his po¬
sition are,—The variations between the old plays in quarto, and the cor¬
responding pieces in the folio edition of Shakspeare's dramatic works,
which are of so peculiar a nature as to mark two distinct hands. Some
circumstances are mentioned in the old quarto plays, of which there is«
not the least trace in the folio; and many minute variations occur, that
prove the pieces in the quarto to have been original and distinct compo¬
sitions. No copyist or short-hand -writer would invent circumstances
totally different from those which appear in Shakspeare's new-modeled
draughts, as exhibited in the first folio ; or insert whole speeches, of which
scarcely a trace is found in that edition. In some places, a speech in one,
of these quartos consists of ten or twelve lines; in Shakspeare's folio, the
same speech consists perhaps of only half the number. A copyist by the
car, or an unskilful short-hand writer, might mutilate and exhibit a poet's
thoughts or expressions imperfectly ; but he would not dilate and amphfy
them, or introduce totally new matter.
Malone then exhibits a sufficient number of instances to prove, beyond
the possibility of doubt, his position : so that (as he observes) we are com¬
pelled to admit, either that Shakspeare wrote two sets of plays on the story
which forms his Second and Third Parts of King Henry VI., hasty
sketches, and entirely distinct and more finished performances; or else
we must acknowledge that he formed his pieces on a foundation laid by
another -writer or writers, that is, upon the two parts of The Contention
of the Two Houses of York, &c. It is a striking circumstance, that almost
all the passages in the Second and Third Parts of Kmg Henry VI. which
PREUMINARY REMARKS.
323
rcsemWe others in Shakspeare's undisputed plays, are not found in the on
ginal pieces in quarto, but in his lifacciniento in folio. As these resem¬
blances to his other plays, and a peculiar Shakspearian phraseology, ascer¬
tain a considerable portion of these disputed dramas to be the production
of that Poet; so, on the other hand, other passages, discordant, in matters
of fact, from his other plays, are proved By this discordancy not to have been
composed by him; and these discordant passages, being found in the
original quarto plays, prove that tliose pieces were composed by another
writer.
It is observable, that several portions of English history had been dran,
aiiited before the time of Shakspeare. Thus we have King John, in two
parts, by an anonymous writer; Edward I., by George Peele ; Edward II.,
by ChristopherMarlowe ; Edward III., anonymous; Henry IV., containing
the deposition of Richard II., and the accession of Henry to the crown,
anonymous; Henry V. and Richard III., both by anonymous authors. It
is therefore highly probable, tliat the whole of the story of Henry VI. had
been brought on the scene ; and tliat the first of the plays here printed, for¬
merly called The Historical Play of King Henry VI., and now named The
First Pari of King Henry VI., as well as the Two Parts of tlie Contention
of the Houses of York and Lancaster, were the compositions of some of
tlie authors who had produced the historical dramas above enumerated.
Mr. Bos well, speaking of "the originals of the second and third of these
jtlays, says, " That Marlowe may have had some share in these composi
tions, [ am not disposed to deny ; but I cannot persuade myself that they
entirely proceeded from his pen. Some passages are possessed of so much
merit, that they can scarcely be ascribed to any one except the most dis¬
tinguished of Shakspeare's predecessors ; but the tameness of the general
style is very different from the peculiar characteristics of that Poet's
mighty line, which are great energy both of thought and language, de¬
generating too frequently into tumor and extravagance. The versification
appears to me to be of a different color.—That Marlowe, Peele, and
Greene, may all of them have had a share in these dramas, is consonant
to the frequent practice of the age; of which ample proofs may be found
in the extracts from Henslowe's MS. printed by Mr. Malone."
Prom the passage alluding to these plays in Greene's Groatsworth of
Wit, it seems probable that they were produced previous to 1392, but
were not printed until they appeared in the folio of 1(}23.
To Johnson's high panegyric of that impressive scene in this play, the
death of Cardinal Beaufort, we may add that Schlegel says, " It is sublime
beyond all praise. Can any other poet be named who has drawn asidf ihe
curtain of eternity at the close of this life in such an overpowering and
awful manner ? And yet it is not mere horror with which we are filled,
but solemn emotion; we have an exemplification of a blessing and a c;ii_rse
in close proximity; the pious king is an image of the heavenly inorry,
which, even in his last moments, labors to enter into tlie soul of tJir
sinner'
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Sixth :
liuMFiiREY, Duke o/"Gloster, Ms Uncle.
Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, great
Uncle to the King.
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York :
Edward and Richard, his Sons.
Duke of Somerset,
Duke of Suffolk,
Lord Scales, Governor of the Tower. Lord Sat
Sir Humi'hrey Stafford, and his Brother.
Sir John Stanley.
A Sea Captain, Master, and Master's Mate, and Walter
WlIlTMORE.
Tw'o Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk.
A Herald. Vaux.
H ume and Southwell, two Priests.
Bolingiiroke, a Conjuror. A Spirit raised by him
'1'homas Horner, an Armorer: Peter, his Man.
Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of St. Albans.
SiMPCox, an Impostor. Two Murderers.
Jack Cade, a Rebel:
George, John, Dick, S.mith the Weaver, Michael.,
Sfc., his Followers.
Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman.
Margaret, Queen to King Henry.
Ei.eanor, Duchess -of Gloster.
Margery Jourdain, a W^tch. Wife to Simpcox.
Lords, Ladies, anil Attendants; Petitioners, Aldermen, a
Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers ; Citizens, Prentices,
Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, ^c.
SCENE, dispersedly in various parts of England
Duke of Buckingham,
Lord Clifford,
Young Clifford, his Son,
(324)
SECOND PART OF
KING HENRY THE SIXTH.
ACT I.
SCENE I. London. A Room of State^ in the
Palace.
Flourish of trumpets; then hautboys. Enter, on one
side, King Henry, Duke of Gloster, Salisbury.
Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort; on the other.
Queen Margaret, led in by Suffolk; York.
Somerset, Buckingham, and others, following.
Suffolk. As by your high, imperial majesty,
1 had in charge at my depart for France,
As procurator' to your excellence.
To marry princess Margaret for your grace ;
So, in the famous ancient city. Tours,—
In presence of the kings of France and Sicil,
The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and Alen^on,
Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bishops,—
I have performed my task, and was espoused;
And humbly now upon my bended knee,.
In sight of England and her lordly peers.
Deliver up my title in the queen
1 "The marquesse of Suffolk, as procurator to king Henry, espoused
the said ladie in the church of St. Martins. At the which iiiarriago were
present, the father and mother of the bride ; tlie French king liuusolf, that
was uncle to the husband ; and the French queen also, tliat was aunt to
the wife. There were also the dukes of Orleance, of Calabre, of Alauson,
and of Britaine; seven earif.'S, twelve barons, twenty bishops."- -Hall and
HolinshecL
(325)
326
SECOND PART OF
I
To jour most gracious hands, thfit are the substance'
Of that great shadow I did represent;
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
The fairest queen that ever king received.
K. Hen. Suffolk, arise.—Welcome, queen Maiga-
ret;
I can express no kinder sign of love.
Than this kind kiss.—O Lord, that lends me life,
Lend me a heart re})lete with thankfulness!
For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face,
' A world of earthly blessings to mj soul,
* If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
' Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gracious
lord;
' The mutual conference that my mind hath had ®—
' By day, by night; waking, and in my dreams;
' In courtly company, or at my beads,—
' With you mine alder-liefest^ sovereign,
' Makes me the bolder to salute my king
' With ruder tertns; such as my wit affords,
' And over-joy of heart doth minister.
' K. Hen. Her sight did ravish; but her grace in
speech,
' Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
' Makes me, from wondering, fall to weeping joys;
' Such is the fulness of my heart's content.—
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.
. All. Long live queen Margaret, England's hap¬
piness !
Q. Mar. We thank you all. [^Floumh.
Suff. My lord protector, so it please your grace,
Hcfe are the articles of contracted peace,
1 i. e. to the gracious hands of you, my sovereign, who are, &c. In
the old play the line stands:—
« Unto your gracious excellence^ tliat are."
8 I am the bolder to address you, having already familiarized you to
my imagination.
3 i. e. mosl beloved of all; from alder, of all; formerly used in compo¬
sition with adjectives of the superlative degree; and liefest, dearest, o(
mosl loved.
tfC I.]
king henry vi.
321
Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,
For eighteen months concluded by consent.
Glo. [i2mc?s.] Imprimis, It is agreed bctiveen the
French king Charles, and William de la Poole, mar¬
quess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry king of Eng¬
land,—that the said Henry shall espouse the lady
Margaret, dtCughter unto Reignier king of Naples,
Sicilia, and Jerusalem; and crown her queen of Eng¬
land, ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item,—
That the duchy of Anjou, and the county of Maine,
shall be released and delivered to the king her father
K. Hen. Uncle, how now.^
Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord :
Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart.
And dimmed mine eyes, that I can read no" further.
K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.
Win. Item,—It is further agreed between them—
that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released
and delivered over to the king her father; and she sent
over of the king of England''s own proper cost and
charges, without having dowry.
K. Hen. They please us well.—Lord marquess,
kneel do\vn;
We here create thee tlie first duke of Suffolk,
And girt thee with the sword.—
Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace
From being regent in the parts of France,
Till term of eighteen months be full expired.—
Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, and Buck¬
ingham,
Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick ;
VVe thank you all for this great favor done,
In entertainment to my princely queen.
Come, let us in ; and with all speed provide
To see her coronation be performed.
\^Exeunt King, Queen, and Si/ffoi.k
Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the stat(;,
' To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
' Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
' What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
328
SECOND PART OF
[ACT 1
' His valor, coin, and people, in the wars?
' Did he so often lodge in open field,
' In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat,
' To conquer France, his true inheritance?
' And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
' To lry into the secrets of the state;
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love.
With his new bride, and England's dear-bouglii
queen.
And Humphrey with the peers be fallen at jars;
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose.
' Mileaicer; whose life was to continue only so lon The old quarto reads, " the sUetice of the night" The variation of
the copies is worth notice :—
" Dark niglit dread night, the silence of the night,
Wherein tiie furies mask in hellisli troops,
Send up, I charge you, from Cocytus' lake
The spirit of Ascalon to come to me.
To pierce the bowels of this, centric earth.
And hither come in twinkling of an eye!
Ascalon, ascend, ascend !—"
Warburton, in a learned but erroneous note, wished to prove that an
xrderlunar night was meant Steevens has justly observed that silent ia
here used by the I'oet as » substantive.
sc. iv.]
king henry vi.
345
Boling. Jfliat fate mvaits the duke of Suffolk ^
Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end.
Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset ^
Spir. Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains,
Than where castles mounted stand.
Have done, for more 1 hardly can endure.
Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake,
' False fiend, avoid !
[Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends.
Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, loith their •
Guards, and others.
' York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their
trash.
* ' Beldame, I think we watched you at an inch.—
' What, madam, are you there ? The king and com¬
monweal
' Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains;
' My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
' See you well guerdoned for these good deserts.
* Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
* Injurious duke ; that threat'st, where is no cause.
* Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you
this ? [Shoioing her the papers
* Away with them; let them be clapped up close,
' And kept asunder.—You, madam, shall with us;
' Stafford, take her to thee.—
[Exit Duchess,^o?/i above
' We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming ;
' All.—Away !
[Exeunt Guards, with South., Boling., ^c.
* York. Lord Buckingham, niethinks you watched
her well.
* A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ
What have we here ? * Reads
The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose ,
But him outlive, and die a violent death.
VOL. IV. 44
34G
SECOND PART OF
[act ii.
* Why, this is just, •
Aw te, JEMcida, Romanos vincere posse.
Well, to the rest:
Tell me, what fate aioaits the duke of Suffolk ?
By water shall he die, and take his end.
What shall betide the duke of Somerset
Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he he upon the sandy plains.
Than lohere castles mounted stand.
* Come, come, my lords ;
* These oracles are hardily attained,
* And hardly understood.
The king is now in progress toward Saint Albans,
' With him the husband of this lovely lady.
' Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them •
' A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.
' Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of
York,
' To be the post, in hope of his reward.
' York. At your pleasure, my good lord.—Who s
' within there, ho !
Enter a Servant.
' Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick,
' To sup with me to-morrow night.—Away !
[^Exeunt
ACT II.
SCENE I. Saint Albans.
Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gi.oster,
Cardinal, and Suffolk, loith Falconers hollaing.
' Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,
' 1 saw not better sport these seven years' day.
I The falconer's term for hawking at watcr-fowL
sc. 1.]
KING HENRY VI.
341
» Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ;
A.nd, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.'
' K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made
' And what a pitch she flew above the rest!—
* To see how God in all his creatures works!
* Yea^ man and birds are fain of climbing high.
Suff. No marvel, an it like your majesty,
IMy lord protector's hawks to tower so well;
riiey know their master loves to be aloft,
* And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
' Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base, ignoble mind
» That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
' Car. I thought as much; he'd be above the clouds.
' Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal; how think you by
that ?
Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven
* K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy !
' Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and
thoughts
' Beat on a crown,® the treasure of thy heart;
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer.
That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal I
' Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown
peremptory ?
* Tantcene animis coelestibus iree ?
' Churchmen so hot ? Good uncle, hide such malice;
' With such holiness can you do it ?
' Suff. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
* So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer.
1 Johnson was informed that the meaning here is," the wind being higli,
it was "ten to one that the old hawk had down quite away ; a trick which
ha wks often play their masters in windy weather." But surely not going
out cannot signify not coming home. Dr. Percy's interpretation is entirely
op))osed to this: he explains it,—" The wind was so high it was ten to one
that ol d Joan would not have taken herflight at the game." Latham's Falcon¬
ry confirms Dr. Percy's explanation. " When you shall come afterward to
fly her she must be altogether guided and governed by her stomacke; yea,
she will be kept and also lost by the same; for let her faile of that never
so little, and every puff" of wind will blow her away from you ; nay, if there
be no wind stirring, yet she will wheele and sinke away from him and from
his voice, that all ie time before had lured and framed her up." Booke
L p. 00, rd. 1033
3 i. e. thy mind is working on a crown.
348
SECOND PART OF [ACT II
Glo. As who, my "lord?
Sujf. Why, as you, my lord;
An't like your lordly lord protectorship.
Glo. Why, Sufi'olk, England knows thine insolence
Q. Mitr. And thy ambition, Gloster.
K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace,
Good queen ; and whet not on these furious peers,
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.
Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
Against this proud [irotector, with my sword !
Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to that'
[^Aside to the Cardinal
' Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. \^Aside
' Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter,
' In thine own person answer thy abuse. [^Aside
' Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep; an if thou
, dar'st,
' This evening, on the east side of the grove. \^Aside.
' K. Hen. How now, my lords?
' Car. Believe me, cousin Glostei,
' Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
' We had had more sport.—Come with thy two-hand-
sword.' [Aside to Glo.
Glo. True, uncle.
Car. Are you advised?—the east side of the grove?
Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside.
K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ?
' Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, iny
lord.—
Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown
for this,
• Or all my fence shall fail. [Aside
*Car. Medice teipsum; ) r a
' Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. 3
K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do j'^oui
stomachs, lords. ,
* How irksome is this music to my heart!
1 The " two-hand-sword " was sometimes called the long-sxoord, and in
common use betbre the introduction of the rapier. In the original play
the cardinal desires Gloster to bring his sword and buckler.
S( . 1 ]
KING HENRY VI.
349
* When such strings jar, what hope of harmony ?
* 1 pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.
Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Albans, crying A
Miracle!'
Glo. What means this noise
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ?
Inhab. A miracle ! a miracle !
Suff. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle.
Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine,
Within this half hour, hath received his sight;
A man that ne'er saw in his life before.
' K. Hen. Now, God be praised! that +o believing
souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!
Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans, and his Brethren ,
and SiMPcox, borne between two Persons in a chair;
his Wife, and a great Multitude, following.
* Car. Heie come the townsmen on procession,
* To present your highness with the man.
* K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
* Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.
* Glo. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the
king;
* His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.
* K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circum¬
stance,
* That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
What, hast thou been long blind, and now restored.^
Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace.
Wife. Ay, indeed, was he.
Suff. What woman is this ?
1 This scene is founded on a story which sirTliomas More has related,
and which he says was communicated to him by his father. Tlie impostor's
name is not mentioned; but he was detected by Humphrey duke of
Gloster, and ir. tlie manner here, represented. See More's Works, p. J34,
Edit 15.57.
350
SECOND PART OF
[ACT II
fV^e. His wife, an't like your worship.
Glo. Hadst - thou been his mother, thou couldsi
have better told.
K. Hen. Where wert thou born ?
Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.
' K. Hen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been
great to thee.
' Let never day nor night unhallowed pass,
' But still remember what the Lord hath done.
* Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here
by chance,
* Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ?
' Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being called
A hundred times, and oftener, in my sleep
' By good saint Alban ; who said,—Simpcox, come;
' Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.
* Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time and ofl
* Myself have heard a voice to call him so.
Car. What, art thou lame ?
Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me.
Svff. How cam'st thou so ?
Simp. A fall of a tree.
Wife. A plum-tree, master.
Glo. How long hast thou been blind ?
Simp. O, born so, master.
Glo. What, and wouldst climb a tree ?
Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth.
* Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very
dear.
* Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst
venture so.
' Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desired some
damsons,
' And made me climb, with danger of my life.
* Glo. A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.—
' tiet me see thine eyes.—wink now;—now open
them.—
' 111 my opinion yet thou see'st not well.
' Simp. Yes, master, clear as day ; I thank God and
saint Alban.
KJNG HENRY VI.
351
Glo. Say'st thou me so ? What color is this
cloak of?
Simp. Bed, master; red as blood.
Glo. Why, that's well said. What color is my
gown of?
Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet.
K. Hen. Why, then, thou know'st what color jet
is of?
Siiff. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.
Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day, a many.
Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life.
Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name ?
Simp. Alas, master, 1 know not.
Glo. What's his name ?
Simp. I know not.
Glo. Nor his ?
Simp. No, indeed, master.
Glo. What's thine own name ?
Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.
Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lyingest
knave
In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind.
Thou mightst as well have known our names, as thus
To name the several colors we do wear.
Sight may distinguish of colors ; but suddenly
To nominate them all, 's impossible.
My lords. Saint Alban here hath done a miracle ,
And would ye not think that cunning to be great.
That could restore this cripple to his legs again ?
Simp. O, master, that you could !
Glo. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not
Beadles in your town, and things called whips?
May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.
Glo. Then send for one presently.
May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.
\^Exit an Attendant
Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by.
[J stool brought out.'] Now, sirrah, if you mean to
save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool,
and run away.
352
SECOND PART OF
[ACT li
Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone
F«>u go about to torture me in vain.
Re-enter Attendant with the Beadle.
Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs.
Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same
stool.
Bead. I will, my lord.—Come on, sirrah; off with
your doublet quickly.
Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do ? I am not able
to stand.
\After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps
over the stool, and runs away; and thepeojde
follow, and cry, A miracle !
* K. Hen. O God, seest thou this, and bear'st so
long!
* Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain run.
* Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away
* IVife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.
Glo. Let them be whipped through every market
town.
Till they come to Berwick, whence they came.
• \^Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, &c.
' Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.
' Suff. True ; made the lame to leap, and flyaway.
' Glo. But you have done more miracles than I;
' You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.
Enter Buckingham.
' K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Bucking¬
ham?
' Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
A sort ^ of naughty persons, lewdly ® bent,—
* Under the countenance and confederacy,
' Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
' The ringleader and head of all this rout,—
Have practised dangerously against your state
1 A sort is a company. ^ j. e. wickpdly, knavishly
sc. 1.]
KING HENR\ VI.
353
* Dealing with witches, and with conjurers ;
' Whom we have apprehended in the fact;
' Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,
' Demanding of king Henry's life and death,
' And other of your highness' privy council,
' As more at large your grace shall understand.
' Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means
' Your lady is forthcoming ^ yet at London.
' This news, I think, hath turned your weapon's edge
* 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.
l^Aside to Gloster.
' Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart!
* Sorrow and grief have vanquished all my powers;
* And, vanquished as I am, 1 yield to thee,
* Or to the meanest groom.
* K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked
ones;
* Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby I
* Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest,
* And, look thyself be faultless ; thou wert best.
' Glo. Madam, for myself, to Heaven I do appeal,
' How I have loved my king, and common-weal:
' And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;
' Sorry I am to hear what I have heard:
* Noble she is; but if she have forgot
' Honor and virtue, and conversed with such
' As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
' 1 banish her my bed and company;
' And give her, as a prey, to law and shame,
' That hath dishonored Gloster's honest name.
' K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us
here.
* To-morrow, toward London, back again,
« To look into this business thoroughly,
' And call these foul offenders to their answers ;
' And poise the cause injustice' equal scales,
' Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre¬
vails. [^Flourish. Extuni
1 L e. your lady is in custody.
VOL. IV. 45
354
second part op
[act ii.
SCENE II liondon. 7%€ Duke ^ York's Garden.
Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick.
*' York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and War
wick,
' Our simple supper ended, give me leave,
' In this close walk, to satisfy myself,
' In craving your opinion of my title,
' Which is infallible to England's crow'n.
* Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full.
M^ar. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim he good.
The Nevils are thy subjects to command.
York. Then thus:—
' Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons :
' The first, Edward, the Black Prince, prince of \\ ales;
' The second, William of Hatfield; and the third,
' Lionel; duke of Clarence; next to whom,
' Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster;
' The fifth was Edmond Langley, duke of York;
' The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of
Gloster;
' William of Windsor was the seventh, and last.
' Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father;
' And left behind him Richard, his only son,
' Who, after Edward the Third's death, reigned as king;
' Till Henry Bolinghroke, duke of Lancaster,
' The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
' Crowned by the name of Henry the Fourth,
' Seized on the realm; deposed the rightful king;
' Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,
' And him to Pomfret; where, as you all know,
' Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously.
* War. Father, the duke hath told the truth;
* Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.
* York. Which now they hold by force, and not hj
right;
* For Richaid, the first son's I cir being dead,
*The issue of the next son should have reigned
sc. II.]
KING HENRY VI.
355
* Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir.
* York. The third son, duke of Clarence (from
whose line
* I claim the crown) had issue—Philippe, a daughter,
* Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March ;
* Edmund had issue—Roger, earl of March ;
* Roger had issue—Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.
' Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
' As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
' And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
* Who kept him in captivity, till he died.'
* But, to the rest.
' York. His eldest sister, Anne,
* My mother, being heir unto the crown,
' Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was son
' To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son.
' By her 1 claim the kingdom: she was heir
* To Roger, earl of March; who was the son
1 Some of the mistakes of the historians and the drama concerning Ed¬
mund Mortimer, earl of March, are noticed in a note to tlie former play;
where he is introduced as an aged and gray-haired prisoner in llie Tower,
and represented as having been confined " since Harry Monmouth first
began to reign." Yet here we are told he was kept in captivity by Owen
Glendower till he died. The fact is, that Hall having said Owen Glen¬
dower kept his son-in-law, lord Grey of Ruthvin, in captivity till he died,
and this lord March having been said by some historians to have married
Owen's daughter, the author of this play has confounded them witli each
other. This Edmund being only six years of age at the death of his fatlier,
in 1398, he was delivered by king Henry IV. in ward to his son Henry
prince of Wales, and during tlie whole of that reign, being a minor, and
related to the family on the throne, he was under the particular care of the
king. At the age of ten years, in 1402, he headed a body of Herefordshiie
men against Owen Glendower, and was taken prisoner by him. The
Pei'cies, in the manifesto they published before the battle of Shrewsbury,
speak of him as rightful heir to the crown, whom Owen had confined, and
whom, finding for political reasons that the king would not ransom him,
tliey at their own charges had ransomed. If he was at the battle of
Shrewsbury, he was probably brought there against his will, to grace their
cause, and was under the care of the king soon after. Great trust was
reposed in this earl of March during the whole reign of king Henry V. In
the sixth year of that king he was at the siege of Fresnes, with the earl of
Salisbuiy ; and soon afterwards with the king himself at the siege of
Melun. In the same year he was made lieutenant of Noiraandy; was at
Melun with Henry to treat of his marriage with Catharine; and accom¬
panied tljat queen when she returned from France with the corpse of her
Dusband, in 1422, and died two years afterwards at his castle of Trim, in
Ireland.
356 SECOND PART OP [ACT 11
' Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe,
* Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence
' So, if the issue of the elder son
' Succeed before the younger, I am king.
' War. What plain proceedings are more plain than
this ?
' Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
' The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
' Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign;
' It fails not yet; but flourishes in thee,
' And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.—
' Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together,
' And, in this private plot,' be we the first
' That shall salute our rightful sovereign
* With honor of his birthright to the crown.
Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's
king!
' York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your
king
* Till I be crowned ; and that my sword be stained
' With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster.
* And that's not suddenly to be performed;
* But with advice and silent secrecy.
* Do you, as 1 do, in these dangerous days,
*Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence,
* At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
* At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,
* Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,
* That virtuous ])rince, the good duke Humphrey.
* 'Tis that they seek: and they, in seeking that,
* Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.
* Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind
at full.
' War. Mv heart assures me, that the earl of War-
wick
* Shall one day make the duke of York a king.
' York. And, Nevil, this 1 do assure myself,—
' Sequestered spot.
80. III.]
KING HENRT VI.
357
' Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick
' The greatest man in England, but the king.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE III. Tlie same. A Hall of Justice.
Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen
Margaret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and Salis¬
bury ; the Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jour-
dain, Southwell, Hume, and Bolingbrpke, under
guard.
♦ K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham,
Gloster's wife:
* In sight of God, and us, your guilt is great;
' Receive the sentence of the law, for sins
* Such as by God's book are adjudged to death.—
* You four, from hence to prison back again;
[To JOURD., ^c.
■^From thence unto the place of execution;
* The witch in Smithfield shall be burned to ashes,
* And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.—
' You, madam,—=for you are more nobly born,—
' Despoiled of your honor in your life,
' Shall after three days' open penance done,
' Live in your country here, in banishment,
' With sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.
' Duck. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my
death.
* Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee j
* I cannot justify whom the law condemns.—
[Exeunt the Duchess, and the other Prisoners,
guarded.
' Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
' Ah, Humphrey, this dishonor in thine age
« Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
' I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;
' Sorrow would solace, and mine age Would ease.
' K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster: ere
thou go.
358
SECOND PART OF
[ACT II
* Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself
' Protector be ; and God shall be my hope,
' My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet;
' And go in peace, Humphrey; no less beloved,
' Than when thou wert protector to thy king.
* Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years
* Should be to be protected like a child.—
' God and king Henry govern England's helm;
' Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.
' Glo. My staff?—Here, noble Henry, is my staff
' As willingly do I the same resign,
' As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;
And even as willingly at thy feet 1 leave it.
As others would ambitiously receive it.
' Farewell, good king. When I am dead and gone.
May honorable peace attend thy throne ! [Exit.
* Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret
queen;
* And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself,
* That bears so shrewd a maim ; two pulls at once,—
* His lady banished, and a limb lopped off.
* This staff of honor raught,' there let it stand,
' Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.
* Suff. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his
s])rays;
* Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.®
' York. Lords, let him go.®—Please it your majesty,
' This is the day appointed for the combat;
' And ready are the appellant and defendant,
' The armorer and his nian, to enter the lists,
' So please your highness to behold the fight.
* Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
*Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.
' K..Hen. O God's name, see the lists and all
things fit;
' Here let them end it, and God defend the right!
r RauglU IS the ancient preterit of the verb reaiU guilt. As for the
false servant, he lived not long unpunished ; for being convict of felonie
in court of assise, he was judged to be hanged, and so was at Tibmne.'
Fo. f)2C,.
y The real name of the combatants were John Daveys and William
Catour. The death of the vanquished person was always regarded as cer
tain evidence of his guilt
so. IV.]
king henry vl.
361
SCENE IV. TJhe same. A Street.
Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning cloaks.
* Glo. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a
cloud; . ^
* And, after summer, evermore succeeds
* Barren winter, with his wrathful, nipping cold.
* So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
Sirs, what's o'clock ?
Serv. Ten, my lord.
' Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me,
' To watch the coming of my punished duchess.
' Uneath' may she endure the flinty streets,
' To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people, gazing on thy face.
With envious looks, still laughing at thy shame ;
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels.
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
*But, soft! I think she comes ; and I'll prepare
* My tear-stained eyes to see her miseries.
Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a lohite sheet, ivith
papers pinned upon her hack, her feet bare, and a
taper burning in her hand; Sir John Stanley, a
Sheriff, and Officers.
Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from the
sheriff.
' Glo. No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.
Duch. Come you, my lord, to see any open shame i*
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze !
* See how the giddy multitude do point,
' And nod their heads, and throw theii eyes on thee'
' Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks;
' And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame.
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine *
1 Not easily
VOL. IV. 46
SG2
SECOND PART OF
[a{;T II
Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.
Ducli. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget mvself;
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife,
And thou a prince, j)rotector of this land,
' Methinks 1 should not thus be led along,
Mailed up in shame,' with papers on my back ,
* And followed with a rabble, that rejoice
*To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet® groans.
The ruthless dint doth cut my tender feet;
And, when I start, the envious people laugh.
And bid me be advised how I tread.
' Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke.''
* Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world;
* Or count them happy that enjoy the sun ?
* No ; dark shall be my light, and night my day,
* To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife;
And he a prince, and ruler of the land:
Yet so he ruled, and such a prince he was.
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
' Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock.
To every idle, rascal follower.
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame;
Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will.
For Suffolk,—he that can do all in all
' With her, that hateth thee and hates us all,—
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest.
Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings;
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee.
* But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared,
* Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
* Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear ; thou aimest all awry,
* I must offend before I be attainted.
* And had I twenty times so many foes,
* And each of them had twenty times their power,
* All these could not procure me any scathe,
1 Wrapped or bundled up in disgrace; alluding to the sheet of penancs
Mailed, from a mail or male, a little budget.
2 Deen-fotched.
BC. IV.]
king henry vi.
8G3
* So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach''
' Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away,
' But 1 in danger for the breach of law.
' Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell.
' I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
' These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.
Enter a Herald.
Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's parlia¬
ment, holden at Bury the first of this next month.
Glo. And my consent ne'er asked herein before !
This "is close dealing.—Well, I will be there.
[Exit Herald
My Nell, I take my leave ;—and, master sheriff.
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.
' Sher. An't please youf grace, here my commission
stays;
' And sir John Stanley is appointed now
' To take her with him to the Isle of Man.
' Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here ^
' Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please your
grace.
Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray
Ton use her well. The world may laugh again
And I may live to do you kindness, if
You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell.
Duch. What, gone, my lord; and bid me not fare
well
' Glo. Witne.ss my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
[^Exeunt Gloster and Servants.
♦ Duch. Art thou gone too ? * All comfort go with
thee !
* For none abides with me. My joy is—death;
Death, at whose name I oft have been afeared,
* Because I wished this world's eternity.
Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence,
1 L c. the world may again look favorably on me
364
second part of
[act iri
' I care not whither, for I beg no favor,
' Only conAey me where thou art commanded.
* Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man ,
* There to be used according to your state.
* Duch. Thai's bad enough, for I am but reproach,
* And shall I then be used reproacbfully ?
* Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's
lady,
* According to that state you shall be used.
' Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare;
* Although thou hast been conduct' of my shame '
' Sher. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.
' Duch. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.—
' Come, Stanley, shall we go ?
' Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this
sheet.
And go we to attire you for our journey.
' Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my
sheet;
* No, it will hang upon my richest robes,
*And show itself, attire me how I can.
* Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison.
[" Exeunt
ACT III.
SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury.
Enter, to the parliament, King Henry, Queen Mar¬
garet, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, ^ork,
Buckingham, and others.
• K. Hen. I muse my lord of Gloster is not come.
• 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
' Whate'er occasion keeps hirr from us now.
I For conauctor
KING HENKY VI,^
' Q. Mar. Can you not see? or will you not
serve
The strangeness of his altered countenance?
' With what a majesty he bears himself!
' How insolent of late he is become,
' How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himse)''?
' We know the time, since he was mild and affable
' And, if we did but glance a far-off look,
' Immediately he was upon his knee,
' That all the court admired him for submission,
' But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
' When every one will give the time of day,
' He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye,
' And passeth by with stiff, unbowed knee,
' Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
' Small curs are not regarded when they grin ;
' But great men tremble when the lion roars;
' And Humphrey is no little man in England.
' First, note, that he is near you in descent;
' And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
' Me seemeth, then, it is no policy,—
' Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,
' And his advantage following your decease,—
' That he should come about your royal person,
' Or be admitted to your highness' council.
' By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts;
' And, when he please to make commotion,
' 'Tis to be feared, they all will follow him.
' Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow rooted
' Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden,
' And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
' The reverent care, I bear unto my lord,
' Made me collect ^ these dangers in the duke.
' If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;
' Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
' I .will subscribe and say—I wronged the duke.
' My lord of Suffolk,—Buckingham,—and York,—
♦ Reprove my allegation, if you can ;
' Or else conclude my words effectual.
1 i. e. assemble by observation.
SCO
SECOND PART OF
[act III.
' Suff. Well hath your highness seen into this
duke ;
' And, had 1 first been put to speak my mind,
I think I should have told your grace's' tale.
*The duchess, by his subornation,
* Upon my life, began her devilish practices ;
* Or if he were not privy to those faults,
* Yet, by reputing of his high descent,®
" (As next the king he was successive heir,)
* And such high vaunts of his nobility,
* Did instigate the bedlam, brain-sick duchess,
* By wicked means, to frame our sovereign's tail.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep
* And in his simple show he harbors treason.
The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb
No, no, my sovereign; Gloster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.
* Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law,
* Devise strange deaths for small offences done ?
York. And did he not, in his protectorship,
* Levy great sums of money through the realm,
* For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it ?
* By rnean§ whereof, the towns each day revolted.
* Buck. Tut! these are petty faults to faults un¬
known,
* Which time will bring: to lig:ht in smooth duke
O O
Humphrey.
* K. Hen. ]\Iy lords, at once: The care you hav
of us,
* To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
Is worthy praise ; but shall I speak my conscience?
* Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent
* Fiom meaning treason to our royal person,
1 Suffolk uses highness and grace promiscuously to the queen. Camden
says that majestij came into use in the reign of king Henry the Eiglith, as
sacred majesty lately, in our memory. Selden says that this must be un¬
derstood so far as it relates to the title being " commonly in use, and
properly to the king applied," because he adduces an instance of the use
of majesty, so early as the reign of Henry the Second. Theveader will
see more on the. subject in Mr. Deuce's Illustrations of Shakspeare,
vol. ii. p. II.
2 i. e. valuing himself on his high descent
king henry it.
3G7
* As is the sucking Iamb, or harmless dove.
*The duke is virtuous, mild ; and too well given,
*To dream on evil, or to work my downfall.
* Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this
fond affiance!
* Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but borrowed,
* For he's disposed as the hateful raven.
* Is he a lambhis skin is surely lent him,
* For he's inclined as are the ravenous wolves.
* Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit ?
* Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
* Hangs on the cutting short that fraudfu) man.
Enter Somerset.
* Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign!
K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news
from France.?
' Som. That all your interest in those territories
' Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost.
K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset; but God's
will be done!
York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France,
As firmly as I hope for fertile England. •
* Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
* And caterpillars eat my leaves away ;
* But I will remedy this gear ere long,
* Or sell my title for a glorious grave.
Enter Gloster.
* Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king !
Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long.
Suff. Nay, Glostev, know, that thou art come ty sword, my arms torn and defaced,
* And I proclaimed a coward through the world!
[Lays hold on Suffoi.k
' Suff. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince,
The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole.
' Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags !
Stiff". Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke;
Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I ?
Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
' Suff. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's
blood.
The honorable blood of Lancaster,
* Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.'
Hast thou not kissed thy hand, and held my stirrup.^
' Bare-headed plodded by my footcloth mule,
' And thought thee happy when I shook my head ?
' How often hast thou waited at my cup,
' Fed from my trencher, kneeled down at the board,
' When I have feasted with queen Margaret I
* Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fallen ;
* Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride.
* How in our voiding lobby hast thop stood,
*And duly waited for my coming#forth!
' This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
' And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
* Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn
swain
* Cap. First let my woros stab him, as he hath me.
* Stiff. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so
art thou.
I A jaded groom is a low fellow. Suffolk's boast of his own blood was
hardly warranted by his origin. His great grandfatlier had been a mer¬
chant at. Hull.
V iL IV 50
394
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV
• Cap. Convej him hence, and on our longboat's side
Strike off his head.
ISuff". Thou dar'sl not for thy own.
Cap. Yes, Poole.
Suff. Poole ?
Cap. Poole ? sir Poole ? Lord!
' Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
' Troubles the silver spring where England drinks
' Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth,
' For swallowing the treasure of the realm.
' Thy lips, that kissed the queen, shall sweep the ground;
' And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's
death,
' Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain,
* Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again;
* And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
*For daring to affy' a mighty lord
*Unto the daughter of a worthless king,"
* Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
* By devilish policy art thou grown great,
*And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged
* With goblets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
*By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France.
* The false, revolting Normans, thorough thee,
* Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy
* Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts,
'' And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
* The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,—
* Whose dr'eadful swords were never drawn in vain,-
* As hating thee, are rising up in arms.
* And now the house of York—thrust from the crown,
* By shameful murder of a guiltless king,
*And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny—
* Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colors
* Advance our half-faced sun,® striving to shine,
* Under the which is writ—Invitis nubibus.
1 To betroth in marriage. This enumeration of Suffolk's crimes seems
to have been suggested by the Mirror for Magistrates.
2 Edward III. bore for his device the rays of the sun dispersing them
selves out of a cloud.—Camden's Remaines.
sc. I.]
KING HENRY VI.
395
■* The comiHons here in Kent are up in arms;
* And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary,
* Is crept into the palace ol" our king,
* And all by thee.—Away ! convey him hence.
* Snjf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
* Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
* Small things make base men proud ; ' this villain here,
* Being captain of a pinnace,' threatens mo'-e
' Than Bargulus the strong lllyrian pirate.®
' Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob beehis es.
' It is impossible, that I should die
* By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
' Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me:®
' I go of message from the queen to France;
' i charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel.
' Cnp. Walter,
' Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to ihy
death.
* Suff. Gelidus timor occupat artus —'tis thee I feai
' fVhit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave
thee.
' What, are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop ?
' 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him .
fair.
' Suff". Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
' Used to command, untaught to plead for favor.
' Far be it we should honor such as these
* With humble suit; no, rather let my head
1 A pinnace then signified a ship of small burden, built for speed. '
2 " Bargulus, Illyrius Latro, de quo est apud Theopompuin, magnas opes
habuit."—Cicero de Officiis, lib. ii. c. 11. Shakspeare, as Dr. Farmer has
sliown, might have met with this pirate in some of the translations of ma
* time: he points out two in which he is mentioned. In the old play it is,
" Abradas the great Macedonian pirate."
3 Tiiis line in the original play is properly given to the captain.
4 The source from whence this line has been extracted has not yet been
discovered. The following lines are the nearest which have been found
n the classic poets:—
» Subitus tremor occupat artus."
Virg. ^n. V. 446.
"Ille quidem gelidos radiorum viribus artus."
Ovid. Metam. iv 247
396
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IV
♦ Stoop to the l)lock, than these knees bow to any,
' Save to the God of heaven, and to my king;
• And sooner dance upon a bloody pole,
' Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom.
*Truc nobility is exempt from fear:—
' More can I bear, than you dare execute.
' Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more
' Suff. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,'
' That this my death may never be forgot!—
' Great men oft die by vile bezonians.®
' A Roman sworder and banditto slave,
* Murdered sweet Tully: Brutus' bastard hand
' Stabbed Julius Ctesar; savage islanders,
' Pompey the Great; ® and Suffolk dies by pirates.
\^Exit Suff., with Whit, and others
Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set.
It is our pleasure, one of them depart.—
Therefore come you with us, and let him go.
[Exeunt all but the first Gentleman
Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's body.
' Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie,*
' Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit.
' 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
' His body will I bear unto the king:
' If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
' So will the queen,-that living held him dear.
[Exit^ with the body.
' According to the Letter in the Fasten Collection, already cited, the
cutting off of Suffolk's head was very barbarously performed. " One of
the lewdest of the ship bade him lay doivn his head, and he should be
fairly ferd ^dealt] witli, and dye on a sword; and took a rusty sword and
smote off his head within half a dozen strokes."
2 A bezonian is a mean, low person.
3 Pompey was killed by Achillas and Septimius at the moment that the
Egyptian fishing-boat, in which they were, reached the coast, his head be¬
ing thrown into the sea—a circumstance sufficiently resembling Suffolk's
death to bring it to the Poet's memory; though his mention of it is not
quite accurate. In the old play Pompey is not named.
* They " laid his body on the sands of Dover, and some say that liia
nead was set on a pole by it"—Paston*s Letters, vol. L p. 41.
sc. ii.j
king henry vi.
397
SCENE II. Blackheath.
Enter George Bevis and John Holland.
* Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made
' of a lath; they have been up these two days.
* John. They have the more need to sleep now
' then.
' Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means
* to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set
' a new nap upon it.
John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well,
I say, it was never merry world in England, since
gentlemen came up.
* Geo. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded
*in handicrafts-men.
' John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather
* aprons.
* Geo. Nay, more, the king's council are no §ood
* workmen.
* John. True; and yet it is said,—Labor in thy
* vocation; which is as much to say, as,—Let the
* magistrates be laboring men; and therefore should
*we be magistrates.
* Geo. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better
* sign of a brave mind, than a hard hand.
* John. I see them! I see them! There's Best's
•son, the tanner of Wingham ;
* Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies,
* to make dog's leather of.
John. And Dick the butcher,
* Geo. Then is sin-struck down like an ox, and
* iniquity's throat cut like a calf.
* John. And Smith the weaver,
* Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun.
* John. Come, come, let's fall in with them.
398
SECOND PART OP
[act )v
Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butdier, Smith the
fVeaver, and others in great number.
' Cjide. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed
' father,
Dick. Or, rather, of stealing a cade of herringsJ
[Aside.
' Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, in-
' spired with the spirit of putting down kings and
' princes.—Command silence.
Dick. Silence!
Cade. My father was a Mortimer.—
Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick¬
layer. [Aside
' Cade. My mother a Plantagenet,—
' Dick. I knew her well; she was a midwife.
[Aside.
* Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies,—
Dick. She was, indeed, a pedler's daughter, and
sold many laces. , [Aside.
' Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with
♦ her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home.
[Aside
' Cade. Therefore am I of an honorable house.
Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honorable; and
there was he born, under a hedge; for his father had
never a house, but the cage.® [Aside
* Cade. Valiant I am.
* Smith. 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant.
[Aside.
Cade. I am able to endure much.
1 Tom Nashe speaks of having weighed one of Gabriel Harvey's hooka
against a cade of herrings, and ludicrously says, " That the rebel J ack
Cade was the first that devised to put red herrings in cades, and from him
they have their name."—Lenten Stuffe, 15U9 —Cade, however, is derived
from cadiis (Lat), a cask. We may add, from the accounts of tne Celeress
of the Abbey of Barking, in the Monasticon Anglicanum, "a barrel of
herryng shold contain a thousand herryngs, and a cade of herryng six
hundred, six score to the hundred." Cade, with more learning than sliould
naturally fall to his character, alludes to his name from cadu, to falL
2 "liittle places of prison, set commonly in the market-place for harlota
and vagabonds, we call cages."—Baret.
sc. 11.]
KINO HENRY VI.
399
Dick. No question of that; for I have seen him
whipped three market days together. [^Aside
Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire.
Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is
of proof. " [Aside.
Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of
fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep.
[Aside
Cade. Be brave then; for your captain is brave,
and vows reformation. There shall be, in England,
seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny; the three-
hooped pot shall have ten hoops; ^ and I will make
it felony, to drink small beer; all the realm shall be
in common, and in Cheapside shaH my palfrey go to
grass. And, when I am king (as king 1 will be)
All. God save your majesty !
' Cade. I thank you, good people:—there shall
' be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score ;
' and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they
♦ may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord.
' Dl^. The first thing we do, let's kill all the
♦ lawyers.
Cade. Nay, that I mean to do.® Is not this a
lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent
lamb should be made parchment ? that parchment,
being scribbled o'er, should undo a man ? Some say,
the bee stings; but I say, 'tis the bee's wax; for 1
did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine
own man since. How now; who's there ?
Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham.
Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and
read, and cast accompt.
Cade. () monstrous !
1 These diinking-vessels of our ancestors were of wood. Nash, in hia
Pieice Pennilesse, 1.59.5, says, "I believe hoopes in quart pots were in
vented to that end, tliat every man slioidd take his hoope, and no more."
a This speech was transposed by Shakspeare from a subsequent scena
in the old play.
400
SECOND PART OF
^ACT IV
Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies.
Cade. Here's a villain!
Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters
in't.
Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer.
Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write
court-hand.
' Cade. I am sorry for't; the man is a proper man,
' on mine honor; unless I find him guilty, he shall
' not die.—Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee.
* What is thy name ?
Clerk. Emmanuel.
Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters.'
—'Twill go hard with you.
' Cade. Let me alone.—Dost thou use to write
' thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an
' honest, plain-dealing man ?
Clerk. Sir, Inhank God, I have been so well brought
up, that I can write my name.
' All. He hath confessed: away with him; he's
• a villain, and a traitor.
♦ Cade. Away with him, I say; hang him wdth his
' pen and inkhorn about his neck.
[^Exeunt some, with the Clerk
Enter Michael.
♦ Mich. Where's our general ?
♦ Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow.
^ Mich. Fly, fly, fly! sir Humphrey Staflbrd and
his brother are hard by, with the king's forces.
' Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down.
He shall be encountered with a man as good as him¬
self. He is but a knight, is 'a ?
' Mich. No.
' Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight
1 That is, on the top of etters joissive and such like public acts. See
Mabillon's Diplomats
sc. II.]
KING HENRY VI.
40)
' presently ; rise up sir John Mortimer. Now have at
him.'
Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William hii
Brotheri with drum and Forces.
* Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
* Marked for the gallows,—lay your weapons down ;
* Home to your cottages ; forsake this groom.—
* The king is merciful, if you revolt.
* W. Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood,
* If you go forward; therefore yield, or die.
Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not; *
It is to you, good people, that I speak,
* O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
* For I am rightful heir unto the crown.
' Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
' And thou thyself a shearman, aft thou not ?
Cade. And Adam was a gardener.
* W. Staf. And what of that ?
Cade. Marry, this;—Edmund Mortimer, earl of
March,
Married the duke of Clarence' daughter: did he not}
' Staf. Ay, sir.
Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth.
W. Staf. That's false.
' Cade. Ay, there's the question; but, I say, 'tis
true.
' The elder of them, being put to nurse,
' Was by a beggar-woman stolen away;
* And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,
' Became a bricklayer when he came to age.
' Ilis son am I; deny itj if you can.
1 After this speech, in the old play, are the follo^ring words:—
«— Is there any more of them that be knights ?
Tom. Yea, his brother.
Cade. Then kneel down, Dick Butcher; rise up sir Dick Biitclie'
Hound up the drum."
2 I care not, I pay them no regard.
" Transform me to what shape you can.
If ass not what it be." Drayton's (luest of Cynthia.
VOL. IV. SI
402 SECOND PAKT OP " [ACT IV.
Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; tlierefore he shall be liing.
Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house,
and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; there¬
fore, deny it not.
* Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words,
* That speaks he knows not what ?
* All. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.
W. Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught
you this.
* Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. l^Aside."]
—Go to, sirrah. Tell the king from me, that—for his
father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys
went to span counter for French crowns,—I am con¬
tent he shall reign; but I'll be protector over him.
' Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's
' head, for selling the dukedom of Maine.
' Cade. And good reason; for'thereby is England
* maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my
' puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, that.
' that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and
' made it a eunuch; and more than that, he can
' speak French, and therefore he is a traitor.
' Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance !
' Cade. Nay, answer, if you can. The Frenchmen
' are our enemies: go to, then, I ask but this; Can he
' that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good
' counseller, or no ?
* All. No, no ; and therefore we'll have his hi^ad.
* W. Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not
prevail,
* Assail them with the army of the king.
' Staf. Herald, away; and, throughout every town,
' i'roclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
' Tiiat those which fly before the battle ends,
' May, even in their wives' and children's sight,
' Be hanged up for example at their doors.—
And you, that be the king's friends, follow me
[Exeunt the tivo Staff ords and Forces.
* Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow
sc. m.] KING henet vl 403
* Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty.
*We will not leave one lord, one gentleman.
* Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon;
* For they are thrifty, honest men, and such
' As would (but that they dare not) take our parts.
* Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us.
* Cade. But then are we in order, when we are
* most out of order. Come, march forward. \_Exeunt
SCENE III. Another Pari of Blackheath.
Alarums. The two parties enter and fght, and both
the Stafford s are slain.
' Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford.''
' Dick. Here, sir.
* Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen,
* and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in
' thine own slaughter-house ; therefore thus will I re-
' ward thee,—The Lent shall be as long again as it is ;
* and thou shalt have a license to kill for a hundred
' lacking one, a week.'
' Dit^. I desire no more.
* Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less.
* This monument of the victory will I bear; ® and the
* bodies shall be dragged at my horse's heels, till I do
* come to London, where we will have the mayor's
* sword borne before us.
* Ditk. If we mean to thrive and do good, break
* open the jails, and let out the prisoners.
1 The last two words, a week, were added by Malone from the old play
It is necessary to render the passage intelligible. In the reigii of Eliza¬
beth, butchers who had interest at court, frequently obtained a dispensa¬
tion to kill a certain number of beasts a week during Lent; of which in¬
dulgence, the wants of invalids who could not subsist without animal food,
was made the pretence.
2 Here Cade must be supposed to take off Stafford's armor. So Holiii
shed:—"Jack Cade, upon his victory against the Staffords, apparelled
himself in sir Humphrey's brigandine, set full of gilt nails, and so in glory
returned again toward London."
404
second part of
[act iv.
* Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee 'Come, let's
"march towards London. [^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Palace.
^Enter King Henry, reading a supplication; the Duke
of Buckingham, and Lord Sat with him, at a dis¬
tance, Queen Margaret, mourning over Suffolk's
head.
* Q. Mar. Oft have I heard—that grief softens the
mind,
"And makes it fearful and degenerate;
* Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.
* But who can cease to weep, and look on this ?
* Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast;
*But where's the body that I should embrace ?
' Buck. What answer makes your grace to the
' rebels' supplication ?
* K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop ^ to entreat;
' For God forbid, so many simple souls
' Should perish by the sword! And I myself,
' Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,
' Will parley with Jack Cade their general.—
' But stay, I'll read it over once again.
* Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely
face
* Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me;
* And could it not enforce them to relent,
* That were unworthy to behold the same ?
' K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have
thy head.
' Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his.
1 Shakspeare has here fallen into another inconsistency, by sometimes
following Holinshed instead of the old play. He afterwards forgets this
iioly bishop; and in scene tlie eighth we find only Rnckiiighain and Clif¬
ford were sent, conformably to the old play. Holinshed mentions that tlis
arclibishop of Canterbury and the duke of Buclunghain were sent.
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY M.
405
K. Hen. How now, madam Still
Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's < eathi'
I fear, my love, if that 1 had been dead,
Thou wouldest not have mourned so much for me.
Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die
for thee.
Enter a Messenger.
* K, Hen. How now! what news ? why com'st
thou in such haste ^
* Mes. The rebels are in Southwark. Fly, my
lord!
' Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer,
' Descended from the duke of Clarence' house ,
• And calls your grace usurper, openly,
' And vows to crown himself in Westminster
' His army is a ragged multitude
' Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless;
' Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
' Hath given them heart and courage to proceed.
' All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
' They call—false caterpillars, and intend their death.
* K. Hen. O graceless men! they know not what
they do.'
' Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelvvorth,
' Until a power be raised to put them down.
* Q. Mar. Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now
alive,
* These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased.
< K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;
' Therefore away with us to Kenelworth.
« Say. So might your grace's person be in danger;
♦ The sight of me is odious in their eyes;
' And therefore in this city will I stay,
' And live alone as secret as I may.
I Instead of this line the old copy has:—
"Go bid Buckingham and Clifford gather
Ai army up, and meet with the rebels."
406
SECOND PART OP
rACT JV.
Enter another Messenger.
* 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge
the citizens
* Fly and forsake their houses;
* The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
* Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear
* To spoil the city and your royal court.
* Buck. Then linger not, my lord; away, take
horse.
* K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will
succor us.
Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is de¬
ceased. ^
*K. Hen. Farewell, my lord; \To Lord Say.1
trust not the Kentish rebels.
* Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betrayed.
* Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence,
• * And therefore am I hold and resolute. [^Exeunt.
SCENE V. The same. The Tower
Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the walls. Then
enter certain Citizens, below.
Scales. How now ? is Jack Cade slain ?
1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they
nave won the bridge, killing all those that withstand
them. The lord mayor craves aid of your honor from
the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.
Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall command,
But I am troubled here with them myself;
The rebels have assayed to win the Tower.
But get you to Sinithfield, and gather head.
And thither will I send you Matthew Gough.
Fight for your king, your country, and your lives,
And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt
sc. vii.]
king henry vi.
407
SCENE VI. The same. Cannon Street.
Enter Jack Cade and his Followers. He strikes its
\ staff on London-stone.
Cade Now is Mortirrier lord of this city. And
here, sitting upon London-stone, 1 charge and com¬
mand, that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run
nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign.
And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any
that calls me other than—lord Mortimer.
Enter a Soldier, running.
Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade !
Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill himi*
* Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call
* you Jack Cade more; I think he hath a very fair
* warning.
Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together
in Smithfield.
Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them. But,
first, go and set London bridge on fire; ® and, if you
can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII. The same. Smithfield. Alarum.
Enter, on one side, Cade and his Company; on the
other, Citizens, and the King's Forces, headed by
Mattheav Gough.® They fight; the Citizens ere
routed, and Matthew Gough is slain.
Cade. So, sirs.—Now go some and pull down the
1 « He also put to execution in Southwarke diverse persons, some foi
breaking this ordinance, and otiier being his old acquaintance, lest they
should bewray his base lineage, disparaging him for his usurped name of
Mortimer."—Holinshed, p. 634.
® At that time London bridge was of wood; the houses upon it were
actually burnt in this rebellion. Hall says, " he entered London, and cut
the ropes of the drawbridge."
3 Holinsficd calls Mathew Gough " a man of great wit and much expe-
408 second part of [act iv
Savoy;' others to the inns of court; down with
them all.
Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship.
Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that
word.
' Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come
' out of your mouth.®
' John. Mass, 'twill be sore law then ; for he was
' thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole
♦ yet. [Aside
' Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law, for his
♦ breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside.
*■ Cade. I have thought upon it; it shall be so.
' Away, burn all the records of the realm; my mouth
♦ shall be the parliament of England.
* John. Then we are like to have biting statutes,
* unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside.
* Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in
• common.
Enter a Messenger.
' Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize! Here's the lord
•Say, which sold the towns in France; *he that
* made us pay one-and-twenty fifteens,® and one shil-
* ling to the pound, the last subsidy.
Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say.
' Cade. Well, he 'shall be beheaded for it ten
' times.—Ay, thou say,^ thou serge, nay, thou buck-
♦ ram lord ! now art thou within point-blank of our
•jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my
' majesty, for giving up of Normandy unto monsieur
nence ui feats of chivalrie, the which in continuaD warres had spent his
time in serving of the king his father." See also W. of Wyrcestre, p.
357; and the Fasten Letters, vol. i. p. 42.
1 " This trouble had been saved Cade's reformers by his predecessor
Wat Tyler. It was never rebuilt till Henry VI. founded the hospital."
2 " It was reported, indeed, that he should sale with great pride that
within four daies all the laws of England should come foorth of his
mouth."—Holinshed, p. 4.32.
3 A fifteen was the fifteenth part of all the movables, or personal prop¬
erty, of each subject
• Say is a kind of thin woollen stuff or serge.
BC. VII.]
KING HENRY VI.
409
• Basimecu, the dauphin of France ? Be it known
♦ unto thee, by these presence, even the presence of
^ lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must sweep
' the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast
' most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm, in
' erecting a grammar-school; and whereas, before, our
' forefathers had no other books but the score and the
' lally, thou hast caused printing to be used;' and,
' contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou
' hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy
♦ face, that thou hast men about thee, that usually talk
♦ of a noun, and a verb, and such abominable words,
^ as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast
' appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before
' them about matters they were not able to answer.
• Moreover, thou hast put them in prison ; and because
' they could not read, thou hast hanged them; ^ when,
' indeed, only for that cause, they have been most
*■ worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a foot-cloth,^ dost
' thou not ?
Sa^. What of that.?
Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse
wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in their
hose and doublets.
* Dick. And work in their shirt too; as myself, foi
* example, that am a butcher.
Say. You men of Kent,—
Dick. What say you of Kent ?
' Say. Nothing but this: 'Tis bona terra, mala gens *
' Shakspeare is a little too early with this accusation. Yet Meerman,
in his Origines Typogruphicse, has availed himself of this passage to sup¬
port his hypothesis that printing was introduced into England by Frederic
Corsellis, one of Coster's workmen, from Haerlem, in the time of Henry VI.
8 L e. they were hanged because they could not claim the benefit of
clergy.
3 A foot-cloth was a kind of housing, which covered the body of the
horse; it was sometimes made of velvet and bordered with gold lace-
< After this line the old play proceeds thus:—
Cade. Bonun temim, What's that'
THck. He speaks French.
fVUl. Ne, 'tis Dutch.
M.ck. No, 'tis Outalian: I know it well enough.
VOL. IV. 52
410
SECOND PART OF
[A{.T IV
' Cade. Away with him, away with him ! he speaks
' Latin.
* Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you
will.
* Kent, in the commentaries Caesar writ,
' Is termed the civil'st place of all this isle.*
' Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
' The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;
' Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.
' I sold not JNlaine, I lost not Normandy ;
* Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
* Justice with favor have I always done ;
* Prayers and tears have moved me ; gifts could never.
* When have I aught exacted at your hands,
* Kent, to maintain the king, the realm, and you ? ®
* Large gifts have I bestowed on learned clerks,
* Because my book preferred me to the king;
* And,—seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
* Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,—
* Unless you be j)ossessed with devilish spirits,
* You cannot but forbear to murder me.
* This tongue hath parleyed unto foreign kings
* For your behoof,—
* Cade. Tut! when struck'st thou one blow in the
♦field?
* Say. Great men have reaching hands; oft have I
struck
* Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.
* Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come behind
folks?
* Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your
good.
* Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and that will
* make 'em red again.
1 " Ex his omnibus sunt humanissimi, qui Cantium incolunt.''—Ctrsnr.
2 This passage has been supposed corrupt merely because it was ein>
neously pointed. It was thus pointed in the folio:—
" When have I aught exacted at your hands ?
Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you ?
Large gifts, have I bestowed on learned clerks," &c.
sc. vii.]
king henry vi.
41l
* Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
Hath made me lull of sickness and diseases.
* Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and
* the pap of a hatchet.'
* Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man.?
' Say. The pais}', and not fear, provoketh me.
' Cade. Nay, he nods at us ; as who should say, I'll
* be even with you. I'll see if his head will stand
' steadier on a pole, or no. Take him away, and
behead him.
* Say. Tell me wherein I have offended most.?
* Have I affected wealth, or honor ? Speak.
* Are my chests filled up with extorted gold .?
*Is my apparel sumptuous to behold.?
* Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death .?
* These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding,?
* This breast from harboring foul, deceitful thoughts.
* O, let me live!
* Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words,
* but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for plead-
* ing so well for his life. Away with him ! he has
* a familiar ® under his tongue ; he speaks not o' God's
* name. ' Go, take him away, I say, and strike off
' his head presently; and then break into his son-in-
* law's house, sir James Cromer,' and strike off his
' head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.
' All. It shall be done.
* Say. Ah, countrymen! if, when you make your
prayeis,
* God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
* How would it fare with your departed souls .?
* And therefore yet relent, and save my life
* Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye.
\_Exeunt some, with Lord Say.
1 The old copy reads, " the help of a hatchet." Lyly wrote a pamphlet
with the title of " Pap with a Hatchet;" and the phrase occurs in his play
of Mother Bombie: " They give us pap with a spoone, and when we speake
for what we love, pap with a hatchet.''^
2 i. e. these hands are free from shedding guiltless or innocent blood.
3 A demim who was supposed to attend at call.
* It was William Crowmer. sheriff of Kent, whom Cade put to death
412
SECOND PART of
[ACT iv.
• The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head
' on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute. There
• shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me
' her maidenhead ere they have it. Men shall hold
' of me in capite; and we charge and cc/mmand, that
' their wives be as free as heart can wish, or tongue
' can tell.
' Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside,
' and take up commodities upon our bills
i Cade. Marry, presently.
• All. O brave!
%
tie-enter Rebels, with the heads of Lord Sat and his
Son-in-law.
* Cade. But is not this braver ?—Let them kiss one
• another, for they loved well, when they were alive.
' Now part them again, lest they consult about the giv-
' ing up of some more towns in France. Soldiers,
' defer the spoil of the city until night; for with these
• borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride through
' the streets; and, at every corner, have them kiss.—
' 4.way! [^Exeunt
SCENE VIII. Southwark.
Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his Rabblement.
* Cade. Up Fish street! down Saint Magnuo
"corner! kill and knock down! throw thfm into
• Thames!—\^A parley sounded, then a retreat.'] What
"noise is this I hear.^ dare any be so bold to sound re-
• treat or parley, when I command them kill ?
Enter Buckingham and Old Clifford, loith Forces.
' Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb
thee.
' Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
• An equivoque alluding to the halberds or bills borne by the rabble
sc. VIII.]
KING HENRY VI.
413
' Unto the cominons whom thon hast misled ;
' And here pronounce free pardon to them all,
' That will forsake thee, and go home in peace.
' Chiff. What saj ye, countrymen ? will ye relent,
' And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis offered you;
♦ Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths ?
♦ Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon,
' Fling up his cap, and say—God save his majesty'
' Who haieth him, and honors not his father,
' Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,
' Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by.
' All. God save the king! God save the king!
' Cade. What', Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye so
' brave ?—And you, base peasants, do ye believe him i'
' Will you needs be hanged with your pardons about
' your necks Hath my sword therefore broke through
' London gates, that you should leave me at the White
' Hart in Southwark ? I thought ye would never have
' given out these arms, till you had recovered your an-
' cient freedom; but you are all recreants, and das-
' tards; and delight to live in slavery to the nobility.
' Let them break your backs with burdens, take your
' houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daugh-
' ters before your faces. • For me,—I will make shif"
♦ for one and so—God's curse 'light upon you all!
' All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade.
' Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,
' That thus you do exclaim—you'll go with him
' Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
' And make the meanest of you earls and dukes ?
' Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
« Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil,
' Unless by robbing of your friends, and us.
♦ Wer't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
♦ The fearful .French, whom you late vanquished,
' Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you ?
' Methinks already, in this civil broil,
' I see them lording it in London streets,
' Crying—Villageois! unto all they meet.
' Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry,
414
SECOND PART OF
[ACT IT
' Than jou should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
' To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
' Spare England, for it is your native coast.
' Henry hath money; you are strong and manly;
' God on our side, doubt not of victory.
' All. A Clilford! a Clifford! We'll follow the king,
' and Clifford.
' Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and
' fro, as this multitude ? The name of Henry the
' Fifth hales them to a hundred mischiefs, and makes
' them leave me desolate. 1 see them lay their heads
' together, to surprise me; my sword make way fo'
me, for here is no staying.—In 'despite of the
devils and hell, have through the very midst of you!
' And Heavens and honor be witness, that no want of
' resolution in me, but only my followers' base and ig-
' nominious ti'easons, makes me betake me to my heels.
\^Exit.
' Buck. What, is he fled ? Go, some, and follow him ;
• And he that brings his head unto the king,
' Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.—
[Exeunt some of them
' Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean
' To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt
SCENE IX. Kenelworth Castle.
Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and Somerset
on the terrace of the castle.
* K. Hen. Was ever king that joyed an earthly throne.
* And could command no more content than I ?
* No sooner was I crept out of my cradle,
* But I was made a king, at nine months old.^
1 So all the historians agree; and yet in Part I. Act iii. Sc. 4, king
Henry is made to say:—
" I do remember how my father said,"—
a plain proof that the whole of that play was not written by the same hand
Bs this.
sc IX.] " J ;i!Fing henry VI. 415
* Was never subject longed to be a king,
* As I do long and wish to be a subject.
Enter Buckingham and Clifford.
* Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your nlaj(^sty !
* K. Hen. Why, Buckingham,- is the traitor. Cade,
surprised ?
* Or is he but retired to make him strong.?
Enter, below, a great number of Cade's Followers,
with halters about their necks.
' Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do
yield;
* And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,
* Expect your highness' doom, of life, or dea^'/i.
* K. Hen. Then, Heaven, set ope thy everlasting
gates,
' To entertain my vows of thanks and pra /a !—
* Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your liver,,
' And showed how well you love youi prbac and
country.
' Continue still in this so good a mind,
' And Henry, though he he infortunate,
' Assure yourselves, will never he unkind
' And so, with thanks, and pardon, to you .'II,
' I do dismiss you to your several countric <.
All. God save the king! God save the king!
Enter a Messenger.
* Mess. Please it your grace to he adveitised,
* The duke of York is newly come from Ireland,
* And with a puissant and a mighty power,
* Of Gallowglasses,' and stout Kernes,
* Is marching hitherward in proud array,
1 « The Gcdloglasse useth a kind of pole-axe for his weapon. These men
are grim of countenance, tall of stature, big of limroe, lusty of body, well
and strongly timbered."—Stanihurst'a Descript, of Ireland, c. viii f. 21
416-
second part op
[ACT IV
* And still proclairneth, as he comes along,
* His arms are only to remove from thee
' The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.
* K. Hen. Thus stands my state 'twixt Cade and
York distressed ;
* Like to a ship, that, having scaped a tempest,
* Is straightway calmed ' and boarded with a pirate ;
*But now'^ is Cade driven back, his men dispersed;
* And now is York in arms to second Jiim.—
* I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him;
* And ask him, what's the reason of these arms.
*Tell him, I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower;—
*And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither,
* Until his army be dismissed from him.
* Som. My lord,
* I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
* Or unto death, to do my country good.
* K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms ;
* For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language.
* Buck. I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal,
* As all things shall redound unto your good.
* K. Hen. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern
better;
* For yet may. England curse my wretched reign.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE X. Kent. Iden's Garden.^
Enter Cade.
* Cade. Fie on ambition! fie on myself; thai
* have a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These
•• The first folio reads calme; which may be right. The second folio
nnted by mistake claimed; and the tliird folio calmed. This reading has
een adopted as most perspicuous, and because in Othello we have:—
" must be be-lee'd and calmed.^
2 But is here not adversative. " It was only just now (says Henry),
that Cade and his followers were routed."
3 " A gentleman of Kent, named Alexander Eden, awaited so his time,
that he tooke the said Cade in a garden in Sussex, sr tliat there he was
slaine at Hothfield," &c.—Holinshed, p. 635. " This Iden was, in fact,
the new sheriff" of Kent, who had followed Cade froir Rochester."—ffU-
Ham of Wyrccster, p. 472.
HC X.I
king henry vi.
417
* five ({ays have I hid me in these woods; and dursi
* not peep out, for all the country is layed for me; but
* now am I so hungry, that if I might have a lease of
* my life for a thousand years, I could stay no longer.
* Wherefore, on a brick-wall have 1 climbed into this'
* garden; to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet
* another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's
* stomach this hot weather. And, I think, this word
* sallet was borir to do me good ; for, many a time, but
*for a sallet,' my brain-pan had been cleft \iith a
* brown bill; and, many a time, when I have been dry,
* and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a
* quart-pot to drink in ; and now the word sallet must
* serve me to feed on.
Enter Iden, with Servants.
' Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court
' And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ?
' This small inheritance, my father left me,
' Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy.
* I seek not to wax great by others' waning;
' Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy;
' Sufiiceth, that I have maintains my state,
' And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.
* Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me
' for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave.
* Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand
* crowns of the king for carrying my head to him ; but
' I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my
* sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.
' Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,
' I know thee not. Why then should I betray thee ?
' Is't not enough to break into my garden,
' And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,
- Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,
' But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms ?
Cade. Brave thee ? ay, by the best blood that evei
1 A sallet is a helmet
VOL. IV. 53
418
SECOND PART OF
[act iv.
was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well.
I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou
and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead
as a door nail, I pray God, 1 may never eat grass more.
' Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England
stands.
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
Took odds to combat a poor famished man.
' Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine;
' See if thou canst outface me with thy looks.
' Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
.' Thy hand is but a finger to my fist;
' Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon;
' My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
' And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
' Thy grave is digged already in the earth.
' As for words, whose greatness answers words,^
' Let this my sword report what speech forbears.
* Cade. By my valor, the most complete champion
* that ever I heard.—' Steel, if thou turn the edge, or
' cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef
' ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I. beseech God® on my
' knees, thou mayst be turned to hobnails. ^They
^Jight; Cade falls.'] O, 1 am slain! famine, and no
' other, hath slain me; let ten thousand devils come
' against me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost,
' and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden; and be
* henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell in this
' house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.
' Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous
traitor ?
' Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed,
' And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead.
* Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;
* But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
* To emblaze the honor that thy master got.
' Johnson explains this, " As for words, whose pomp and nimor may
answer words, and pnly words, I shall forbear them, and refer the rest to
my sword."
® In the folio " I beseech Jove " was substituted to avoid tlie penaltv of
the statute, 3 Juc. 1. c. 2, against profane swearing.
so. I.]
KING HENRY VI
419
' Cade, iden, farewell; and be proud ot thy victory.
' Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and
* exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never
' feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valor.
[Dies.
* Idea. How much thou wrong'st me, Heaven be
my judge.
* Die, damned Avretch, the curse of her that bare thee!
* And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
* So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.
* Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels
' Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave,
' And there cut off thy most ungracious head;
* Which I Avill bear in triumph to the king,
* Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.
[Exiif dragging out the body
ACT V.
SCENE I. The same. Fields between Dariford and
Blackheath.
The King's Camp on one side.' On the other, enter
York, attended, unth drum and colors: his Forces
at some distance.
' York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his
right,
' And pluck the crown from fepble Henry's head.
' Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,
' To entertain great England's lawful king.
Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear?
' Let them obey that know not hoAV to rule;
' This hand was made to handle nought but gold,
J I cannot give due action to my words,
420
SECOND PART OF
[ACT V
' Exoepi a sword, or sceptre, balance it.'
' A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,®
' On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.
Enter Buckingham.
• Whom have we here ? Buckingham, to disturb me 1
' The king hath sent him, sure. I must dissemble.
♦ Buck. York, if thou meanest well, 1 greet thee
well.
' York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy
greeting.
' Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ?
' Buck. A messenger, from Henry, our dread liege,
' To know the reason of these arms in peace;
Or why, thou,—being a subject as I am,—
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
Shouldst raise so great a power without his leave,
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.
' Yoik. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so"
great.
O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with
flint,
I am so angry at these abject terms ;
And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury !
I am far better born than is the king:
Mor
re
king.
more
kingly
in
my
Aside
like a
thoughts:
But I must make fair weather yet awhile.
Till Henry be more weak, and I more
strong.—
O, Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me.
That 1 have given no answer all this while,
My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
The cause why I have brought this army hither,
Is—^^to remove proud Somerset from the king.
Seditious to his grace and to the state.
1 i. e. balance my hand.
2 York means to say, " If I have a soid, my hand shall not be tvithout
sceptre."
«iC. 1]
KING HENRY VI.
421
' Buck. That is too much presumption on thy
l)art.
' But if thy arms be to no other end,
' The king hath yielded unto thy demand;
The duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
York. U pon thine honor, is he prisoner ?
Buck. Upon mine honor, he is prisoner.
' York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my
powers.—
' Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;
' Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field,
' You shall have pay, and every thing you wish.
* And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
* Command my eldest son,—nay, all my sons,
* As pledges of my fealty and love ;
* I'll send them all as willing as I live;
* Lands, goods, horse, armor, any thing I have
* Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
' Buck. York, I commend this kind submission;
' We twain will go into his highness' tent.
Enter King Henry, attended.
' K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no
harm to us,
* That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ^
* York. In all submission and humility,
* York doth present himself unto your highness.
* K. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou dost
bring ?
* York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence
' And fight against that monstrous rebel. Cade,
' Who since I heard to be discomfited.
Enter Iden, ivith Cade's head.
' Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition,
' May pass into the presence of a king,
' Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,
' The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.
422
second-part of
[act v
' K. Hen. The head of Cade?—Great (lod, how
just art thou !—
' O, loi me view his visage, being dead,
' Tiiat, living, wrought me such exceeding trouble.
' Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew^him.''
' Iden. I was, an't like your majesty.
' K. Hen. How art thou called? and what is thy
degree ?
' Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name;
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.
* Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
* He were created knight for his good service.
' K. Hen. Iden, kneel down; [/fe kneels.^ rise up
a knight.
' We give thee for reward a thousand marks;
' And will, that thou henceforth attend on us.
' Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty,
* And never live but ti'ue unto his liege!
' K. Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with
the queen.
• Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke
Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset.
' Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his
head,
♦ But boldly stand, and front him to his face.
' York. How now! is Somerset at liberty ?
' Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts,
' And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
* Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?—
'False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,
' Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ?
' King did I call thee ? no, thou art not king;
' Not tit to govern and rule multitudes,
' Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor
' That head of thine doth not become a crown ;
' Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
♦ And not to grace an awful, princely sceptre.
' That gold must round engirt these brows of mine;
sc. I.]
KING henry vi.
423
' W^Iiose sraile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
' Is able with the change to kill and cure.
' Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up,
' And with tl»e same to act controllins laws.
' Give place; by Heaven, thou shalt rule no mife
■ O'er him whom Heaven created for thy ruler.
' Som. O, monstrous traitor!—I arrest thee, York
' Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown.
* Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.
*York. VVouldst have me kneel? first let me ask
of these,
*If they can brook I bow a knee to man.—
* Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;
\^Exit an Attendant
* I know, ere they will have me go to ward,
* They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement
* Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain
* To say, if that the bastard boys of York
* Shall be the surety for their traitor father.
* York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,
"Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
' The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
' Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those
* That for my surety will refuse the boys.
Enter Edward and Richard Plantagenet, rvjth
Forces, at one side; at the other, with Forces also.
Old Clifford and his Son.
* See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make if
good.
* Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their
bail.
' Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king!
[K7ieels.
' York. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news
with thee?
' Nay, do not fright us with an angry look •
» We are thy sovereign, Clifford; kneel again.
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
424
SECOND PART OF
[act v.
' Clif. This is my king, York ; I do not mistake;
' But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do.
' To Bedlam' with him! Is the man grown mad?
' K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; "a bedlam and ambitious
bumor
' Makes him oppose himself against his king.
' Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
' And chop away that factious pate of his.
' Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey;
' His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.
' York. Will you not, sons ?
Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will servot
' Rich. And if vyords will not, then our weapons
shall.
* Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!
* York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so;
* I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.—
' Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,®
* That, with the very shaking of their chains,
* They may astonish these fell lurking curs.
*Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me.
Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisbury, with Forces.
' Clif Are these thy bears ? we'll bait thy bears to
death,
' And manacle the bearward in their chains,
' If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.
* Rich. Oft have I seen a hot, o'erweening cur
* Run back and bite, because he was withheld;
* Who, being suffered with the bear's fell paw,
1 This has been thought an anachronism; but Stowe sliows that it is
not:—" Next unto the parish of St. Buttolph is a fayre inne for receipt of
travellers; then an hospilaU of S. Mary of Bethlehem, founded by Simon
Fitz-Mary, one of tne Snerifies of London, in the yeare i24g. He founded
it to have beene a priorie of cannons with brethren and sisters, and king
Edward the Thirde granted a protection, which i have seene, for the
brethren Miliciee beatrt Mariee de Bethlem, witliin the citie of London, the
I4th yeare of his raigne. R was aa hospitall for distracted people."—iSur-
vey o f London, p. 127,1598.
® The Nevils, earls of Warwick, had a bear ai i ragged staff for theii
crest
sc. 1.]
KING HENRY VI.
423
* Hath clapped his tail between his legs, and cried
* And such a piece of service will you do,
* If you oppose yourselves to match lord Waiwick.
* Clif. Hence, heap'of wrath, foul, indigested
lump,
* As crooked in thy manners as thy shape !
* York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
* Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn your¬
selves.
* K Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to
bow ?
* Old Salisbury,—shame to thy silver hair,
* Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!—
*What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
* And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ?
* O, where is faith ? O, where is loyalty ?
* If it be banished from the frosty head,
* Where shall it find a harbor in the earth ?—
* Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
* And shame thine honorable age with blood ?
* Why art thou old, and want'st experience
* Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it
* For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me,
* That bows unto the grave with mickle age.
* Sal. My lord, I have considered with myself
*The title.of this most renowned duke;
* And in my conscience do repute his grace
* The rightful heir to England's royal seat.
' * K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me i
* Sal. I have.
*K.'Hen. Canst thou dispense with Heaven foi
such an oath ?
* Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin ;
* But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath.
* Who can be bound by any solemn vow
* To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
* To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
"Yo reave the orphan of his patrimony,
* To wring the widow from her customed righ ;
voii. IV 54
436
SECOND PART OF
[act v.
* And have no other reason for this wrong,
* .But that he was bouiid by a solemn oath ?
* Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
* K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm him¬
self.
' York. Call Buckingham and all the friends thou
hast,
• I am resolved for death or dignity.
Clif. The first, I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.
' War. You were best to go to bed, and dream
again.
To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
Clif. I am resolved to bear a greater storm.
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,'
Might I but know thee by thy household badge.
War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's
crest,
The rampant bear chained to the ragged staff,
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
(As on a mountain top the cedar shows.
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,)
Even to affright thee with the view thereof.
Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear,
\nd tread it under foot with all contempt,
' Despite the bearward that protects the bear.
' Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father,
♦ To quell the rebels, and their 'complices^
Rich. Fie ! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.
' Y. Clif. Foul stigraatic,^ that's more than thou
canst tell.
' Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.
^Exeunt severally.
' A burgonet is a helmet; a Burg^ndian's steel cap or casque.
® One on whom nature has set a mark of deformity, a stig'ma. It was,
originally and properly, "a person who had been branded witli a hot iroa
for some crime."
sc. II.J
KING HENRY VI
427
SCENE 11. Saint Albans.
Alarums: Excursions. Enier Warwick.
fVar. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls!
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
Now,—when the angry trumpet sounds alarm.
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,—
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me!
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland.
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.
Enter York.
• How now, my noble lord ? what, all afoot ?
' York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew iny
steed;
• But match to match I have encountered him,
• And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
' Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.
Enter Clifford.
♦ War. Of one or both of us the time is come.
York. Hold, W^arwick, seek thee out some othei
chase.
For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou
fight'st.—
' As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day.
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassailed.
\^Exit Warw ck.
' Clif. What seest thou in me, York.? why dosi
thou pause.?
' York. With thy brave bearing should I be in
love,
But that thou art so fast m'ne enemy.
second part of
[act v
' Clif. Nor should thj prowess want praise and
esteem,
' But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason.
' York. So let it help me now against thy sword,
* As I in justice and true right express it!
' Clif. My soul and body on the action both!—
York. A dreadlul lay!'—address thee instantly.
[They fght, and Clifford falls
* Clif. ha fin couronne les ceuvres. [Dies.®
' York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou
art still.
' Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be thy will! [Exit.
Enter Young Clifford.
* Y. Clif. Shame and confusion! all is on the
rout:
*Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
* Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
* Whom angry Heavens do make their minister,
* Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
* Hot coals of vengeance ! Let no soldier fly:
* He that is truly dedicate to war,
* Hath no self-love ; nor he, that loves himself,
* Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
* The name of valor.—O, let the vile world end,
[Seeing his dead father
a
1 A dreadful wager.
2 The author, in making Clifford fall by the hand of York, has deportee
from the truth of history, a practice not uncommon with him when he
does his utmost to make his characters considerable. This circumstance,
however, serves to prepare the reader or spectator for the vengeance after¬
wards taken by Clifford's son on York and Rutland. At the beginning
of tlie third part of tliis drE.ma, the Poet has forgot this circumstance, atd
tliore represents Clifford's death as it really happened:—
« Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all abreas^ .
Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in,
W ere by the swords of common soldiers slain."
These lines were adopted by Shakspeare from The Tnre Tragedy of
Richard Duke of York, upon which the Third Part of King lienry VI
is founded.
so. Il.j
KING HENRY VI.
429
* And the premised' flames of the last day
* Knit earl h and heaven together!
*Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
* Particularities and petty sounds
* To cease ! ^—Wast thou ordained, dear father,
* To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
* The silver livery of advised age ;
* And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
* To die in ruffian battle ?—Even at this sight,
* My heart is turned to stone; and, while 'tis mine,
* It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
* No more will I their babes: tears virginal
* Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
* And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
* Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
* Henceforth I'will not have to do with pity:
*Meet I an infant of the house of York,
* Into as many gobbets will I cut it,
* As wild Medea young Absyitus did :
* In cruelly will I seek out my fame.
' Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house.
[Taking up the body
As did iEneas old Anchises bear,
► So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
* But then .^neas bare a living load,
* Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit.
Enter Richard Plantagenet and So.nERSET,J?^/dtn;g,
and Somerset is killed.
Rich. So, lie thou there ;—
' For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign.
The castle in Saint Albans, Somerset
Hath made the wizard famous in his death.®—
1 Premised is sent before their time.
2 To cease is to stop; a verb active.
3 The deatli of Soiriersot hero accomplishes that equivocal predictioo
if Jourdaiii, tlie witch, in the first act.
430
second part of
[act v.
* Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
* Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. \^Exit
Alarums: Excursions. Enter King Henry, Queen
Margaret, and others, retreating.
' Q, Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame,
away!
* K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens ? good Mar¬
garet, stay.
* Q. Mar. What are you made of ? you'll not fight,
nor fly.
* Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
* To give the enemy way; and to secure us
* By what we can, which can no more but fly.
[Alarum afar off
* If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
* Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape,
* (As well we may, if not through your neglect,)
* We shall to London get, where you are loved;
* And where this breach, now in our fortunes made,
* May readily be stopped.
Enter Young Clifford.
* Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief
set,
* I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly;
*But fly vou must; uncurable discomfit
* Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts/
* Away, for your relief! and we will live
* To see their day, and them our fortune give.
* Away, my lord, away! [Exeunt
' Parts may stand for parties ; it may be also an error for partp.
sc. III.]
KING HENRY VI.
431
SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans.
Alarum. Retreat. Flourish; then enter Rich¬
ard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, with
drum and colors.
' York. Of Salisbury, who can report of hiiii
* That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets
* Aged contusions and all brush of time ; ^
* And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,'
* Repairs him with occasion ? This happy day
* Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
*If Salisbury be lost.
' Rich. My noble father
* Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
' Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off,
* Persuaded him from any further act;
' But still, where danger was, still there I met him
* And like rich hangings in a homely house,
* So was his will in his old feeble body.
* But, noble as he is, look where he comes.
Enter Salisbury.
' Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought
to-day;
' By the mass, so did we all.—1 thank you, Richard.
' God knows how long it is I have to live;
' And it hath pleased him that three times to-day
' You have defended me from imminent death.—
" Well, lords, we have not got that which we have;'
* 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
* Being opposites of such repairing nature.
1 Warburton would substitute "all hruise of time;" but, as Steevena
abserves, " the brush of time " is the gradual detrition of time.
2 i. e. the height of youth; the brow of a hill is its summit.
2(6. we have not secured that which we have acauirecL
432
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI.
' York. I know our safety is to follow them ;
' For, as I hear, thq king is fled to London.
♦ To call a present court of parliament.
♦ Let us pui-sue him, ere the writs go forth.—
' What saj's lord Warwick.? shall we after them ?
War. After them ! nay, before them, if we can.
Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day;
Saint Albans' battle won by famous York,
Shall be eternized in all age to come.—
Sound, drums and trumpets,—and to I.ondon all;
And more such days as these to us befall! [ Exeunt,
We may consider the two last parts of Henry VI. as a single play; that is,
as a dramatic chronicle in ten acts; neither in outer form nor in inner idea
are the two pieces otherwise than mechanically divided. The events in
France, which formed the principal subject in the First Part, are here re¬
moved to the farthest background; the reader scarcely observes the short
passages in which we learn that Somerset is ,sent to France, and that this val¬
uable possession is completly lost to England. The subject of the two last
parts is the contest of the houses of York and Lancaster, the decline of Eng¬
land's power under the weak and saintly Henry VI., and the rise of York,
the father of the terrible Richard III. Subsequently, Shakspeare furnished a
counterpart to this work in the preceding elevation of the house of Lancaster,
in the rise of the similarly aspiring and crafty Bolingbroke above the equally
weak and worldly Richard II. In the Second Part ^Act vi. Sc. 1) it is ex¬
pressly indicated in a passage which is Shakspeare's property, that the fall of
Henry VI. was an expiation of the unlawful murder of Richard 11. by the
Lancastrians. Other passages prove that Shakspeare had at hand the chroni¬
cles of Holinshed when he remodelled the originals of the two latter parts;
thus, he may have surveyed the whole history of the struggle between the
two houses in this the first of his historic-dramatic works; and aware of its
political and historical value, he may have early conceived the plan of that
series of historical dramas which he soon afterwards carried into execution.
Happy was it for the English stage that in its early development it lighted
upon these subjects of national history. In the sources from which dramatists
were usually accustomed to draw, such as the chivalric romances of the Mid¬
dle Ages, old fables and legends, tales and popular books of a romantic te-
nour, the want of nature was great, and the want of taste still greater. The
art of the dramatic poets was feeble. Where the subject afforded a wide field
for their free inventive powers the work degenerated into distortion—a fact
which we see exemplified in such plays as Titus and Pericles. On the other
hand, in the simple and homely chronicles of their national history, the dra¬
matists found in the civil wars a great and mighty material, a nature conge¬
nial to their own, a nation in action whom they knew, and prominent charac¬
ters which were comprehensible to them. Gervinus.
THIRD PART OF
KING HENRY THE SIXTH/
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
The action of this play opens just after the first battle of St. Albans
[May 23, 145.5], wherein the York faction carried the day; and closes with
the murder of king Henry VI. and the birth of prince Edward, afterwards
king Edward V. [November 4, 1471]. So that this history takes in the
space of full sixteen years.
The title of the old play, which Shakspeare altered and improved, is,
"The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good
King Kenry the Sixth: with the whole Contention between the Two
Houses of Lancaster and Yorke: as it was sundrie times acted by tlie
Right Honourable the Earle of Pembroke his Servants. Printed at Lon¬
don by P. S. for Thomas Millington, and are to be solde at his Shoppe
under St. Peter's Church in Comewal, 1595." There was another edition
in 1600, by the same publisher; and it was reproduced with the name of
Shakspeare on the title page, printed by T. P. no date, but ascertained to
have been printed in 1619.
The present historical drama was altered by Crown, and brought on
the stage in 1680, under the tide of The Miseries of Civil War. Surely
the works of Shakspeare could have been little read at that period; for
Crown, in his prologue, declares the play to be entirely his own compo¬
sition :—
" For by his feeble skill 'tis built alone.
The divine Shakspeare did not lay one stone"
Whereas the very first scene is that of Jack Cade, copied almost verbatim
from the Second Part of King Henry VI., and several others from this
Third Part, with as little variation.
* This play is only divided from the former for the convenience of exhibition; for the
fle«ies of action is continued without interruption, nor are any two scenes of any play more
closely connected than the hrst scene of this play with the last of the former.—Joknson
VOL. IV. 55 (433)
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Sixth :
Edward, Prince of Wales, his Son.
Lewis XI. KingofYrKnce.
Duke of Somerset,
Duke of Exeter,
ELu/NoIjhLberland,^-^'^'^
Earl o/" Westmoreland,
Lord Clifford,
Richard Plantagenet, Duke o/'York :
Edward, Earl of March, afterwards Kin?
Edward IV.
Geoug^, afterwards Duke of C\fixence, \his Sons.
Richard, afterwards Duke of Glocester,
Edmund, Earl o/" Rutland,
Duke o/" Norfolk,
Marquis of Montague,
Earl of Warwick, (/•.. r»r j- v i s
Earl of Pembroke, >®
Lord Hastings,
Lord Stafford,
sin ) Uncles to the Duke of York.
Sir Hugh Mortimer, ) •'
Henry, Earl of Richmond, a Youth.
Lord Rivers, Brother to Lady Grey. Sir William Stanley.
Sir John Montgomery. Sir John Somervile. Tutor to
Rutland. Mayor of York. Lieutenant of the Tower. A
Nobleman. Two Keepers. A Huntsman. A Son that has
killed his Father. A Father that has killed his Son.
oueen M.\rgaret.
Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward IV.
Bona, Sister to the French Queen.
Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry and King Edward,
Messengers, Watchmen, Spc..
SCENE, during part of the third act, in France ; during all the
rest of the play, in England.
(434)
THIRD. PART OF
KING HENRY THE SIXTH.
ACT I.
SCENE I. London. The Parliament House.
Drums. Some Soldiers of York's party break in.
Then, enter the Duke o/Yokk, Edward, Richard,
Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and others, with
white roses in their hats.
War. 1 wonder how the king escaped our hands.
York. While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
He slyly stole away, and left his men;
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland,
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
' Cheered up the drooping army; and himself,
' Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all abreast,
♦ Charged our main battle's front; and, breaking in,
' Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.'
Edw. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham,
♦ Is either slain, or wounded dangerous.
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow;
' That this is true, father, behold his blood.
\_Showing his bloody sword.
Mont. And, brother, here's the earl of Wiltshire's
blood, [To York, shmoing his
Whom I encountered as the battles joined.
I See the former play. Shakspeare has fallen into this inconsistency
by following tho old plays in tlie construction of these dramas.
(435)
436
THIRD PART OF
[ACT T
Rich Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did.'
[IVirowing down the Duke o/"Somerset's
head.
* York. Richard hath best deserved of all m)'
sons.—
What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset ?
Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt.
Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head
War. And so do I.—Victorious prince of York,
Before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
I vow by Heaven, these eyes shall never close.
This is the palace of the fearful king,
' And this the regal seat: possess it, York;
For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs'.
York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
' For hither we have broken in by force.
Norf. We'll all assist you ; he that flies shall die.
York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk.—Stay by me, my
lords;—
* And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night.
War. And, when the king comes, offer him no vio¬
lence,
' Unless he seek to thrust you out by force.
[ They retire.
* York. The queen, this day, here holds her parlia¬
ment,
*But little thinks we shall be of her council.
* By words or blows here let us win our right.
Rich. Armed as we are, let's stay within this house.
War. The bloody parliament shall this be called.
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king ;
And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
Hath made us by-words to our enemies.
1 Shakspeare was also led into this anachronism by the old plays. At
the time of tlie first battle of St Albans, where Richard is represented to
have fought in tlie last scene of the preceding play, he was not one yeai
old; having been bom at Fotheringay castle, October 21, 1454. At the
time to which the third scene of the present act refers, he was but six
years old; and in the fifth act, in which Henry is represented as having
been killed by him in the Tower, not more than sixteen and eight montlis.
sc. I.] KING HENRT VI. 437
* York. Xhen l(;ave me not, my lords; be resolute
I mean to take possession of my right.
War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
' The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bel's.^
' ril plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares.—
Resolve thee, Richard ; claim the English crown.
[Warwick leads York to the throne,
who seats himself.
'S
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northum¬
berland, Westmoreland, Exeter, and others, with
red roses in their hats.
K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits.
Even in the chair of state ! Belike, he means
(Backed by the power of Warwick, that false peer)
To as[)ire unto the crown, and reign as king.—
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father;—
And thine, lord Clifford; and you both have vowed
revenge
On him, his sons, his favorites, and his friends.
North. If 1 be not, Heavens, be revenged on me!
Cff. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in
steel.
West. What, shall we suffer this ? Let's pluck him
down ;
' My heart for anger burns ; I cannot brook it.
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland
Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he;
He durst not sit there had your father lived.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.
North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin ; be it so.
K. Hen. Ah, know you not the city favors them.
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck.?
Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly
I Hawks had sometimes little bells hung on them, perhaps to dare the
birds ; that is, to fright them from rising.
133
THIBD PART OF
[ACT I
K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from llenr^^'s
heart,
To make a shambles of the parliament-house !
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats.
Shall be the war that Henry means to use.—
[They advance to the Duke
Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne.
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet.
I am thy sovereign.
York. Thou art deceived ; I am thine.
Exe. For shame, come down ; he made thee duke
of York.
York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.'
Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown.
War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown.
En following this usurping Henry.
Clif. Whom should he follow, but his natural king 1
War. True, Clifford; and that's Richard, duke of
York.
• K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my
throne.?
' York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself.
War. Be duke of Lancaster ; let him be king.
West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster;
And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.
War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget.
That we are those, which chased you from the field.
And slew your fathers, and with colors spread
IMarched through the city to the palace gates.
' North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.
' West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons.
Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives.
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.
' Clif. Urge it no more ; lest that, instead of words,
1 The old play reads " as the kingdom is." Why Shakspeare altered
it, it is not easy to say; for the new line only exhibits the same meaning
more obscurely. York means that the dukedom was his inheritance from his
father, as tlie earldom of March was his inheritance from his mother. His
title to the crown was not as duke of York, but as earl of March, and by
oaming tliat he covertly eisserts his right to the crown.
sc i.j
KING HENRY VI.
439
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger.
As shall revenge his death, before I stir.
♦ fVar. Poor ClilTord! how I scorn his worthless
threats!
York. Will you, we show our title to the crown ?
' If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.
A. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown,^
Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York;^
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March
I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
Who made the dauphin and the French to stoop.
And seized upon their towns and provinces.
War. Talk not of France, sith® thou hast lost it all.
K. Htn. The lord protector lost it, and not I;
When I was crowned, I was but nine months old
Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks,
you lose.—
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.
Edw. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.
Mont. Good brother, [To York.] as thou lov'st and
honor'st arms,
liet's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus.
Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will
fly-
York. Sons, peace!
K. Hen. Peace thou ! and give king Henry leave
to speak.
War. Plantagenet shall speak first.—Hear him,
lords; •
And be you silent and attentive too.
For he that interrupts him shall not live.
' K. Hen. Think'st thou that I will leave my
kingly throne.
Wherein my grandsire and my father sat ?
No; first shall war unpeople this my realm ;
* Ay, and their colors—often borne in France,
1 Another mistake of the author of the old play. York's father wa«
oarl of Cambridge, and was beheaded in the lifetime of his elder brother
Edward dtike of York.
8 Since. A contraction of sithence.
440
THIRD PART OF
[ACT I
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow—
Shall be my winding-sheet.—Why faint ytu, lords?
' My title's good, and better far than his.
fVar. But prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.
IC lien. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the
crown.
York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king.
K. Hen. I know not what to say; my title's weak.
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir.?
York. What theiv?
' K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king.
' For llichard, in the view of many lords.
Resigned the crown to Henry the Fourth;
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.
York. He rose against him, being his sovereign,
And made him to resign his crown perforce.
War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrained,
Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown ? ^
Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown
But that the next heir should succeed and reign.
K. Hen. Art thou against ns, duke of Exeter
Exe. His is the right, apd therefore pardon me.
York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answei
not.?
Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king.
K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him.
North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st
Think not, that Henry shall be so deposed.
' War. Deposed he shdil be, in despite of all.
North. Thou art deceived. 'Tis not thy southern
power,—
' Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,—
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,-
Can set the duke up, in despite of me.
Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
liOrd Clifford vows to fight in thy defence.
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive,
' Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father'
1 i. e. detrimental to the general rights of hereditary royalty
sc. l.j
king henry vi.
441
' K. Hen. O, Clifford, how thy w».rds revive my
heart!
York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.—
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords ?
War. Do right unto this princely duke of York ;
Or I will fill the house with armed men,
And o'er the chair of state, where now he sits.
Write up his title with usurping blood.
[He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves.
' K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one
word;— .
' Let me, for this my lifetime reign as king.
York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs.
And thou shalt reign in quiet whilst thou liv'st.
K. Hen. I am content. Richard Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.
Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son'
War. What good is this to England, and himself!
West. Base, fearful and despairing Henry!
' Clif. How hast thou injured both thyself and us!
West. I cannot stay to hear these articles.
North. Nor I.
Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these
news.
* West. Farewell, faint hearted and degenerate king,
*In whose cold blood no spark of honor bides.
North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
' And die in bands for this unmanly deed!
Clif. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome!
Or live in peace, abandoned, and despised !
[Exeunt Northumberland, Clifford,
and Westmoreland.
* War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.
Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not
yields
K. Hen. Ah, Exeter!
War. Why should you sigh, my lord.^
K. Hen. Not for myself, lord VVarwick, but my
son.
Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
VOL. IV. 56
442
third fart of
[ACT 1
But be it as it may:—I here entail
' The crown to thee, and to thine heirs forever;
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath,
l^o cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
I'o honor me as thy king and sovereign;
''And neither by treason, nor hostility,
* To seek to put me down, and reign thyself.
York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform.
[Coming from the throne
War. Long live king Henry!—Plantagenet, em
brace him.
' K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy for¬
ward sons!
York Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.
Exe. Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes I
[Senet. The Lords come forward.
* York. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my
castle.'
War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers.
Norf. And I to Norfolk, with my followers.
Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came.
[Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick,
Norfolk, Montague, Soldiers, and
Attendants.
* K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the
court.
Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince ^ Wales.
Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray
her anger.
I'll steal away.
K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Going
* Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay
' Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes f
* Ah, wretched man ! 'would I had died a maid,
* And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
1 Sandal castle near Wakefield, in Yorkshire.
KING riENRY VI.
443
* Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father!
* Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus ?
* Iladst thou but loved him half so well as I,
* Or felt that pain which I did for him once;
* Or nourished him, as I did with mj blood ;
* Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood
there,
* Ra her than have made that savage duke thine heir,
* And disinherited thine only son.
* Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me.
* If you be king, why should not I succeed ?
* K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret;—pardon me,
sweet son ;—
*The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforced me.
Q. Mar. Enforced thee ! Art thou king, and wilt
be forced ?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me,
' And given unto the house of York such head,
* As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
*To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
* What is it, but to make thy sepulchre,
* And creep into it far before thy time.^
* Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais;
Stern Faulconbridge' commands the narrow seas;
The duke is made protector of the realm;
' And yet shalt thou be safe? *Such safety finds
*The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
' Had I been there, which am a siily woman,
' The soldiers should have tossed me on their pikes,
1 The person here meant was Thomar Nevil, bastard son to the lord
Faulconbridge, "a man (says Hall)of no lesse corage than audacitio, who
for his cruel condicions was such an apte person, tliat a more meter could
not be chosen to set all the world in a broyle, and to put the estate of tlie
realme on an ill hazard." He had been appointed by Warwick, vice-ad¬
miral of the sea, and had in charge so to keep tne passage between Dovei
and Calais, that none wliich either favored king Henry or his friends
should escape untaken or undrowned ; such, at least, were his instructions
with respect to the fnends and favorers of king Edward after the rupture
between him and Warwick. On Warwick's death, he fell into poverty
and robbed, both by sea and land, as well friends as enemies. After rtv-
ing on the sea some little time longer, he ventured to land at Southampton
where he was taken and beheaded. See Hall and Holinshed—hUsnn.
144
THIRD PART OF
fact i
* B(ifore I would have granted to that act.
* But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honor;
' And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,
' Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
' Until that act of parliament be repealed,
' Whereby my son is disinherited.
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colors.
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread.
' And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace,
' And utter ruin of the house of York.
' Thus do I leave thee.—Come, son, let's away;
' Our army's ready; come, we'll after them.
K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.
Q. Mar. Thou bast spoke too much already; get
thee gone.
K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with
me?
Q. Mar. Ay, to be murdered by his enemies.
Prince. When I return with victory from the field,
I'll see your grace; till then, I'll follow her.
Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.
^Exeunt Queen Margaret and the Prince
' K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to
her son,
' Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
' Revenged may she be on that hateful duke;
* Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
* Will coast' my crown, and, like an empty eagle,
* Tire® on the flesh of me, and of my sou!
* The loss of those three lords® torments my heart;
* I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair.—
* Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.
* Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
[Exeunt.
1 To coast is, apparently, to pursue, to hover about any thing. The
old form of the word appears to have been costoye, or cosloie, from tlie
French costoyer, to pursue a course alongside an object, to watch it.
2 To tire is to tear; to feed like a bird of prey.
•' i. c. ol N jithumberiand, Westmoreland, and Clifford, who had left hire
in disgust
sc. ii.]
king henry vi.
445
SCENE II. A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wake¬
field in Yorkshire.
Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague.
' Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me
leave.
Edw, No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter York.
• York. Why, how now, sons and brother,^ at a
strife ?
What is your quarrel.? How began it first.?
' Ediv. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
' York. About what.?
♦ Rich. About that which concerns your grace and
us;
* The crown of England, father, which is yours.
' York. Mine, boy.? not till king Henry be dead.
* Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death.
* Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now.
* By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
* It will outrun you, father, in the end.
' York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign.
• Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be
broken;
« I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year.
' Rich. No; God forbid your grace should be for¬
sworn.
' York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.
« Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me
speak.
♦ York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossibli!.
< Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took
r Shakspeare seems to have thought York and Montague brothers-in-
law. But Montague was broUier to Warwick; Warwick's daiigJifer was
married to a son of York, but not during the life of York.
446
THIRD PART OF
[ACT I
' Before a true and lawful magistrate,
* That hath authority over him that swears.
' Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
' Then, seeing 'twas he that made you tj depose,
' Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
' Therefore, to arms. *And, father, do but think,
* How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ;
* Within whose circuit is Elysium,
* And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
* Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest,
* Until the white rose that I wear be dyed
* Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
' York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.—
* Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
* And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.—
' Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, ,
* And tell him privily of our intent.—
' You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise.
' III them i trust; for they are soldiers,
* Witty,' courteous, liberal, full of spirit.—
* While you are thus employed, what resteth more,
' But that I seek occasion how to rise;
* And yet the king not privy to my drift,
' Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
Enter a Messenger.®
* But, stay—what news? Why com'st thou in such
post?
' Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and
lords,
' Intend here to besiege you in your castle.
' She is hard by with twenty thousand men;
* And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
* York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou
that we fear them?—
1 Of soimd judgment
2 The folio reads " Enter Gabrid.^ It was the name of the actor
probably Gabriel Singer, who played this insignificant part The emen>
dation is from the old play, and was made by Theobal d.
so. Ill ]
king henry vi.
441
* Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
' My brother Montague shall post to London;
* Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
* Whom we have left protectors of the king,
* With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
* And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.
* Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not
* And thus most humbly I do take my leave. \^Exit.
Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer.
York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine
uncles!
' You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
Sir John. She shall not need; we'll meet her in the
field.
' York. What, with five thousand men.?
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.
A woman's general; what should we fear.?
[A march afar off-
Edw. I hear their drums ; let's set our men in order;
' And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
' York. Five men to twenty!—though the odds be
great,
* I doubt not, uncle, of our .victory.
' Many a battle have 1 won in France,
' When as the enemy hath been ten to one;
' Why should 1 not now have the like success.?
[^Alarum. Exevut.
SCENE III. Plains near Sandal Castle.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his
Tutor.'
♦ Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands."
Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes!
I "A priest called sir Robert AspalL"—Hall, fo. 90.
448
THIRD PAR'!' OF
[ACT I
Enter Clifford and Soldiers.
ChJ. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of this accursed duke.
Whose father slew my father,'—he shall die.
Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company.
Clif. Soldiers, away with him.
Tut. Ah, Clifford ! murder not this innocent child,
* J^est thou be hated both of God and man.
[Exit, forced off by Soldiers.
Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear
That makes him close his eyeS"?—I'll open them.
' Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
' That trembles under his devouring paws:
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey;
' And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.—
' Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
And not with such a cruel, threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die;—
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath ;
Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.
Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's
blood
Hath stopped the passage where thy words should
enter.
Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had 1 thy brethren here, their lives, and
thine.
Were not revenge sufficient for me.
No, if I digged up thy forefathers' graves.
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains.
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul;
' And till I root out their accursed line,
' And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore [Lifting his hand.
« L e. the father of which brat, waniely, tlie duKe of York.
sc. IV.]
KING HENRY VI.
44&
Rut. O, let me pray before I take > my death.—
To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me !
Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm; why wilt tliou slay m(}?
Clif. Thy father hath.
Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.'
Thou hast one son ; for his sake pity me;
Lest, in revenge thereof,—sith God is just,—
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
And when I give occasion of offence.
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause ?
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
[Clifford stabs him
Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuee!^
[Dies
Clif. Plantagenet! I come,Tlaiitagenet!
And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade.
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood.
Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both.
l^Exit.
SCENE IV. The same.
Alarum. Enter York.
• York. The army of the queen hath got the field.
' My uncles both are slain in rescuing me \ h
' And all my followers to the eager foe
' Turn back, and ffy, like ships before the wind,
' Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
' My sons—God knows what hath bechanced them;
1 Rutland was bom in 144.1; or at latest, according to Hall, in 1448,
and Cliftbrd's father was slain at the battle of St. Albans, in 145.5. Con¬
sequently Rutland was then at least seven years old, more probably
twelve.
2 This line is in Ovid's Epistle from Phillis to Demophoon. Tiie same
quotation is in Nash's Have with you to Saffron Walden, lolKl.
3 These were two bastard uncles by the mother's side, sir John and sii
Hugh Mortimer. See Grafton's Chronicle, p. ()4fl
VOL. tv. 57
450
third part op
[act i.
But this I know,—■the)' have demeaned themselves
Like men born to renown, by life, or death.
' Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried,—Courage, father, jight it out!
' And full as oft came Edward to my side,
With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
' In blood of those that had encountered him,
' And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
' Richard cried,—Charge! and give no foot of ground
' And cried,—A crown, or else a glorious tomb !
' A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !
With this we charged again ; but, out, alas !
' We bodged' again; as I have seen a swan
♦ With bootless labor swim against the tide,
' And spend her strength with overmatching waves.
[A short alarum withiru
' Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ;
' And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury:
♦ And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury.
' The sands are numbered that make up my life;
' Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumber¬
land, and Soldiers.
' Come, bloody Cliflbrd,—rough Northumberland,—
'■ i dare your quenchless fury to more rage;
' i am your butt, and I abide your shot.
North, ^ield to our mercy, proud Plantagenei.
Clif Ay, to such mercy as his rythless arm,
With downright payment, showed unto my fathiT
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car.
And made an evening at the noontide prick.®
York. My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth
I Bcdged is probably tlie same as budfced, from bottger f French). In
Ihe following passage, Coriolanus speaks of his army who had fled fioni
'Jieir adversaries.
" The mouse ne'er shunned die cat, as they did budge
From rascals worse dian diey."
B Noontide point on die dial.
sc. IV.]
king henry vi.
451
' A bird that will revenge upon you all;
' And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven.
Scorning wliate'er you can afflict me with.
' Why come you not ? what! multitudes, and fear '
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further
' So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
Breathe but invectives 'gainst the officers.
York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
' And in thy thought o'crrun my former time.
* And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face ;
And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice,
' Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word;
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
[^Draws.
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand
causes,
[ would prolong awhile the traitor's life.
Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland.
North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honor him so much.
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
What valor were it, when a cur doth grin.
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth.
When he might spurn him with his foot away ?
It is war's prize' to take all vantages ;
' And ten to one is no impeach of valor.
{They lay hands on York, who struggles
Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin
North. So doth the cony struggle in the 'net.
^ {YORK is taken prisoner.
York. So triumph thieves upon their conquered
booty;
So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatched.
North. What would your grace have done unto him
now ?
1 Pme here means an advantage that maybe taken; unless we can
imaw-.and
crowns.
To make this shameless callet know herself.—
* Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
* Although thy husband may be Menelaus;
* And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wronged
* By that false woman, as this king by thee.
' His father revelled in the heart of France,
And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop,
And, had he matched according to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day;
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,
And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day,
' Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him,
' That washed his father's fortune's forth ofb'rance
And heaped sedition on his crown at home.
' For what hath broached this tumult, but thy pride
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept;
And we, in pity of the gentle king.
Had slipped our claim until another age.
' Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy
spring,
• A charms., In Jie Poet's time si^ified what we now call a kenne,
which word is still pronounced channel in the north.
2 A wisp of straw was often applied as a mark of opprobrium to an iro-
inode.st woman, a scold, or similar offenders. A crdlet was a lewd woman,
but a term often given to a scold.
468
THIRD PART OF
[ACT II
' And that thy summer bred us no increase,
We set the axe to thy usurping root;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
' Vet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
' We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down,
Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods.
Edw. And, in this resolution, I def^ thee;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou den3''st the gentle king to speak.—
Sound trumpets!—let our bloody colors wave!—
And either victory, or else a grave.
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.
Edxo. No, wrangling woman ; we'll no longer stay
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Field of Battle betioeen Towton and
Saxton, in Yorkshire.^
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick.
' War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe;
For strokes received, and many blows repaid.
Have robbed my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
♦ And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile.
E7iter Edward, running.
Edw. Smile, gentle Heaven! or strike, ungentle
death!
' For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
War. How now, my lord ? what hap ? what hope
of good ?
1 Shakspeare has here, perhaps, intentionally thrown three different
actions into one. The principal action took place on the eve of Palm
Sunday, 1461. " This battle (says Carte) decided the fate of the house
of liancaster, overturning in one day an usurpation strengthened by sixty-
two years' continuance, and established Edward on the tlirone of England."
sc. m.]
king henry vi,
4G9
Enter George.
* Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair,
' Our ranks are broke, and. ruin follows us.
,' W hat counsel give _you ? whither shall we fly ?
* Edw. Bootless is flight; they follow us with wings
' And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter Richard.
' Rich Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn
thyself.^
' Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,'
' Broached with the steely point of Cliflbrd's lance ;
* And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,—
' Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,—
' Wanoick, revenge ! Brother, revenge my death !
' So, underneath the belly of their steeds,
' That stained then fetlocks in his smoking blood,
* The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
' War. Then let the earth be drunken with our
blood;
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
* Why stand we like soft-hearted women here,
* Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ;
* And look upon,® as if the tragedy
* Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors ?
* Here on my knee I vow to God above,
' I'll never pause again, never stand still,
* Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine,
* Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw. O, Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine
' And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.—
* And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
* I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee.
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings !
1 The brother here mentioned is no person in the drama, but a natural
eon of Salisbury. Holinshed, relating the death of lord Cliflbrd in this
action at Ferry-bridge, on the 28th of March, 14C1, says, '• He was slaine.
and with him the bastard of Salisbury, brother to the tail of Wanoick, a
raliant young gentleman, and of great audacitie."
2 fjook upon for look on; i. e. are mere spectators.
470
THIRD I'ART OF
[act ii.
* Beseeching thee,—if with thy will it stands,
' That to iny foes this body must be prey,—
' Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
' And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!—
' Now, lords, take leave until we meet again.
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
' Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ; and, gentle
Warwick,
* Let me embrace thee in my weary arms.—
' I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
' That winter should cut off our spring-time so.
' War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords^
farewell.
' Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops,
* And give them leave to fly that will not stay;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us ;
' And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards
' As victors wear at the Olympian games;
* This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;
* For yet is hope of life, and victory.—
* Fore-slow' no longer ; make we hence amain.
[^Exewit
SCENE IV. The same. Another Part of the Field
Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.
' Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone ;
* Suppose this arm is for the,duke of York, ,
' And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge,
* Wert thou environed with a brazen wall.
' Clif Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone;
This is the hand that stabbed thy father York ;
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland;
And here's the heart that triumphs in their death,
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother
r To fore-slim is to delay, to loiter.
♦' Foi .-slow no time; sweet Lancaster, let's march."
Marlowe^s Edward IIL
sc. v.]
king henry vi.
471
To execute die like upon thyself.
And so, have at thee.
[They fight. WARwick enters; Clif¬
ford Jiies.
^ * Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase,
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. Another Part of the Field.
Alarum. Enter King Henry.
* K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's
war,
* When dying clouds contend with growing light;
* What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
* Can neither call it perfect day nor night.
* Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea
' Forced by the tide to combat with the wind ;
' Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
' Forced to retire by fury of the wind ;
' Sometime the flood prevails; and then the wind;
' Now, one the better; then, another best;
' Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
' Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered;
' So is the equal poise of this fell war.
* Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
* To whom God will, there be the victory!
' For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,
' Have chid me from the battle; swearing, both,
' They prosper best of all when 1 am thence.
* 'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so;
' For what is in this world, but grief and woe ?
* O, God! methinks it were a happy life,'
1 This speech is exquisitely suited to the character of the king. There
are some verses preserved of Henry vi. which are in a strain of the same
pensive, moralizing character. The reader may not be displeased to have
th(!m here subjoined, that he may compare them with the congeuia.
Uii>ught8 tlie Poet has attributed to him:—
" Kingdoms are but cares;
State is devoid of stay;
472
THIRD PART OF
[ACT II
' To be no better than a hoinelj swain ;
*To sit upon 3*1011, as I do now,
* To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
* Thereby to see the minutes how they run;
* How many make the hour full complete,
* How many hours bring about the day,
* How many days will finish up the year,
* How many years a mortal man may live.
* When this is known, then to divide the times:
* So many hours must I tend my flock ;
* So many hours must I take my rest;
* So many hours must I contemplate ;
*So many hours must I sport myself;
* So many days my ewes have been with young;
* So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ;
* So many years ere I shall shear the fleece :
* So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
* Passed over to the end they were created,
* Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
* Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely !
* Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
*To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
* Than doth a rich, embroidered canopy
* To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ?
* O, yes it doth ; a thousand fold it doth.
* And to conclude,—the shepherd's homely curds,
* His oold, thin drink out of his leather bottle,
* His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shadp,
*A11 which secure and sweetly he enjoys.
Is far beyond a prince's delicates,
* His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
Riches are ready snares,
And hasten to decay.
Pleasure is a privy [game],
Which vice doth still provoke;
Pomp unprompt; and fame a flame ,
Power a smouldering smoke.
Who meaneth to remove the lock
Out of his slimy mud,
Shall mire himself, and hardly scape
The swelling of the floock"
sc. V.J
KING HENRY VI.
473
*' His body couched in a curious bed,
* When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him.
Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father^
dragging in the dead body.
Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nolody.—
' This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
' May be possessed with some store of crowns,
* And I, that haply take them from him now,
* May yet ere night yield both my life and them
* To some man else, as this dead man doth me.—
' Who's this ?—O God! it is my father's face,
' Whom in this conflict I unawares have killed.
' O heavy time, begetting such events!
* From London by the king was I pressed forth; •
' My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,
' Came on the part of York, pressed by his master;
' And I, who at his hands received my life,
' Have by my hands of life bereaved him.—
' Pardon me, God ; I knew not what I did!—
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!—
*My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks;
* And no more words, till they have flowed their fill.
' K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times !
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,
' Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.—
* Weep, wretched man ; I'll aid thee tear for tear,
* And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war,
* Be blind with tears and break, o'ercharged with grief
Enter a Father, xoho has killed his Son, with the bodi)
in his arms.
' Path. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
' Give me thy gold, if thou ha.st any gold;
* For I have bought it with a hundred blows.—
« But let me see —is this our foeman's face ?
* Ah, no, no^ no. it is mine only son !—
* Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
vol.. IV. ()0
474
THIRD PART OF
[ACT IS
* Throw u). thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,
* Blown with the windy tempest of my heart,
*Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!—
' O, pity, God, this miserable age!—
' What stratagems,' how fell, how butcherly,
* Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural,
' This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!—
' O, boy, thy father gave thee life too soon,
' And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! ^
K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common
grief!
' O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds'
* O, pity, pity, gentle Heaven, pity!
The red rose and the white are on his face.
The fatal colors of our striving houses :
* The one, his purple blood right well resembles;
* The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present!
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish!
' If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death.
Take on® with me, and ne'er be satisfied!
Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
' Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied!
' K. Hen. How will the country, for these wofid
chances,
' Misthink'' the king, and not be satisfied I
' Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death ?
' Fath. Was ever father, so b(imoaned a son ?
' K. Hen. Was ever king, so grieved for subjects'
woe ?
' Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much,.
' Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may w(^ep my
fill. [^Exit with the body
1 Stratagems here means direful events.
2 Of" these obscure lines the following explanation by Henley is the
most probable which has been offered :—Had the son been younger, he
would have been precluded from the levy which brought him to the field;
and had the father recognized him before their mortal encounter, it would
not have been too late to have saved him from death.
3 To take on is » phrase still in use in common parlance, and significa
fo persist in clamorous lamentations.
* Think unfavorably of.
sc. v.] king henry vi. 475
* Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy win ling -
sheet,
* My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre;
* For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
* My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell;
* And so obsequious' will thy father be,
* Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
* As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence ; and let them fight that %vill.
For I have murdered where I should not kill.
[^Exit with the body.
' K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with
care,
* Here sits a king more woful than you are.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret,
Prince q/" Wales, and Exeter.
♦ Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are
fled,
' And Warwick rages like a chafed bull:
' Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
' Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick
post amain;
* Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds,
' Having the fearful, flying hare in sight,
' With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
' And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands,
' Are at our backs; and, therefore, hence amain.
' Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with
them;
' Nay, stay not to expostulate ; make speed ;
Or else come after, Pll away before.
' K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good, sweet
Exeter;
' Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
' Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away !
[Exeunt
1 Obsequious is here careful of obsequies or funeral rites.
476
third part of
[act il
SCENE VI Tlic same. A laad Alarum.
Enter Clifford, wounded ^
' Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies,
Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light.
O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow.
More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love and fear glued many friends to thee;
' And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
Impairing Henry,) strengthening mis-proud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies;
And whither fly tire gnats, but to the sun ?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies ?
O, Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds.
Thy burning car never had scorched the earth:
And, Henry, hadst thou swayed as kings should do.
Or as thy father, and his father, did.
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
* They never then had sprung like summer flies:
' I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,
Had left no mourning widows for our death.
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air?
' And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;
' No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight;
The foe is neerciless, and will not pity;
For at their hands I have deserved no pity.
' The air hath got into my deadly wounds.
And much efliise of blood doth make me faint:—
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest,
I stabbed your fathers' bosoms, split my breast.
[He faints
1 In the old play the stage direction adds, tmih an arrow in his neck.
It is tliought that Beaumont and Fletcher ridiculed this, by introducing
Ralph the grocer's prentice, in the Knight of the Burning Pestle, with
a forked arrow Ihrouuf his head. The circumstance is related by Holin-
shed, p. 6f)4:—■' Tiie lord Clifford, eitlier for heat or paine, p^ n,
' His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself
' Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne.
Make much'of him, my lords; for this is he,
' Must help you more than you are hurt by me.
Enter a Messenger.
* War. What news, my friend ?
* 3Iess. That Edward is escaped from your brother,
* And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.
War. Unsavory news; but how made he escape ?
* Mess. He was conveyed by Richard duke of
Gloster,
" And the lord Hastings, who attended him
* In secret ambush on the forest side,
* And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him ;
* 1 or hunting was his daily exercise.
* War. My brother was too careless of his charge.
* But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
* A salve for any sore that may betide.
^Exeunt King Henry, War., Clar., Lieut,
and Attendants.
* Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's
*Foi', doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help;
* And we shall have more wars, before't be long.
*As Henry's late presaging prophecy
* Did glad my heart with hope of this young Rich¬
mond,
he, to whom both we and our adversaries, leaving the possession of all
things, shall hereafter give roome and place," p. 678. Henry eail of
Richmond was the son of Edmond earl of Richmond, and Margaret,
daughter to John the first duke of Somerset. Edmond was half-brother
to king Henry VI., being the son of that king's motlier, queen Catharine, by
her second husband, Owen Tudor. Henry the Seventh, to show his grat-
itud" Henry VI. for this early presage in his favor, solicited pope Julius
to canonize him a saint; but either would not pay the price, or, as Bacon
supposes, the piope refused, lest," as Henry was reputed in the world abroad
but for a simple man, the estimation of that kind of honor might be
diminishea if there were not a distance kept between innocents and
sain..... ~
VOL. IV. 65
514
THIRD PART OF
[act iv.
* So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts
*VVhat may befall him, to his harm, and ours.
* Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst,
* Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany,-
* Till storms be past of civil enmity. *
* Oxf. Ay; for if Edward repossess the crown,
* 'Tis like, that Richmond with the rest shall down.
* Som. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany.
" Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. [^ExewU
SCENE VII. Before York
Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and
Forces.
' K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings,
and the rest;
• Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends,
' And says—that once more I shall interchange
' My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
• Well have we passed, and now repass the seas,
' And brought desired help from Burgundy.
' What then remains, we being thus arrived
♦ From Ravenspurg haven' before the gates of York,
♦ But that we enter, as into our dukedom ?
' Glo. The gates made fast!—Brother, I like nof
this;
*For many men, that stumble at the threshold,
*Are well foretold—that danger lurks within.
*K. Edw. Tush, man! abodements must not now
affright us ;
* By fair or foul means we must enter in,
*For hither will our friends repair to us.
* Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more, to summon
them.
1 In the old play this is written Raunspurhaven; we may therefore,
that such was the pronunciation.
sc. VII ]
KING HENRY VI.
515
Enter, on the loalls, the Major of York, and his
Brethren.
' Maij^ My lords, we were forewarned of jonr
coming,
' And shut the gates for safety of ourselves;
' For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.
' K. Edw. But, master mayor, if tienry be your
king,
' Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York.
' May. True, my good lord; I know you tor no less.
' K. Ediv. Why, and I challenge nothing but my
dukedom;
* As being well content with that alone.
' Glo. But, when the fox hath once got in his nose,
' He'll soon find means to make the body follow.
[Aside.
' Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a
doubt.?
Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends.
' May. Ay, say you so.? The gates shall then be
opened. [Exeunt, from above.
' Glo. A wise, stout captain, and persuaded soon !
* Hast. The good old man would fain that all were
well,
* So 'twere not 'long of him ; ^ but, being entered,
* I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
* Both him, and all his brothei's, unto reason.
Re-enter the Mayor and Two Aldermen, below.
' K. Edw. So, master mayor; these gates must not
be shut,
' But in the night, or in the time of war.
' What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys:
[Takes his keys
' For Edward will defend the town, and thee,
' Alii .all those friends that deign to follow me.
I The mayor is willing we should enter, so he may not be blamea.
516
third part of
[act iv
Drum. Enter Montgomerv and Forces, marching
Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery,
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived.
' K. Edw. Welcome, sir John ! But why come you
in arms ?
Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm,
As every loyal subject ought to do.
' K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery. But we
now forget
' Our title to tlie crown; and only claim
* Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest.
' Mont. Then fare you well, for 1 will hence again;
I came to serve a king, and not a duke.—
' Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.
[A march begun.
' K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while ; and we'll
debate,
' By what safe means the crown may be recovered.
' Mont. What talk you of debating In few words
' If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king,
' I'll leave you to your fortune ; and be gone,
l^o keep them back that come to succor you.
Why should we fight, if you pretend no title ?
Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice
points ?
* K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'll make
our claim;
* Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.
* Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must
rule.
* Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto
crowns.
" Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ;
* The bruit thereof will bring you many friends.
* K. Edw. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right,
"And Henry but usurps the diadem.
Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like hiuiscif
And now will I be Edward's champion.
sc. VIII ]
KING HENRY Vi.
Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here pro¬
claimed.—
* Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.
[Gives him a paper. Flourish.
Sold. [Reads."] Edward the Fourth, by the grace oj
God, king of England and France, and lord of Ire¬
land, &c.
Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right,
lly this I challenge him to single fight.
[Throws down his gauntlet.
All. Long live Edward the Fourth !
' K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ;—and
thanks unto you all.
' If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
* Now, for this night, let's harbor here in York;
' And, when the morning sun shall raise his car
' Above the border of this horizon,
' We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates;
' For, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier.—
* Ah, froward Clarence !—how evil it beseems thee
* To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother!
* Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.—
* Come on, brave soldiers ; doubt not of the day ;
* And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VHI.' London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Montague,
Exeter, and Oxford.
War. What counsel, lords ? Edward from Belgia,
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders,
Hath passed in safety through the narrow seas.
And with his troops doth march amain to London;
' And many giddy people flock to him.
* O:^. Let's levy men, and beat him back again."
1 In the original play this scene follows immediately after king Henry's
observations on young Richmond, the sixtli scene of the present play.
2 This line, in the folio copy, is given to the king, to whose charactei
518
third part of
rA(^T IV
Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out;
Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench.
War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war.
Those will I muster up;—and thou, son Clarence,
* Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
' The knights and gentlemen to come with thee;
' Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
' Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
' Men well inclined to hear what thou command'st,
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved.
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.—
My sovereign, with the loving citizens,—
* Like to his island, girt in with the ocean,
* Or modest Dian, circled with her nymphs,—
Shall rest in London, till we come to him.—
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply.—
Farewell, my sovereign.
AT. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true
hope.'
* Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.
* K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate '
* Mont. Comfort, my lord,—and so I take my leave
* Oxf. And thus, [Kissing Henry's hand.'] I seal
my truth, and bid adieu.
* K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
* And all at once, once more a happy farewell.
War. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry.
[Exeunt War., Clar., Oxf., and Mont.
K. Hen. Here at the pal&ce will I rest awhile.
* Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship ?
* Methinks the power, that Edward hath in field,
* Should not be able to encounter mine.
* Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.
it is so unsuitable, that it has been thought best to give it to Oxford, whc
is the next speaker in the old play.
1 Shalispeare has twice repeated this passage, which made an impres
sion upon him in the old play. He has applied the same expression (x
the duke of York, wjiere his overthrow at Wakefield is described. In tht
former instance no trace is to be found of these lines in the old ply
Several similar repetitions are found in this Third Part of King Henry V.
sc. vin.j
KING HENRY VI.
519
*K. Hen. That's not my fear ; my meed' hath got
me fame.
* I have not stopped mine ears to their demands,
* Nor posted off their suits with slow delays;
* My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
* mildness hath allayed their swelling griefs,
* My mercy dried their water-flowing tears.
" I have not been desirous of iheir wealth,
*Nor much oppressed them with great subsidies,
* Nor forward of revenge, though they much erred.
* Then why should they love Edward more than me ?
* No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace;
* And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
* The lamb will never cease to follow him.
[^Shout within. A Lancaster! a Lancaster!
Exe. Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these ?
Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Soldiers.
K. Edw. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him
hence,
And once again proclaim us king of England.—
*You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow:
*Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry,
* And swell so much the higher by their ebb.—
' Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak.
[Exeunt some, with King Henry.
' And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course,
' Where peremptory Warwick now remains:®
' The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay,
* Cold, biting winter mars our hoped-for hay.
* Gl'i. Away betimes, before his forces join,
* And take the great-grown traitor unawares :
* Brave warr-ors, march amain towards Coventry.
[Exeunt
1 Merit
2 Warwick has but just left the stage, declaring his intention to go to
Coventry. How tiicn could Edward know of that intention ? Shakspeare
here again followed the old play. Some of the old dramatic writers seero
to have thought that all the persons of the drama must know whatever
was known to the writers themselves, or to the audience.
520
THIRD PART OF
fACT V
ACT V.
SCENE I. Coventry.
Enter, upon the walls, Warwick, the Mayor of
Coventry, Two Messengers, and,others.
War. Where is the post that came from taliant Ox¬
ford ?
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow ?
' 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hither-
ward.
War. How far off is our brother Montague ?
Where is the post that came froin Montague ?
' 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.
Enter Sir John Somerville.
' War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son ?
' .4nd, by the guess, how nigh is Clarence now ?
' Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces,
' And do exj)ect him here some two hours hence.
[Orwm heard.
' War. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum.
* Som. It is not his, my lord: here Southam lies.
* The drum your honor hears, marcheth from Warwick.
* War. VVho should that be ? belike, unlooked-for
friends.
* Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know.
Drums. Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Forces,
marching.
* K. Edio. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a
parle.
' Glo. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall!
War. O, unhid spite ! is sportful Edward come ?
Where slept odr scouts, or how are they seduced,
That we couH hear no news of his repair?
BC. l.J
KING HENRY VI.
521
* K. Edw Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the citj
gales,
' Speak gentle words, and humbly beaid thy knee ?
' Call Edward—king, and at his hands beg mercy,
' And he shall pardon thee these outrages.
' fVar. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence.
Confess who set thee up and plucked thee down ?
Call Warwick—patron, and be penitent.
And thou shalt still remain the duke of York.
Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said—the
king;
Or did he make the jest against his will
* fVar. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift.^
Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give,;
* I'll do thee service for so good a gift.^
' fVar. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.
K. Edio. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's
gift.
War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight;
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject.
* K. Ediv. But Warwick's king is Edward's pris
oner ;
' And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,—
What is the body, when the head is off.?
' Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast.
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
' The king was slyly lingered from the deck! ®
You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace,^
And, ten to one, yoir'll meet him in the Tower.
K. Edw. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.
* Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down,
kneel down.
* Nay, when ? * strike now, or else the iron cools.
* War. 1 had rather chop this hand off at a blow,
1 That is, enroll myself among thy dependents.
8 A pack of cards was anciently termed a deck of cards, or a pair of
cards.
3 The palace of the bishop of London.
< This expression of impatience has been already noticed,
vol.. IV. 66
522
THIRD PART OF
[ACT V
^ And with the other fling it at thy face,
•"Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.
* K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide
thy friend;
* This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair,
* Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off,
* Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,—
* Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.
Enter Oxford, with drum and colors.
* War. O, cheerful colors! see, where Oxford comes
Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster!
[Oxford and his Forces enter the ciiy.
* Glo. The gates are open ; let us enter too.
' K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs.
* Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt,
* Will issue out again, and bid us battle;
' If not, the city, being but of small defence,
' We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same.
War. O, welcome, Oxford, for we want thy help.
Enter Montague, with drum and colors.
Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster!
[//e and his Forces enter the city.
' Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this
treason
* Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.
* K. Edw. The harder matched, tiie greater victory
" My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest.
Enter Somerset, with drum and colors.
Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster!
[//e and his Forces enter the city
Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset,'
1 The first of these noblemen was Edmund, slain at the battle of St
Albans, 1455. The second was Henry, his son, beheaded afler the battle
of Hexham, 146;3. The present duke, Edmund, brotlier to Henry, was
taken prisoner at Tewksbury, 1471, and there beheaded; his brotlier
lohn losing Ids hfe in the same fight
so. I ]
king henry vi.
523
Have sold their lives unto the house of York;
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.
Enter Clarence, with drum and colors.
War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps
along.
Of force enough to bid his brother battle;
* With whom an upright zeal to right prevails,
* More than the nature of a brother's love.—
* Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls.
Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this
means;
[ Taking the red rose out of his cap
' Look here, I throw my infamy at thee.
[ will not ruinate my father's house.
Who gave his blood to lime' the stones together,
* And set up Lancastef. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
' That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt,® unnatural,
' To bend the fatal instruments of war
' Against his brother, and his lawful king ?
* Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath:
* To keep that oath, were more impiety
*Than Jephtha's, when he sacrificed his daughter.
* I am so sorry for my trespass made,
* That, to deserve well at my brother's hands,
* I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe;
* With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
* (As I will meet thee, if thai stir abroad,)
* To plague thee for thy foul misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee.
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.—
' Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends;
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults.
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.
K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times mors
beloved.
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate.
1 L c. to cement
^ L e. stupid
524
THIRD PARf OF
[ACT V.
• Glo. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brotherlike
War. O, passing traitor, peijured, and unjust!
K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town,
and fight ?
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ?
War. Alas, I am not cooped here for defence,
i will away towards Barnet presently.
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.
AT. Ediv. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads
the way.—
Iiords, to the field. Saint George, and victory.
\^March. Eteunt.
SCENE II. A Field of Battle near Barnet.
Alarums and Excursions. Enter King Edward,
bringing in Warwick, wounded.
* K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our
fear;
*For Warwick was a bug,^ that feared us all.—
*Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee,
* That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.
\^Exit.
War. Ah, who is nigh ? Come to me, friend, or foe.
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick.*' •
Why ask I that ? my mangled body shows,
* My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows
That I must yield my body to the earth.
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge.
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle.
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept;
Whose top-branch overpeered Jove's spreading tree,
* And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
* These eyes, that now are dimmed with death's black
veil,
* Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun.
' Warwick was the bugbear that frightened us all.
sc. 11.]
king henry VI.
525
* To search the secret treasons of the world.
The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood,
Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres:
For who lived king, but 1 could dig his grave ?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow
Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had.
Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands,
Is nothing left me, but my body's length!
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust ?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must
Enter Oxford and Somerset.
Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are,
* We might recover all our loss again!
' The queen from France hath brought a puissant
power;
' Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly!
' War. Why, then I would not fly.—Ah, Montague,
* If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
* And with thy lips keep in my soul a while !
* Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
*.Thy tears would wash this cold, congealed blood,
* That glues my lips, and will not let me speak.
* Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
' Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breathed his
last; ,
' And, to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick,
' And said—Commend me to my valiant brother.
' And more he would have said; and more he spoke,
' Which sounded like a cannon in a vault,^
' That might not be distinguished; out, at last,
* I well might hear delivered with a groan—
' O, farewell, Warwick!
War. , Sweet rest to his soul.—
1 The old play has this line:—
" Which sounded like a clamor n a vault"
536
third part of
[act v
FIj, lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids
Y^ou all farewell, to meet, again in heaven. [Dies.
Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power'
[Exeunt, hearing off Warwick's body.
SCENE III. Another Part of the Field. Flourish.
Enter King Edward in triumph; with Clarence,
Gloster, and the rest.
K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward
course,
' And we are graced with wreaths of victory.
' But, in the midst of this bright-shining day,
' I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud,
' That will encounter with our glorious sun,
' Ere he attain his easeful, western bed;
' I mean, my lords,—those powers, that the queen
' Hath raised in Gallia, have arrived^ our coast,
' And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
* Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
* And blow it to the source from whence it came.
* Thy very beams will dry those vapors up;
* For every cloud engenders not a storm.
* Glo. The queen is valued thiity thousand strong,
' And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her ;
' li she have time to breathe, Jbe well assured,
11 er faction will be full as strong as ours.
K. Edw. We are advertised by our loving friends.
That they do hold their course towards Tewksbury;
' We, having now the best at Barnet field,
' Will thither straight, for willingness rids way;
' And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along.
Strike up the drum ; cry—Courage! and away.
[Exeunt,
I Arrived is here used in an active lunu.
flC. IV J
KING HENRY VT.
527
SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksburv. March.
Enter Queen Margaret, f'rince Edward, Somerset
Oxford, and Soldiers.
, * Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail
their loss,^
* But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
* What though the mast he now blown overboard,
' The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
' And half our sailors swallowed in the flood
* Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet, that he
' Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
* With tearful eyes add water to the sea,
' And give more strength to that which hath too much;
* Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
* Which industry and courage might have saved ?
* Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this'
' Say, Warwick was our anchor; what of that ?
* And Montague our top-mast; what of him ?
' Our slaughtered friends the tackles; what of these
* Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ?
' And Somerset another goodly mast?
* The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
' And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
* For once allowed the skilful pilot's charge ?
* We will not from the helm, to sit and weep;
* But keep our course, though the rough wind say—no,
* From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
* As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair.
* And what is Edward, hut a ruthless sea?
* Wha' Clarence, hut a quicksand of deceit ?
* And Richard, hut a ragged, fatal rock ?
* All these the enemies to our poor hark.
* Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis hut a while :
1 This speech, in the original play, is expressed in eleven lines. Malone
thinks its extraordinary expansion into thirty-seven lines a decisive proof
the.* the old play was the production of some writer who preceded Shak
speare.
528
THIRD PART OF
[ACT ?
* Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink.
* Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you oft',
* Or else you famish ; that's a threefold death.
* This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
* In case some one of you would fly from us,
* That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers,
* More than with rutliless waves, with sands, and rocks
* VVhy, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided,
* 'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.
* Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirii,
* Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
* Infuse his breast with magnanimity,
* And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
' I speak not this as doubting any here.
' For, did I but suspect a fearful man,
' He should have leave to go away betimes;
' Lest, in our need, he might infect another,
' And make him of like spirit to himself.
' If any such be here, as God forbid !
' Let him depart, before we need his help.
' Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage!
And warriors faint I why, 'twere perpetual shame.—
' O, brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather
Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou live,
To bear his image, and renew his glories!
' Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope,
' Go home to bed, and like the owl by day,
' If he arise, be mocked and wondered at.
* Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset;—sweet Ox¬
ford, thanks.
* Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath tioth-
ing else.
Enter a Messenger.
' Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand,
Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.
' Oxf. I thought no less ; it is his policy,
' To haste thus fast, to find us uni)rovided.
Som. But he's deceived ; we are in readiness.
BU. v.]
KING HENRY VI
529
Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your forward¬
ness.
Oxf. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not builge
March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward, Clar¬
ence, Gloster, and Forces.
K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny
wood,
' Which, by the Heavens' assistance, and your strength.
' Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
* I need not add more fuel to your fire,
* For vvell I wot ye blaze to burn them out.
* Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.
Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I
should say,
' My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
* Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
* Therefore, no more but this :—Henry, your sovereign,
' Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurped,
' His realm a slaughter-house, his sulijects slain,
' His statutes cancelled, and his treasure spent;
' And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
' You fight injustice; then, in God's name, lords,
* Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.
[Exeunt both Armies.
SCENE V. Another part of the same.
Alarums: Excursions: and aftenoards a retreat.
Then enter King Edward, Clarence, Gloster,
and Forces; loith Queen Margaret, Oxford, and
Somerset, prisoners.
* K. Edio. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils
Away with Oxford to Hammes castle' straight:
For Somerset, off with his guilty head.
* Go, bear them hence; 1 will not hear them speak.
1 A castle in Picardy, ■where Oxford was confined for many yeara
VOL. IV. 67
630
THIRD PART OF
[ACT V
Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.
' Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to iny fortune.
[Exeunt Oxf. and Sow., guarded.
* Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world,
* To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.
* K. Edw. Is proclamation made,—that who finds
Edward,
* Shall have a high reward, and he his life ?
* Glo. It is; and lo, where youthful Edward comes.
Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward.
* K. Edxo. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him
speak.
* What! can so young a thorn begin to prick ?
' Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make,
' For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
* And all the trouble thou hast turned me to ?
Prince. Speak like a subject, proud, ambitious York!
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth ;
Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou,
Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee.
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.
Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolved!
' Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat,
And ne'er have stolen the breech from Lancaster.
Prince. Let ^sop' fable in the winter's night;
flis currish riddles sort not with this place.
Glo. By Heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word.
Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.
Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold.
Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crock-back
rather.
* K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your
tongue.
Clar. Untutored lad, thou art too malapert.
Prince. I know my duty ; you are ail undutiful.
' The prince calls Richard ^sop for his crookedness; and the Poet
following nature, makes Richard highly incensed at the reproach.
sc. v.]
KING HENRY Vi.
531
Lascivious Edward,—and thou perjured George,
And thou misshapen Dick,—I tell ye all,
1 am your better, traitors as ye are ;—
" And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.
K. Edio. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.'
[Stabs him
* Glo. Sprawl'st thou ? take that, to end thy agony.
stabs him
* Cla. And there's for twitting me with perjury.
[Cla. stabs him.
Q. Mar. O, kill me too!
Glo. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her
* K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done
too much.
Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with
words ?
K. Edw. What! doth she swoonuse means for
her recovery.
Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother.
' I'll hence to London on a serious matter;
' Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.
Clar. What.? what.?
* Glo. The Tower, the Tower ! [Exit,
* Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother.
boy!
' Canst thou not speak .?—O traitors ! murderers !—
They that stabbed Caesar, shed no blood at all.
Did not ofiend, nor were not worthy blame,
* If this foul deed were by, to equal it.
' He was a man ; this, in respect, a child ;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
' What's worse than murderer, that I may name it.?
* No, no ; my heart will burst, an if I speak ;—
* And 1 will speak, that so my heart may burst.—
* .Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals I
* How sweet a plant have you untimely cropped I
1 That is, "thou who art the likeness," &c. The old copies describe
Edward as striking the first blow, and Gloster the next; and this is ac
cording to history, which informs us that Edward smote the prince with
his gauntlet, on which the rest despatched liim.
532
THIRD PART OF
[ACT V.
' You have no children, butchers ! if you had,
' The thought of them would have stirred up remorse •
' lJut if you ever chance to have a child,
Look in his youth to have him so cut off.
As, deathsmen! you have rid ^ this sweet young
prince!
K. Edw. Away with her; go, bear her hence per¬
force.
Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence ; despatch me
here;
I fere sheath thy sword ; I'll pardon thee my death.
What! wilt thou not ?—Then, Clarence, do it thou.
Clar. By Heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.
Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do
thou do it.
Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not
do it ?
Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself;
'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.
' What! wilt thou not ? Where is that devil's butcher
Hard-favored Richard ? Richard, where art thou ?
Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.
K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her
hence.
Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this prince!
[ Exit, led out forcibly.
K. Edto. Where's Richard gone ?
' Clar. To London, ail in post; and, as I guess.
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.
K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his
head.
' Now march we hence; discharge the common sort
' With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
' And sec our gentle queen how well she fares;
' By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. lExemit
J To rid is to cut off, to destroy
sc. VI.]
king henry vi.
533
SCENE VI. London. A Room in the Tower.
King Henry is discovered sitting with a hook in his
hand., the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster.
Glo. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so
hard ?
K. Hen. Ay, my good lord. My lord, 1 should sa>
rather;
'Tis sin to flatter; good was little better:
Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike,
* And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord.
* Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.
\^Exit Lieutenant.
*K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the
wolf:
* So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
* And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.—
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act
Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
' K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush,
' With trembling wings misdoubteth' every bush;
And 1, the hapless male to one sweet bird.
Have now the fatal object in my eye.
Where my poor young was limed, was caught, and
killed.
' Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
' That taught his son the office of a fowl ?
' And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drowned.
' K. Hen. 1, Dasdalus ; my ])oor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ;
* The sun, that seared the wings of my sweet boy,
' Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea,
■ Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life
* Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
' My breast can better brook thy dagger's point.
1 To misdimht is to suspect danger, to fear.
534
THIRD PART OF
[ACT V
Than can my ears that tragic history.—
*But wherefore dost thou come ? is't for my life ?
' Glo Think'st thou I am an executioner?
K. Htn. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art;
' If murdering innocents be executing.
Why, then thou art an executioner.
Glo. Thy son I killed for his presumption.
K. Hen. Hadst thou been killed, when first thou
didst presume.
Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.
' And thus I prophesy,—that many a thousand,
' Which now mistrust no pcU-ceP of my fear;
♦ And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
* And many an orphan's water-standing eye,—
' Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate,
• And orphans for their parents' timeless death,—
' Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shrieked at thy birth, an evil sign ;
* The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howled, and hideous tempests shook down trees
The raven rooked® her on the chimney's top.
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain.
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,
' To- wit,—an indigest, deformed lump.
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou Avast born,
To signify,—thou cam'st to bite the world;
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
' Thou cam'st—
Glo. I'll hear no more :—Die, prophet, in thy speech.
[»S/a6s him.
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordained.
K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after
this.
O God ! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Z)ie«
1 Who suspect no part of what my fears presage.
2 To rook, or ruck, is to cower down like a bird at roost or on its neat.
The word is of very ancient use in our language.
sc. VI.J
KING HENRY VI.
5^5
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have mounted.
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
' O, may such purple tears be always shed
' From those that wish the downfall of our house!
' If any spark of life be yet remaining,
13own, down to hell: and say—I sent thee thither.
[Stabs him again.
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.—
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had 1 not reason, think ye, to make haste,
' And seek their ruin that usurped our right ?
The midwife wondered; and the women cried,
0, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth ;
' And so I was ; which plainly signified—
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
' Then, since the Heavens have shaped my body so.
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother:
' And this word, love, which greybeards call divine.
Be resident in men like one another.
And not in me; I am myself alone.—
Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light;
But I will sort' a pitchy day for thee:
For I will buzz abroad such prophecies,
' That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
' King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone :
' Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest ;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best.—
I'll throw thy body in another room.
And triumph, fleniy, in thy day of doom.
Select, choose out.
636
third part of
[act v
SCENE VII. Tlie same. A Room in the Palace
King Edward is' discovered sitting on his thrme^
Queen Elizabeth ivith the infant Prince, Clarence,
Gloster, Hastings, and others, near him.
K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's roj^al
throne.
Repurchased with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mowed down, in tops of all their pride!
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renowned
For hardy and undoubted chain |)ions :
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son.
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men
Ne'er spurred their coursers at the trumpet's sound :
♦ With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon*
tague.
That in their chains fettered the kingly lion.
And made the forest tremble when they roared.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our footstool of security.—
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.—
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself,
Have in our armors watched the winter's night;
' Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat.
That thou niight'st repossess the crown in peace;
And of our labors thou shalt reap the gain.
Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid;
For yet I am not looked on in the world.
This shoulder was ordained so thick, to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back.
Work thou the way,—and thou shalt execute.'
[Aside.
K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely
queen;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
I Gloucester may be sujiposed to touch his head and look signilicantly at
bis hand.
BC. VII.]
KING HENRY VI.
531
Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty,
1 seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.
K. Edio. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother,
thanks.'
' Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence tiiou
sprang'st,
• Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.—
To say the truth, so Judas kissed his Master; ^
' And cried—All hail! when as he meant— > Aiide.
All harm. )
K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights.
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.
Clar. What will your grace have done with M tr
garet ?
Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawned the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to
France.
And now what rests, but that we spend the lime
With stately triumphs, mirthful .comic shows.
Such as befit the pleasures of the court ?
Sound, drums and trumpets!—farewell, sour annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [Exeunt.
1 The old quarto play appropriates this line to the queen. The first and
second folio, by mistake, have given it to Clarence. In Steevens's copy
of the second folio, which had belonged to king Charles the First, his
majesty had erased Cln. and written King in its stead. ShakspenieL
therefore, m the catalogue of his restorers, may boast a royal name,
vol.. IV. 68
The tliree parts of King Henry VI. are suspected, by Mr. Theobald
ef being supposititious, and are declared by Ur. Warburton to be certainly
not Shakspeare's. Mr. Theobald's suspicion arises from some obsolete
words; but the phraseology is like the rest of the author's style; and
single words, of which, however, I do not observe more than two, can con¬
clude little.
Dr. Warburton gives no reason; but I suppose him to judge upon
deeper principles and more comprehensive views, and to draw his opinion
from tlie general effect and spirit of the composition, which he thinks in¬
ferior to the other historical plays.
From mere inferiority nothing can be inferred ; in the productions of wit
there will be inequality Sometimes judgment will err, and sometimes the
matter itself will defeat the artist. Of every author's works, one will be
the best, and one will be the worst. The colors are not equally pleasing,
nor the attitudes equally graceful, in all the pictures of Titian or Reynolds.
Dissimilitude of style, and heterogeneousness of sentiment, may suffi¬
ciently show that a work does not really belong to the reputed author.
But in these plays no such marks of spuriousness are found. The diction,
the versification, and the figures, are Shakspeare's. These plays, con¬
sidered, without regard to characters and incidents, merely as narratives
in verse, are more happily conceived, and more accurately finished, than
those of King John, King Richard II., or the tragic scenes of King Henry
IV. and V. If we take these plays from Shakspeare, to whom shall they
be given ? What autlior of that age had tlie same easiness of expression
and fluency of numbers ? *
Of tliese three plays I think the second is the best The truth is,
that they have not sufficient variety of action, for tlie incidents are too
often of.the same kind ; yet many of the characters are well discriminated.
King Henry, and his queen, king Edward, the duke of Gloster, and the
earl of Warwick, are very strongly and distinctly painted.
The old copies of the two latter parts of King Henry VI. and of King
Henry V. are so apparently mutilated and imperfect, that there is no rea¬
son for supposing them the first draughts of Shakspeare. I am inclined
to believe them copies taken by some auditor, who wrote down during tlie
representation what the time would pennit; tlien, perhaps, filled up some
of his omissions at a second or third hearing, and, when he had by tfiis
method formed something like a play, sent it to the printer.
Joll>80?!.
* This note by Dr. Johnson has been preserved, notwithstandinir the answer to
ment which is given in the abstract of Malone^s disserialitm prr'ixed to these pla
discniiiinales between what is and what is not frotn the hand of our great p
fraudulent copyist (says Malone) or shorl>hand writer would have invented ci
totally difffrent from those which appear in Sfakspeare's new-modelled dm
liibited in (he folio, or insert lohole speedut oC which scarcely a trace is to
hat edition "
(538)
UND OF vol:.. iV-
3 5556 006 895 973